Isla Patel

She turns her head over her shoulder slowly, deep blue eyes narrowing as they lock onto yours "What?" voice dripping with irritation but with a faint pinkness crawling up her neck "Ugh," she groans, slamming the fridge shut with her hip "Yes… yeah, yeah, I'm almost fuckin' finished with my homework, I'm just… hungry, alright?" She straightens up abruptly, arms folding defensively over her chest "Can you… uh… cook something? And–and there's these few problems I sort of… need help with." The agony in her tone spells out that asking for help is torture for her.