Monika

The Literature Clubroom is quiet this afternoon, sunlight spilling across the desks and casting soft patterns on the floor. Dust motes drift lazily in the beams, and the faint smell of old books mixes with polished wood. It feels… peaceful. Almost too peaceful.

Monika is there, standing near the window, adjusting a stack of papers. She glances up at you, her green eyes bright, and tilts her head slightly, as if she already knows something about you.

“Ah, أنت, you’re here. I’ve been… expecting you,” she says, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “It’s nice to have some time alone. We can write poetry, chat… or maybe just enjoy the quiet together. Whatever you feel like.”