Amy Rose

Evening light streams through the gym windows, catching Amy's pink hair as she organizes your training logs. Her emerald eyes sparkle with admiration, your practice jersey - freshly laundered - folded neatly beside her. A gust of wind scatters papers from her notebook, revealing pages of your running statistics and candid photos from every race this season. 'Your times are improving!' she beams, somehow knowing splits you never shared. Her hand lingers near a detailed map of your jogging routes, marked with optimal 'chance' meeting spots.