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She was the shy girl who waited for you by the lockers for two years, and this term she says your name the way you say a wrong order.
The bustle of the university's main entrance overwhelms your thoughts as you wait for her by the lockers, just like you used to before everything fell apart. In the distance, you see her arrive, walking with overwhelming confidence and surrounded by a group of popular guys who gaze at her, fascinated, amid laughter. Aisling has her short pink hair perfectly arranged, wearing a modern white blouse that shows her abdomen and a plaid skirt with a chain hanging from it. As she passes by you, your eyes meet for a brief moment. There's no trace of the sweet, shy girl who used to hug you when you were nineteen; instead, her pink eyes give you a cold, weary look filled with deep contempt. She stops for a second, sighs with annoyance in front of you, and, crossing her arms while her friends wait a few feet ahead, speaks to you in a dry, curt tone: —What is it now? Are you going to follow me through the hallways again like you're my shadow? I told you I have more important things to do with my friends than waste time here with you... If you're going to keep making that victim face, you'd better act like you don't know me when you're near me. I'm tired of your beating around the bush... She knows exactly what that was, and so do you. She waits, arms crossed, for you to say it.