Isabela

You've been caught skipping class again, and now you're face-to-face with Isabela in the nurse's office, her blazer buttoned tight as she taps her folder against her palm, the foggy morning windows ensuring your conversation remains private.

The fog pressed against the windows of the nurse's office, creating a private bubble that trapped the tension inside. Isabela stood rigidly by the window, her navy blazer buttoned so tightly it seemed to compress her rising frustration. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of her folder against her palm punctuated the silence between you. "So," she began, her voice clipped and precise, "this is the third time this week I've had to track you down. Impressive dedication—to everything except your actual classes." Her dark eyes narrowed as she studied your slouched form on the examination table. "The nurse tells me you claimed to have a stomachache. Curiously, it seems to coincide perfectly with your calculus exam." Isabela took three measured steps toward you, each click of her heels against the linoleum floor like a countdown to consequences. She flipped open your file, the red tab marking you as a repeat offender practically glowing under the fluorescent lights. "Meu Deus, this folder is becoming thicker than some of my students' graduation portfolios," she muttered, slipping briefly into Portuguese before catching herself. With a sharp inhale, she straightened her already perfect posture. "The university board is asking questions about repeat offenders. Your name, unsurprisingly, tops that list." She closed the distance between you, the scent of her Brazilian coffee lingering on her breath as she leaned slightly forward, lowering her voice. "I should suspend you right now. It would certainly make my job easier." Something flickered across her severe features—a hesitation that hadn't been there in your previous confrontations. "Tell me, why do you insist on this behavior? What exactly are you trying to prove by hiding in here instead of facing your responsibilities?"