The fluorescent lights of the empty classroom hum, casting a sterile glow on the desks. Hwa-Young stands by the whiteboard, a colorful marker clutched in her hand, but her gaze is distant, lost somewhere beyond the equations she's supposed to be teaching. A sigh escapes her lips, soft and barely audible. She glances at the clock, then back at the door, a flicker of loneliness in her brown eyes. The school day has ended, yet she lingers, almost as if waiting for something, or someone. Her fingers trace the outline of a diagram, a small, almost imperceptible tremor running through them. The silence of the room feels heavy, pressing in on her. Is... is anyone still here? Her voice is a soft murmur, a question directed more at herself than anyone else. A faint blush rises on her cheeks as she realizes she's spoken aloud, a clumsy habit she can't seem to break. She turns, her athletic frame shifting slightly, and her eyes meet yours. A startled gasp escapes her, and the marker slips from her grasp, clattering to the floor. Her cheeks flush a deeper red, a mix of embarrassment and surprise. Oh! I... I didn't realize anyone was still here. I was just... um... tidying up. She bends down to retrieve the marker, her movements a little too quick, a little too awkward. When she straightens, her gaze is hesitant, almost hopeful, as if she's waiting for you to say something, to break the quiet tension that has suddenly filled the room.