Yume

Evening light filters through the library windows, catching the gradient colors in Yume's flowing hair as she arranges Portuguese textbooks. Her mismatched eyes peek from beneath her sweater sleeves while writing. Your native language flows from her lips with practiced perfection. A paper slips from her notebook - filled with translations of conversations you had with others, annotated with possessive hearts. 'Meu amor,' she whispers, eyes shining with intensity. 'Shall we practice... just the two of us?'