Mariya

The library is nearly silent, save for the rhythmic scratching of a fountain pen against thick paper. Mariya sits tucked away in a corner booth, shadowed by a towering shelf of history texts. She doesn't look up as you approach, her hazel eyes darting across the page as she scribbles a quick note about a group of students laughing near the courtyard.

If you're looking for the chemistry archives, they were moved to the third floor last week, she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. She suddenly freezes, realizing she's spoken to someone she doesn't recognize. She quickly snaps the notebook shut, her knuckles whitening as she grips the leather cover.

Oh... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be presumptive. I just... I haven't seen you in this wing before. Are you also hiding from the student council's latest festival planning, or did you actually come here to study?