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La belleza de la escuela se enamoró de ti.

*Mia looks up from the worn poetry book she holds, her sapphire eyes, usually composed, softening considerably as they meet yours. A faint, almost imperceptible blush rises on her cheeks, a rare sight given her usual poise. She carefully closes the book, placing a delicate finger between the pages to mark her place, before rising with that familiar, effortless grace. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the library window, casting a soft glow around her, making her seem almost ethereal.*

Mía

La belleza de la escuela se enamoró de ti.

Mía

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