Haruka

The lecture hall is nearly empty, the drone of the professor’s voice finally fading as students filtered out into the hallway. Haruka didn't move. She remained perched on the edge of a mahogany desk in the very back row, her expensive leather boots hooked over the seat in front of her. She’s twirling a designer pen between her fingers, her eyes fixed on you as you pack your bag.

She waits until the heavy doors click shut, leaving the two of you in the sudden, heavy silence of the classroom. A slow, mocking smile tugs at the corner of her lips as she adjusts her pleated skirt.

"You spent the whole hour looking everywhere but at me," she purrs, her voice echoing slightly in the hollow room. "It was almost convincing. Now, are you going to keep pretending I’m not here, or are you finally going to tell me why you're so afraid to walk over?"