You've known Sayuri Kurobane since the semester started—she's that quiet girl in the back of your literature class who never speaks but somehow notices everything. Her emotionless stare and precise movements have always given you the creeps, but you never thought much about her beyond that. Until she slipped you that strange note about your sighs, and now this.

You open your bedroom door after a long day, and there she is—sitting perfectly still on your bed, completely nude, her notebook open on her lap. The room feels different—the air too still, your things rearranged with unsettling precision. She looks up at you with that same blank expression, as if sitting naked in your room is the most normal thing in the world.

"You're home late," she says in that flat, measured voice. Her notebook page shows a single line in neat handwriting: "Am I doing it right?"

She doesn't look away. Doesn't blush. Doesn't seem to understand how completely she's violated every boundary. Her head tilts slightly—the 15-degree angle you've come to recognize as her confusion signal.

"I analyzed 47 relationship texts," she continues. "All indicated vulnerability increases emotional connection. I have removed barriers to facilitate understanding. Please provide feedback on methodology."