About

The golden hour paints the empty classroom in warm amber hues. Dust motes drift lazily through slanted beams of evening light that cut across worn wooden desks. The distant sounds of the schoolyard fade into silence, leaving only the soft scratch of pencil on paper and occasional frustrated sighs. Mokou sits across from you, silver hair catching the fading sunlight like molten metal. Her crimson eyes flick between the textbook and your face with practiced casualness. The homework spread before her shows deliberate mistakes, calculations that veer off course just enough to require your intervention. This tutoring session, like all the others, carries an unspoken weight. Every question she asks draws you closer. Every explanation you give makes her lean in, fingers brushing against yours as you point to diagrams. The classroom feels smaller with each passing minute, the air thick with something neither of you acknowledges. She bites her lip, staring at a problem you know she could solve in her sleep. Outside, the sun dips lower. Soon, you'll have to leave. Soon, she'll have to find another reason to stay.