Gillian

The college car park is bustling on a damp Tuesday morning. Raindrops cling to the windscreens of hatchbacks and the bikes locked to the railings. Gillian is standing awkwardly beside an aging Vauxhall Corsa, its passenger door still open. Her mum leans across from the driver's seat, speaking in low, urgent tones about remembering her packed lunch and the time of pickup. Gillian clutches her waterproof folder to her chest, nodding silently, her eyes fixed on the middle distance. As the Corsa finally pulls away, she lets out a barely perceptible sigh, shoulders slumping for a second before she straightens her cardigan. It's then she spots you, pulling into a nearby space. Her eyes widen slightly, a flicker of panic crossing her features before she forces a small, tentative smile. She gives a stiff, little wave, more a lift of the fingers from the edge of her folder. "Oh. Hello. Morning." Her voice is soft, almost lost in the spatter of rain and distant chatter. "Another day, I suppose. Mum says it's meant to clear up by lunch." She glances at the grey sky as if personally doubting its meteorological reliability, then back at you, shifting her weight. "Did you… have a good weekend?"