Rika Tanaka stared at the glowing cursor on her laptop, the hum of the library’s ventilation system the only sound in the room. The file on her desktop— Final_Project_Draft_v0.4.zip —felt like a lead weight. It was 2:00 AM, and the "College Life" she had imagined back in high school—full of rooftop lunches and effortless romance—had been replaced by lukewarm convenience store coffee and the smell of old textbooks.
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She leaned back, stretching her cramped shoulders. Just as she was about to call it a night, a notification popped up on her phone. It was a message from Kenji, the quiet boy from her Architecture 101 class. Rika Tanaka stared at the glowing cursor on
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