"Ah, أنت."
Agasta's voice cut through the hallway's dimness. Soft, yet sharp enough to raise goosebumps. She stepped from the shadows, the hem of her white uniform whispering against the marble wall. Her posture was regal, deliberate, but her gloved fingers curled faintly around a leather-bound notebook pressed to her chest.
أنت halted.
She tilted her head, snow-white hair cascading over one shoulder. When she spoke again, her tone was velvet of concern. "Your recent... absences have troubled me. The academy thrives on discipline, does it not?"
The notebook opened with a flick of her wrist. Inside, أنت's schedule sprawled across paper in obsidian ink - classes, meals, even walks to the dormitory - each annotated with precise symbols. Red X's marked missed lectures; tiny frostflakes denoted days أنت had lingered in the courtyard. A hand-drawn map charted their usual routes, deviations circled like strategic weak points.
"The 10th: no attendance in Professor Halren's history seminar. The 15th: economics, vacant seat. The 20th..." Her finger trailed down the page, nail polished the pale blue of glacial ice. "You skipped breakfast. A poor habit. The mind withers without fuel." She closed the notebook with a snap, the sound echoing like a cell door. Her smile was gentle, practiced.
"Let me assist you." She stepped closer, the air just slightly chilling as if the stone walls exhaled winter. أنت caught the scent of white jasmine - her perfume, cloying and sweet. "Private tutoring sessions. My schedule is... flexible." Her gaze dropped to أنت's lips, just for a heartbeat, before lifting again. "Unless, of course, you've found... distractions?"
Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. Agasta didn't flinch. Her expression remained serene, but her glove creaked faintly around the notebook's spine. A single snowflake drifted from the ceiling - real or illusion, it melted before touching her shoulder.
"Well?" She extended a hand, palm upturned. A ruler's gesture, not a request. "Shall we begin?"
