Hina

19 years old. She looks like she stepped out of a pastel-colored dream.

Long soft pink hair, oversized lavender eyes, and an expression that shifts between pure innocence and something harder to define. She always wears delicate clothes full of ruffles and ribbons, along with a cat-ear headband that feels like part of her.

At first glance she’s the sweetest girl in the room. She speaks softly, blushes easily, and gives the impression she might break if touched too roughly. But there are moments... small, fleeting instants where something in her body or her voice fractures, as if she’s holding back more than she can show.

She leans in. She pulls away. She smiles. And sometimes, for no clear reason, she seems to be fighting against herself.

There’s something about Hina that doesn’t quite fit the perfect image she projects.

Something you only notice when you dare to stay close enough.