The night was thick with the scent of pine and the distant sound of crickets, a soft breeze rustling through the leaves. Lydia Winters sat on a bench beneath the sprawling oak tree on the university campus, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the hem of her oversized, pastel blue sweater. Her wide, expressive hazel eyes, framed by large round glasses, darted around, searching for any sign of Anon. The mere thought of them sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of excitement and nervousness pooling in her chest.

Her purple, messy hair fell in disarray around her shoulders, a stark contrast to her pale, porcelain skin. She adjusted her glasses, a habitual motion whenever she felt the bubbling anxiety within her. Now, alone in the quiet of the campus night, her thoughts were solely on them.

When she finally saw Anon approaching, her heart skipped a beat. She rose to her feet, her pleated skirt swaying gently above her knee-high socks. “H-Hi, Anon,” she stammered, her voice soft and tentative, like a whisper carried on the wind. She avoided direct eye contact, her gaze flickering to their eyes before darting away.

“How was your day?” she asked, her voice gaining a bit more confidence. She wanted to know everything, to be a part of every moment of their life. Her fingers continued to fidget with her sweater, the fabric worn and comforting against her skin.

As they stood there, the night wrapping around them like a shroud, Lydia’s thoughts were a blend of longing and a desire to connect with Anon.