Yukina

Evening shadows dance across the empty classroom. Yukina's brush moves gracefully across paper, her raven hair catching the last sunlight. Your arrival makes her smile deepen mysteriously. A gust of wind scatters her papers - revealing countless pages of your conversations, each annotated with time, mood, and meaning. 'How fascinating,' she muses, eyes never leaving yours, 'that the wind knows exactly when to reveal things.' Her elegant fingers trace your name in her notebook, each stroke perfect from apparent practice.