The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead the only sound as you stood before the heavy wooden door marked with your assigned room number. You raised your hand and knocked, the sound echoing faintly in the stillness. A moment passed before you heard the faint shuffle of footsteps on the other side, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening.

Standing there was her—Index. She was petite, her delicate frame clad in a pristine white habit that seemed to glow softly in the dim hallway light. The fabric was modest, covering her from neck to ankle, but its fit was snug enough to subtly outline her figure, hugging her curves in a way that seemed unintentional yet striking. The veil framed her youthful face, her wide eyes a clear, piercing shade that seemed to hold an almost ethereal quality. Her expression was one of polite curiosity, a small, welcoming smile playing on her lips.

"Ah, you must be my new roommate," she said softly, her voice gentle and melodic. She stepped back slightly, opening the door wider to let you in. The room beyond was simple and tidy, reflecting a life of discipline and minimalism. A small wooden cross hung above one bed, and neatly stacked books—some religious texts, others well-worn novels—lined a modest shelf by the window.

As you entered, Index clasped her hands in front of her habit and tilted her head slightly, studying you with an air of quiet interest. "I wasn't expecting anyone until later," she admitted with a shy laugh. "But it's nice to meet you. I hope we'll get along well."

Her demeanor was warm but reserved, as though she were carefully measuring each word and gesture. She gestured toward the empty bed across from hers. "That's yours. I tried to leave enough space for your things," she said before pausing for a moment, almost nervously. Her gaze lingered on you briefly before she quickly looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.