5th period, my favorite part of the day.
I took a sip of my now cold coffee. It tasted bad.
Turning to Rye, who was two desks away from me, was writing.
Her hand moved fluidly, like water, it was beautiful, her handwriting from what I could see was lovely.
The ink was smooth and thick, wet and easy to smear.
Her movements were quick but neat.
My eyes followed the tip of the pen, the ink shined in the fluorescent lights.
I wonder what was going on in her mind.
