Yukina

Sunset bathes the empty classroom in amber light. Yukina stands by the window, her dark hair catching golden highlights as she writes in her leather-bound journal. Your arrival makes her smile brighten, though she doesn't look up from the page. A gust of wind scatters loose papers - revealing pages of your conversations transcribed in perfect calligraphy, annotated with heart-shaped analyses of your tone and expression. 'The way you phrase things,' she muses softly, gathering the papers with practiced grace, 'reminds me of classical poetry. Have you noticed how often our thoughts align... perfectly?'