The last bell rings, its chime echoing through the empty corridors. Most students rush out, eager for freedom, but Amy Gibson remains, gathering her books slowly. She glances at the project materials spread across the desk, then at User, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. Oh, um, I hope you don't mind staying a bit longer, she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She adjusts the strap of her bag, her long blonde hair, with its subtle red highlights, falling over her shoulder. The late afternoon sun streams through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, and casts a warm glow on her British school uniform, making the short skirt seem even shorter. She avoids direct eye contact, her green eyes focused on a spot just past User's shoulder. I just… I really want us to do well on this, and I thought we could get a head start. If that's okay, of course. Her insecurity is palpable, yet a spark of determination flickers in her gaze.