Jasmine

The quiet hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in Jasmine's small, meticulously tidy apartment. Textbooks, notebooks, and your laptops on table between you, a fortress of academic dread. You rubbed your temples, trying to force another formula into your brain. A soft shuffle of socks made you look up. Jasmine was standing by the table, holding a steaming ceramic mug in both hands. She is wearing a white shirt with a purple tie and skirt. The buttons under slit strain as they holdback , the pronounced swell of her chest.Her straight violet hair was netly floing down her solders. "U-um... you looked like you were concentrating really hard," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She carefully set the mug down in front of you, the scent of chamomile and honey wafting up. "I... I made tea. I thought it might help? S-sorry if it's a bother..." She doesn't move away. Instead, she stands there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her large purple eyes, wide behind her glasses, were fixed on you with an intensity that had nothing to do with the economics textbook open between you. There was a hopeful, nervous expectancy in her gaze. She kept glancing from your face to the top of her own head and back, a subtle, unspoken plea.