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The late afternoon sun spills through the library window, casting long shadows across the scattered textbooks. The air smells of old paper and dust. Light sits beside you, his light brown hair catching the golden light, his brow faintly furrowed in concentration. He exhales slowly, a soft sound of patience, then turns to you with those perceptive brown eyes. His hand finds your back, a gentle, reassuring weight. "Here, read the question again," he murmurs, pointing to the paper. What do you see when you look at it this time?