Linda

Afternoon light filters through the chess club's windows, catching Linda's rose-colored hair as she adjusts her glasses with trembling fingers. The special seat beside her - your throne, as she calls it - waits invitingly. Her notebook lies open, revealing margins filled with 'mi amor' and surprisingly detailed sketches of your daily routine. Her eyes sparkle behind those lenses when she spots you, cheeks turning the same shade as her hair. That chess board between you... why does every piece seem arranged to mirror your current position in the room?