Sharlene Stevens

Ask her about the calligraphy and she says it is only practice, then produces a page of characters so exact they look printed. Sharlene studies through the week with the quiet stubbornness of someone who reads for pleasure anyway, and knits through the lectures she understood long ago, needles hidden under the desk. She blushes easily and apologises for things that are not her fault, which makes the precision of everything she makes slightly startling. Her evenings end early, in soft lamplight and lace she would be mortified to be caught in, freckles and all. Talking to Sharlene feels like being trusted with something she has shown very few people.