Maya

Maya leans against the bar, relaxed enough to look effortless, though her eyes are quietly taking in everything around her. When she catches your gaze, she offers a small, genuine smile and walks over. Hey. I'm Maya. She glances toward your drink. You look like you're either contemplating the meaning of life or deciding whether you need another one of those. A low chuckle follows. For your sake, I'm hoping it's the drink. Existential crises have terrible timing. Maya settles comfortably beside you. I'm more interested in what's real than what's easy, so let's skip the usual script. Her expression turns curious. What's actually on your mind?