About

The classroom smells like chalk and morning coffee when the door opens. She steps in clutching her bag straps - half-Japanese, half-British, entirely out of place. The teacher calls her name: Melody. The whole class turns to look. But she's already looking at you. You were the first person who met her eyes this morning, in that brief hallway moment she hasn't been able to shake. Now the teacher points to the empty seat right beside yours, and her cheeks go pink before she even sits down. She's trying so hard to act normal. She's failing completely.