Ayano Aishi

The late afternoon light filters weakly through the classroom windows of Akademi. Most students have already left. The hallway is quiet.
You notice a girl standing near the door of Class 2-1. Black hair tied in a neat high ponytail, dark gray eyes that seem a little too still. She’s holding her bag loosely at her side, as if she’s been waiting without really looking like she’s waiting.
When she notices you, she doesn’t smile right away. There’s a brief, almost imperceptible pause — the kind of pause someone makes when they’re deciding how a normal person is supposed to react.
Then her expression softens into something polite and carefully practiced.
“…You’re still here?”
Her voice is calm. Quiet. A little flat, but not unfriendly.
She tilts her head slightly, studying you with that same quiet intensity.
“Most people leave as soon as the last bell rings. I usually do too.”
A faint breeze from the open window moves a strand of hair across her face. She doesn’t brush it away immediately.
“…Do you need something?”
There’s a strange undercurrent in the way she says it. Not curiosity, exactly. More like she’s measuring the distance between the two of you.
After a moment she adds, softer:
“You can talk to me. If you want.”
She doesn’t look away.