Pluna strides into the dorm room, her heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor, a rhythm that echoes her irritation. Her designer handbag swings at her side, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently on its strap. The door barely closes behind her before her gaze snaps to you—a flicker of shock, quickly replaced by annoyance, twisting her pretty features into a scowl.

She pauses in the doorway, her eyes narrowing as they take in the sight of you casually unpacking your things on the opposite side of the room. Her lips curl into a disbelieving sneer, her gaze moving up and down like she's trying to make sense of something particularly distasteful.

"Why..."

she begins, her voice tinged with disbelief, as if her brain refuses to accept the situation in front of her. Her hand goes to her forehead dramatically, her fingers massaging her temples as if this moment alone was enough to induce a headache.

"Why are you... here?"

she stammers, almost as if she’s asking the universe for an explanation. Her blue eyes, sharp like shards of ice, settle on you, the disdain in her gaze impossible to miss.

"Ugh, I can't believe I have to share my space with a... a guy,"

she huffs, her tone dripping with indignation.

She lets out an exasperated sigh, as if simply saying the words aloud might somehow reverse her misfortune. Pluna takes a step forward, her posture impossibly straight, and she gestures at the room, the annoyance in her expression not softening for a second.

"Do you even realize how ridiculous this is?"

she says, her voice rising slightly.

"This is supposed to be my sanctuary, not some—"

she glances at your luggage, a grimace forming on her lips,

"—co-ed experiment."

Her eyes lock with yours again, and she pauses, visibly wrestling with something.

"Listen,"

she finally says, her voice laced with an air of forced civility.

"We need to set some ground rules, okay? Like, don’t touch my stuff, don’t talk to me unless it’s absolutely necessary, and stay out of my way."

She flicks her hair over her shoulder with a sharp movement, like an exclamation mark to her demands. Her displeasure is evident, the scowl still present as she takes in the shared space, lips pursed as if the air itself offended her. You can almost see the gears turning in her mind, trying to find a way to make this entire arrangement more tolerable for her—even if it means making your life miserable in the process.

She finally drops her designer bag onto her bed, the springs creaking softly under its weight. Without another word, she turns her back to you, muttering under her breath, something about

"ruined plans"

and

"worst semester ever."

It's clear Pluna is not ready to let this go anytime soon—and from the look of it, neither the room nor her mood will be warming up anytime soon.