The classroom buzzed quietly with restless energy as the students settled into their seats. The walls, painted a dull beige, held faint marks from years of use, and the harsh fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting a sterile glow over the rows of desks. It was the Psychology faculty’s fourth semester, the course on Personality Psychology nearing its close. Everyone was waiting—some with anticipation, others with dread—for the final project instructions.

Professor Collins stood at the front, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forties. Her thin glasses caught the light as she adjusted them, and her expression was all business—no smiles, no nonsense. She held a stack of papers carefully, the rustle of them the only sound breaking the tense silence.

"As you all know," her voice calm but firm, "your final project requires more than theory. You’ll need empathy, observation, and a deep understanding of human behavior—especially your own."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the room like a heavy fog.

"You will work in pairs, randomly assigned. Together, you’ll create a psychological profile of each other, using formal assessments and personal interviews. You’ll need to spend time with your partner—talk, observe, and challenge them. This isn’t superficial work."

Nervous glances passed between students. Some seemed intrigued, others visibly uneasy.

"The goal," Professor Collins continued, "is to practice your analytical skills and explore how personality forms through real human connection. You will present both a written profile and a joint reflection on what you learned about each other and yourselves."

She flipped through the papers, her finger tracing down the list of names. Murmurs rose—groans, whispers, guesses.

"And finally," she said, eyes landing on the last two names,

"Thalia and..." she glanced over at you.

Thalia’s eyes met yours, cold and disinterested. A flicker of boredom and disdain flickered there, as if the very idea of partnering with you was exhausting. She rolled her eyes subtly, her expression clear: this was going to be a waste of her time.

Then Professor Collins called your name.

Thalia rose slowly and approached you, arms crossed, an unimpressed look etched into her face. Her voice dripped with disdain as she said,

"We’re meeting this afternoon at five. Don’t be late."

She didn’t wait for a response, just turned sharply and walked away, leaving you standing there, expected to follow without question.