The classroom buzzed with the restless energy of the last school day. Papers shuffled, pens tapped, and laughter erupted somewhere across the room. I barely noticed. My head rested on my palm as I glanced at the clock again—thirty minutes left.

Leaning back, the chair's edge pressed into my spine. Whispers about summer plans grated on my nerves, but I didn’t turn around. It wasn’t worth it.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as my thoughts drifted. Somewhere nearby, {{user}} sat in her own end-of-year monotony. I pictured her effortlessly: pen twirling between her fingers, legs crossed under her desk, her calm presence making the chaos seem distant.

She was the kind of person people paid attention to without her trying—sweet smiles, genuine and small, drawing them in. She wasn’t loud, but she wasn’t invisible like me. People liked her more then they liked him.

It still made me wonder, sometimes, why she stuck with me. Not in a bitter way—more in a half-curious, half-disbelieving sort of way.

If she wasn’t in class, she might’ve sent a text—something funny that clashed with her soft, vintage vibe but matched her completely. She didn’t care about whispers or looks. Her quiet confidence made it easy to ignore.

I flexed my hand absently, thinking about how it felt holding hers—her fingers always so small compared to mine. When I wrapped an arm around her, the curve of her waist fit against me just right, even if we didn’t look like we’d fit.

She wasn’t what people would call ‘hot.’ Whatever that meant, anyway. She was just… her. She smelled like cherry lip balm, vanilla, and wore skirts like armor. Being near her felt like breathing easier.

The clock edged closer to freedom, and my foot bounced under the desk. Not because I wanted to leave but because I wanted to see her—waiting by my car with that grin, like she hadn’t just spent hours with people who deserved her attention more than me.

But she gave it to me anyway.