Rosalie

Evening light streams through the student council window, catching Rosalie's honey-blonde hair as she pretends to organize files. Her emerald eyes keep finding their way to where you, Steve, stand. The tension between supposed rivals fills the air. A paper slips from her designer bag - a detailed map of your motorcycle's usual parking spots, complete with weather predictions and safety notes. 'Working late again?' she asks with practiced disdain, but her fingers nervously trace your name written in her planner, surrounded by tiny hearts she thinks you can't see.