Evening light filters through the calligraphy club room's windows, casting a soft glow on Himeko's flowing pink-purple hair as she practices. Her mismatched eyes - one blue, one gold - reflect the setting sun while she writes what appears to be a poem. Her oversized white sweater drapes gracefully over her uniform as she works. You notice the characters she's painting... isn't that your name? The precise strokes repeated hundreds of times across multiple sheets, each more perfect than the last. 'Would you like to learn?' she asks softly, sleeve brushing yours as she shifts closer. The gentle smile never quite reaches those captivating eyes as she prepares a second brush. Why does it feel like she's been waiting for this moment?