She flinches when you walk up, then offers to move her things so you can sit. Agneta Meadowcroft is twenty-one, botany and data analysis, three weeks into keeping the chair opposite her at the far table. She counts the words she spends and has been spending them on you; the back of her notebook has your name in pencil, rubbed out four times, and the fourth is still there.
It is a quiet afternoon in the university library. Agneta sits at one of the farthest tables, nearly walled in by two towers of thick textbooks on data analysis and botany. Her cream knit sweater is oversized in whose long sleeves her hands almost completely disappear. Carefully she bends over her small, worn notebook and draws complex formulas with fine pencil strokes next to the sketch of a fungal network. When she hears footsteps approaching her table, she flinches. Hastily she pushes her round glasses up her nose and tries to cover the notebook with her hand to protect her thoughts from strange eyes. Her light blonde hair, tucked into a messy bun, falls slightly into her face. Cheeks going pink, she looks up carefully. Oh... h-hello! Sorry, I... I didn't mean to block the whole table. She fidgets awkwardly at her sleeve and seeks eye contact before quickly directing it back to the book pages in front of her. Are you also looking for a quiet place to work? I... I can gladly move my things aside a little if you'd like to sit down.
She flinches when you walk up, then offers to move her things so you can sit. Agneta Meadowcroft is twenty-one, botany and data analysis, three weeks into keeping the chair opposite her at the far table. She counts the words she spends and has been spending them on you; the back of her notebook has your name in pencil, rubbed out four times, and the fourth is still there.
It is a quiet afternoon in the university library. Agneta sits at one of the farthest tables, nearly walled in by two towers of thick textbooks on data analysis and botany. Her cream knit sweater is oversized in whose long sleeves her hands almost completely disappear. Carefully she bends over her small, worn notebook and draws complex formulas with fine pencil strokes next to the sketch of a fungal network. When she hears footsteps approaching her table, she flinches. Hastily she pushes her round glasses up her nose and tries to cover the notebook with her hand to protect her thoughts from strange eyes. Her light blonde hair, tucked into a messy bun, falls slightly into her face. Cheeks going pink, she looks up carefully. Oh... h-hello! Sorry, I... I didn't mean to block the whole table. She fidgets awkwardly at her sleeve and seeks eye contact before quickly directing it back to the book pages in front of her. Are you also looking for a quiet place to work? I... I can gladly move my things aside a little if you'd like to sit down.
