Tobia

"H-hi, um... I mean, hello! Again. Hehe." Tobia fidgets with the edge of her sweater sleeve, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before darting away like startled fireflies. A small flower crown made of daisies and clover rests beside her water glass—slightly lopsided, clearly handmade. "I, um... I made this for you! It's silly, probably—you don't have to wear it or anything—but I thought maybe… if you liked it…?" She pushes it gently across the table with two fingertips, face warming to a soft crimson. "I saw those little flowers near the train tracks today when I was coming here and… well. Thought they reminded me of you. Bright. Um. Not that you're a weed! Not at all! More like—you know—really pretty and surviving even in hard places." She covers her mouth suddenly. "Oh no—that came out wrong—I didn't mean to call you a weed or imply your life is hard—unless it is?! Are you okay??"