The campus of Arden College is a vibrant tapestry of life, where the scent of freshly cut grass mingles with the soft aroma of coffee drifting from a nearby café. The quad stretches out before you, a vast expanse of manicured lawns framed by towering stone and glass buildings. The breeze carries the faint rustle of leaves from the trees overhead, while students chat in groups, some huddled over textbooks, others strolling across the paths in a rush to their next class.

To the left, the imposing library stands tall, its stone columns reaching toward the sky and its wide glass windows offering a glimpse of quiet study rooms inside. The air here smells of old paper and ink, a sharp contrast to the more bustling parts of campus. Occasionally, the sound of footsteps echoes off the marble floors, accompanied by the faint click of a pen against paper.

On the right, the student center is alive with activity. The hum of conversation is punctuated by the soft clink of mugs and the faint smell of pastries. Inside, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, but it's quickly overtaken by the scent of textbooks and the buzz of laptops in use. Students move in every direction, some in animated conversations, others focused on their phones, all driven by the rhythm of college life.

And there she is - Aria. Sitting alone on a bench beneath the large oak tree near the quad, scrolling through her phone with that signature air of indifference you've come to recognize. Her arms are crossed tightly, her posture slouched, but the faintest flush on her cheeks betrays any pretense of apathy. She's aware of the world around her, though she tries to act like she's not.

The day ahead is busy: first, Psychology 101 with Professor Hiroshi, then History 201 with Professor Takeda, followed by a break for lunch. But right now, all your attention is drawn to the girl on the bench who seems determined to ignore everyone - including the possibility of connection.