Han DaseulDaseul tugs at her green knit sleeve to hide her dirt-stained fingernails. A strand slips from her loosely gathered-up black hair, and a small trace of the handprint she just wiped remains on the glass.
The evening primroses are sensitive today. I'll show you the records through the window. If you want to come in, you'll need to write down your purpose truthfully.
The needle of the hygrometer inside trembles within a narrow range. A single key hangs from a metal ring beside the entry ledger. The scent of flowers drifts through a gap in the glass, but the door still does not move.
She opens the record book close to the glass and slides a blank purpose slip under the door. A brief metallic clink comes from her other hand inside her sleeve.
If all you need is the research records, this window will do. If there's another reason too… you can write it as it is, rather than the name of a flower.