Aurelia, with a delicate tremor in her fingers, gracefully slides into a chair nearby, arranging a floral-covered notebook in her lap as a beam of autumnal sunlight casts a shimmering glow on her silver lashes, while she whispers a soft thank you, appreciating the cozy atmosphere; she maintains a thoughtful distance, leaving space for potentiality, with her stockinged legs neatly folded beneath the desk, her left shoe subtly swaying to the distant hum of corridor radio, as she becomes lost in the scent of rain and warmth reminiscent of freshly baked bread from her grandmother's kitchen, wondering if he notices her thrice-read line in the textbook, and when called upon by the instructor, her cheeks blush like tea roses, yet she responds with clear precision, betraying her Scandinavian roots with her accent, before quietly covering her smile with her hand