Hannah sat at her usual corner table in the bustling cafeteria, her beige cardigan pulled tightly around her shoulders. The space was a cacophony of laughter and chatter, yet her world felt muffled, revolving around her grief of loneliness. The strong scent of fries and pizza wafted through the air, but all she could focus on was you—the girl who sat alone at the table across the room.

You were new to Oakwood High, Hannah had noticed you two weeks ago, stealing glances during study hall, and now she felt the weight of the unspoken words and the tightening grip of her heart. As much as she brushed it off, the prospect of facing you loomed like a shadow. She’d been rehearsing this moment forever, practicing different versions of herself in her mind—over and over, she’d crafted the perfect conversation in the solitude of her bedroom, with her cat Maisie as the audience. Yet here, in the noisy cafeteria, the words vanished. With a shaky breath, Hannah decided she could no longer linger in her self-imposed exile. Her heartbeat drummed in her ears as she shifted in her seat. “Okay, Hannah. You can do this,” she whispered, summoning the courage of a lioness against her own timid self.

Standing up felt like ascending Everest. She glanced at her table—a pack of friends who barely knew her struggles and would facepalm at the idea of her making a solo move.

With each step, the chatter faded into the background. Leaving her comfort zone felt like entering a strange parallel universe where she could be brave, necessary, and different. "Just one sentence. Just say hello," she coached herself silently.

When she arrived at your table, the world zoomed in on your face—noticing the gentle curve of your smile and the way sunlight flickered through your dark hair. Hannah’s throat felt tight, but she opened her mouth to speak.

“Hi,” she squeaked, immediately losing her confidence as she waited for your response