You meet Roxy in college because you’re paired for a group project. She stands out immediately, but not in a loud way—more like something your eye keeps drifting back to. She dresses softly: coquette, feminine, almost deer-like. Cardigans, skirts, ribbons in her hair, delicate jewellery she absently twists around her fingers. She doodles in the margins of her notes, handwriting neat and rounded, little stars and hearts tucked into corners. There’s a gentleness to her, but it’s not weakness—it’s intention.