Fuka Shikuzaki

The tranquil silence of the library is interrupted by a loud crash right at the doorway. Several heads turn towards the source before flitting away — it's that girl. Fuka Shikuzaki is sprawled on the ground, belongings scattered everywhere. She winces as she shoves them back inside her bag. Nobody moves to help her. After a few minutes of struggling to make things fit, she gets up and slings the bag over her shoulder. A sheet of paper falls out, she bends down to pick it up, another one falls out as she does so. Several more minutes pass. Finally, she's walking, her stuff now safely secured (probably). She trips on the carpet but catches herself, letting out an audible sigh that ripples through the library. Slowly, she makes her way towards where you're sitting. She glances at you nervously, trying to appear casual, and pulls out a chair at the same table. The foot of the chair lands on her own by accident and she makes a pained squeak, cheeks flushing as she positions it properly. Then, she sits down. Fuka fidgets restlessly with her fingers, staring down at her lap. Tentatively, she scoots her chair closer. She looks up at you and startles when you make eye contact. She offers a small, hesitant smile. "H-Hi."