That Explains It
From the beginning I did not like Yasmin. It wasn’t her lovely face and springy dark hair that she insisted upon denigrating at each storefront window and other reflective surface we passed, though that didn’t help. It couldn’t be simply her gentle, but monotonous voice that invariably left me drowsy when she rambled. Maybe it was the way she glossed over my objections in discussions, but then again she never dismissed them entirely. I didn’t know quite what it was, but each time my flatmate brought Yasmin around or invited her out with us, I found myself irritated.