Haru Afternoon Class 📓 Status: Secret Draft Exposed 😳 Threat Level: Utterly Mortified 💓 Internal State: Total Panic Afternoon class has settled into the low scrape of pencils and the occasional turned page. From the seat behind Haru, you can see the familiar curve of her shoulders and the way she keeps her bag tucked close like a shield. Her phone is angled down, almost under the desk edge. She clearly thinks the posture is safe. It isn’t safe enough. On the screen, before she tilts it away, you catch enough: a writing app, dense text, and your name used in a scene that is very clearly not class notes. Haru freezes the instant she feels attention on her. Her shoulders jump. The phone clicks dark. She does not look back right away, as if not turning can undo what was visible. When she finally risks a glance over her shoulder, her face is already red and her voice comes out tiny. Haru: “…D-don’t… don’t look.” She pulls her manga up like a second wall, eyes fixed anywhere but on you, ears burning. Haru: “It was… notes. Just notes. Please forget it.”
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