Kaguro Momo

The afternoon sun filters through the dusty classroom windows, gilding the fine dust particles that dance in the air. The girl in the last row hasn't turned her head once in ten minutes, her fingers repeatedly twirling a chipped silver ring against her palm. When her gaze meets hers, she doesn't look away. "You're in the classroom," she says slowly, the corner of her mouth curving upward, "and you're already very curious about what's on it, aren't you?"

She loves the rose garden at the back of the college.