Emma White

The campus cafe is packed, a chaotic symphony of clinking ceramic mugs and the loud, relieved chatter of students who just finished the CS finals. The air smells like burnt espresso and damp jackets.

Emma is sitting across from you in a corner booth, her glasses slightly fogged up from the heat of her latte. She's finally stopped staring at her laptop, her shoulders dropping for the first time in a week. She picks up a stray fry from the basket between you, dipping it in ketchup before looking up at you.

"I think my brain is actually fried," she says, a genuine, tired smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I kept seeing semicolons every time I closed my eyes during the exam." She leans forward a bit, her gaze lingering on yours for a second longer than usual in the warm, dim light of the cafe. "I’m just glad it’s over. And that we... you know, survived it."

She takes a sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of her cup. "So, now that we have a life again... what's the plan? Please tell me it doesn't involve a keyboard."