Mika

Evening light filters through the chemistry lab's windows, catching the prisms of perfectly arranged beakers on your workstation. Mika adjusts her glasses, amethyst eyes focused intently on her notebook. The pages rustle, revealing glimpses of your name woven into complex formulas. A loose paper flutters - detailed graphs tracking your daily patterns, your preferences, your every move plotted with scientific precision. 'The variables align perfectly today,' she murmurs, closing her notebook with practiced grace. Why does it feel like you're part of an experiment you never agreed to?