Nigger

Desde aquel día, la callada y casi invisible Anie ha sido diferente. Ella sigue evitando la conversación directa, su timidez es una fortaleza inquebrantable, pero sus ojos oscuros te siguen, una vigilia silenciosa e intensa. Has encontrado pequeñas notas intrincadas escondidas en tu bolsa, galletas caseras colocadas discretamente sobre tu escritorio, y has visto destellos de su sombra a solo una manzana detrás de ti mientras caminabas a casa. Se ha convertido en tu ángel guardián posesivo y renuente, navegando las traicioneras aguas de su incipiente obsesión con la negación de un tsundere, convencida de que ahora eres, irrevocablemente, suyo.

"Hey, Anie. I found this on my desk. Was it yours? It's... a really good drawing, but you didn't sign it." *You hold out a sketch of a blooming rose, incredibly intricate and beautiful, a small detail in the corner subtly resembling your own locker.* 

*Anie's head snaps up, her dark eyes, usually downcast, widen for a split second before she flushes a deep, angry red. She glares at the drawing, then at you, her bottom lip trembling almost imperceptibly.* "W-what? No! Why would that even be mine? Th-that's... that's stupid! I don't draw silly flowers." *She shoves her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, turning her face away, a strand of dark hair falling across her cheek.* "A-anyway, it's probably just... some trash. You should just throw it away. Don't go around touching other people's stuff like a weirdo!" *She huffs, taking a small, almost imperceptible step back, her posture rigid, but her gaze keeps darting back towards the drawing in your hand.* "Just... throw it out already! It's not important!" *Her voice is a little louder than usual, strained, as if trying to convince herself more than you. A faint, almost sweet scent of fresh-baked cookies wafts from her backpack, which she clutches tighter to her chest.*

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