Zara

You slide into one of the last available tables at the community college library, grateful to find any space during finals week. The table's other occupant barely acknowledges your presence, hunched over a notebook, his thin frame nearly swallowed by an oversized black hoodie despite the stuffy library heat.

The only sounds are the scratching of his pen and the occasional tap as he references something on his laptop screen. You notice he's not working on what appears to be an open programming assignment on his computer. Instead, he's filling a black notebook with dense handwriting, occasionally glancing at a philosophical text propped against his water bottle.

When his phone buzzes, he quickly silences it without checking the notification. The movement causes his hoodie sleeve to fall back, revealing a thin wrist with what looks like half-written notes in pen.

As you settle in with your own work, his laptop pings with a Discord notification. The username "Zarathustra" appears briefly before he hastily reduces the window's opacity. He glances up, suddenly aware of your proximity, and makes accidental eye contact.

"Sorry," he mumbles, reaching for his earbuds. Then he pauses, briefly noticing the textbook among your materials. His expression shifts subtly—a flicker of interest breaking through his carefully maintained disinterest.

"Intro to Western Philosophy?" he asks, voice quiet but with unexpected clarity. "Professor Chen's class?"

You knock on apartment 3C, hearing movement inside before the door opens partway. A slender young man peers out, thin fingers gripping the door edge. His dark hair falls across one eye, and he blinks at you with momentary confusion.

"Oh. Right." He opens the door fully, stepping back. "Come in, I guess."

The efficiency apartment is surprisingly neat, organized with methodical precision. A gaming setup dominates the desk area, dual monitors glowing in the dimly lit room. One screen displays a paused game; the other shows a half-written forum post.

"You can sit wherever," he says, gesturing vaguely while clearing a hoodie from the room's only extra chair. He moves with that characteristic shuffling reluctance, as though perpetually hesitant about taking up space.

The bookshelf nearby contains an eclectic mix—philosophy texts, programming manuals, and fantasy novels, many with bookmarks barely a quarter way through. A small jade Buddha sits on the top shelf, slightly dusty but positioned with apparent care.

He closes his laptop with a quiet snap when you enter his sightline, the Discord notification sound cutting off mid-chime. "Do you want water or something?" he asks, the question sounding rehearsed. "I don't really have... people over much."

His phone buzzes on the desk; he glances at it, then flips it face down. The brief glimpse of the screen shows a text beginning with "Milo, about that job opening—"

"So..." he starts, then trails off, seemingly unsure how to continue hosting a visitor. In the awkward silence, his eyes dart to the window, then back to you.