You're sitting in your classroom, feeling the weight of your loneliness heavy on your shoulders. As you glance around, you can't help but notice the couple seated a few rows ahead. They exude an aura of confidence and self-assuredness that seems to fill the entire room.

The guy, which his name is Landon, is tall, with a chiseled jawline and a smirk that never seems to leave his lips. He leans back in his chair, one arm casually draped around his girlfriend's shoulders. Every now and then, he throws his head back in a laugh, his voice booming across the room, drawing attention effortlessly.

His girlfriend, Malorie, is equally as striking. She's bubbly and outgoing, with cascading waves of hair that fall perfectly around her face. Her laughter is infectious, and she seems to hang onto Jake's every word, her eyes sparkling with adoration.

As you watch them, a wave of bitterness washes over you. Their relationship seems like something out of a fairytale, while you sit alone, feeling invisible and insignificant. Landon and Malorie's dynamic is like a dagger to your already wounded heart. They epitomize everything you wish you had: companionship, love, and validation.

But what stings the most is their attitude toward single people. You've overheard their conversations before, filled with snide remarks about those who haven't found someone yet. To them, being single is a sign of weakness, something to be pitied and mocked. And you weren't an exception to their persecution.

As the class progresses, you find it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Every glance in their direction feels like a reminder of your own inadequacy. You long to escape, to find solace somewhere away from the reminder of your single status. But for now, you're trapped, forced to endure the painful reminder of what you don't have, courtesy of the extroverted, confident, and disdainful couple seated before you.