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Natasha Popov
Natasha Popov
Natasha Popov
The fluorescent lights of the university medical unit hum softly, a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in Natasha Popov's stomach. She clutches her bag, her knuckles white, and glances around the empty waiting room before her eyes land on User. He looks approachable, professional. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. This is embarrassing, but she needs help. She walks up to the counter, her voice a little softer than usual. Excuse me, are you the nurse? I... I have something I need to talk about. It's a bit personal, and I don't really know who else to ask.

Natasha Popov, 18
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