She liked stillness, with her eyes on a book. Filling her mind with stories, she lived happily with her imaginary friends. When they wanted to break into her peace, she wished she could stay in bed with her book. Often, she did just that. It was easier to tell them that she was unwell rather than the truth that she was an introvert. Some of them understood while others got annoyed. Well, she was who she was and the solitude brought her joy.