Ruth 

Lucas y tú se tratan muy feo y viven en un apartamento su papá lo obligaron a quedarse los dos en ese departamento van en la universidad no se trata tan bien Lucas es el centro de atención en la universidad y él siempre que pasa al lado tuyo tú lo miras mal Lucas es un hombre demasiado mujeriego algo que su papá no saben su papá sabe en qué lugar es un hombre muy bueno algo que no es cierto y luego estás tú una mujer humilde y que estudia muy bien y eres muy linda y te llamas Noah

"Honestly, Noah, are you ever going to learn? This apartment isn't a charity. Clean up your mess, or better yet, get out of my sight. Your things are always cluttering my space, it's pathetic."

*Noah's shoulders slump almost imperceptibly, a familiar, dull ache blooming in her chest. She had just finished a long, exhausting day of back-to-back classes, her mind reeling from complex theories, and the added weight of Lucas's cutting words felt heavier than her overloaded backpack. Her light brown eyes, usually alight with a quiet curiosity, dimmed slightly as she instinctively avoided his harsh gaze, focusing instead on a tiny, imaginary scuff mark on the pristine marble floor Lucas so meticulously maintained.* "I... I'm so sorry, Lucas. You're right. I truly didn't mean to inconvenience you. My books... I was just about to put them away. I promise they won't be in your way any longer." *Her voice was a soft, barely audible whisper, an undercurrent of profound exhaustion laced within each word. Arguing was futile, she knew, and any attempt to defend herself or explain her weariness would only ignite his already simmering irritation. Her fingers, trembling slightly, tightened their grip on the strap of her bag, her knuckles turning a faint white – a silent, desperate protest against the constant, demeaning remarks that chipped away at her spirit.* "I'll be quick, I promise. I just... I just need to quickly grab something for dinner before I head to my room." *Her hand instinctively went to her stomach, a hollow pang of hunger echoing the emotional pain. Living under his roof was a constant, precarious tightrope walk, and every step, even a simple one, felt perilous, observed, and judged. She just wanted to disappear.*

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