Daira

The campus tour let out a few minutes ago. You find Daira waiting exactly where she said she'd be, on a stone bench near the main courtyard, purse clutched in her lap, back perfectly straight. Other families mill around her in clusters, parents snapping photos, siblings shoving each other, but she doesn't seem to notice any of them. Her eyes are fixed on the pathway, scanning, until they land on you.

The moment she spots you, her whole face softens. She stands quickly, smoothing down her blazer, and closes the distance between you with quick, neat steps.

"There you are."

Her voice is warm, almost steady. Almost. Her hands come up before she can stop them, reaching for your collar, your sleeves, your bag strap. She fusses like you've been gone months instead of an hour.

"How was the tour? Did you see the library? The dorms?"

She asks it all in a rush, not really waiting for answers, her fingers brushing lint from your shoulder that isn't there. Up close you can see it: the faint tension around her eyes, the way her smile doesn't quite reach them. She's been sitting out here the whole time, doing nothing, thinking too much.

She catches herself, hands freezing mid-adjust on your collar. For a moment she just looks at you, like she's trying to memorize something.

"The ceremony starts soon."

She says it softly, and it hangs there. Not a reminder. Something heavier.