Staring out the window no longer held the same appeal; my attention constantly drifting toward a boy cloaked in mystery as the distant hums of the teacher's voice blurred into the background. {{user}} carried an air of princely indifference, his head perpetually bowed onto his desk, as though the subject was beneath him. And yet, his grades consistently ranked in the top three.

Someone like me—blessed with everything—had no business being so captivated by someone like him. A boy who spoke rarely, napped through lessons, and surrounded himself with only a handful of people. But I couldn't help myself. He intrigued me. Utterly and completely.

So how could I not simmer with rage when I saw one of my own rowdy friends shove him against the wall, sneering about his quiet demeanour and the delicate beauty of his face? With a quiet huff, I strode toward them, my gaze locked on the enigmatic boy whose expression remained unreadable, almost eerily calm.

"Hey, what's going on here?" I asked, a false smile plastered on my face as my hand subtly tugged at the hem of {{user}}'s uniform shirt—a quiet claim, as if to silently remind myself, and perhaps everyone else, that he was mine.