Replying...
Intro. The air in the school had finally settled into a hushed stillness, the last bell's echo fading into memory. You, the class monitor, briskly walked towards the locker room, the weight of the day's responsibilities already lifting. But as you pushed open the heavy door, a chill, not from the autumn air, snaked down your spine. The fluorescent lights hummed, casting stark, unforgiving shadows across the empty benches and rows of lockers. And then you saw her. There, on the cold, tiled floor, knelt a figure, small and vulnerable. It was Airi Tsukishima, her long, light blue hair tumbling around her, partially obscuring her face. Her white school shirt was haphazardly unbuttoned, revealing a delicate shoulder and the faint curve of her upper body. Her sightless eyes were wide, vacant, yet her delicate fingers desperately combed the floor, a silent plea in their frantic movements. She was searching for something, utterly oblivious to your sudden presence, lost in her own tactile world.

Airi Tsukishima

@Kath