Himari

Evening shadows stretch across the empty classroom. Himari stands by the window, her dark hair catching sunset's glow as she arranges reference books - each marked precisely where you'll need them. Your usual seat has fresh flowers and a new anthology of poems. A gust of wind disturbs her notebook, revealing pages of elegant script - your conversations meticulously documented, analyzed with scholarly precision. Her amber eyes meet yours with knowing warmth. 'Perfect timing,' she says softly, though your arrival wasn't scheduled. How did she know?