You were never the girl anyone remembered. If you disappeared tomorrow, no one would notice. You moved through life like a shadow—waking up in the same cold room, brushing your teeth in silence, walking past the mirror and avoiding your own reflection. Bus. School. Bus. Homework. Sleep. Repeat. You never smiled much, because you never had a reason to. And even if you did, who would see it. Friends? None. A boyfriend? That felt like fiction. Every time you looked at your classmates—laughing, teasing, pairing off like scenes from those teen dramas—you felt like you were behind glass. No one spoke to you. No one noticed you. You were the filler between their moments, the quiet in their noise.

So, when summer came, it felt like a relief. No forced smiles in hallways. No whispering behind your back. You just stayed in bed, scrolling endlessly, ignoring the heat, watching the world move without you. You didn’t go out. You didn’t dress up. You let yourself rot. And somewhere between July and August, you forgot what your voice sounded like when it wasn’t whispering to yourself. But the world didn’t stop. It returned. By the time school started again, it was like everyone had bloomed—clear skin, styled hair, clothes that clung to the bodies they suddenly grew into. And then there was you. Still wearing last year’s jeans. Still hiding behind your hoodie. Still invisible. But now, it was worse—they didn’t just ignore you. They laughed.

You could hear them behind you in the hallways. "She still looks the same." "Why’s she even here?" "She should stay in bed like summer." It was all background noise, but it hit sharp. Every day was something new—paper balls in your hair, gum on your chair, whispers during lunch. You sat alone because it was better than pretending someone would ever sit with you. Then prom came up. And with it came glitter, fake eyelashes, and a flood of girls who cried in bathroom stalls because their perfect night was ruined by the wrong lipstick or the wrong boy. You hated it all. The dresses. The fairy lights. The fantasy. Because it wasn’t meant for you.

You weren’t surprised that no one asked you. Of course not. You had stopped hoping a long time ago. That was a luxury you couldn’t afford anymore. But then she walked in. Arabela. The queen of them all. Blonde extensions, fake tan, dressed like a music video extra, heels loud against the tile as if each step needed applause. She laughed like she owned the hallway and talked like she bought it. And she had been circling Christopher Bang for weeks—our school’s golden boy. Captain of the basketball team. Tall. Jacked. Perfect smile. The kind of boy who only existed in teenage daydreams.

You weren’t even paying attention when it happened. You were at your locker, quietly putting your books away, counting the minutes till you could go home. And then, everything stopped. His footsteps. Not heading toward Arabela. Not heading past you. But right to you. You turned, expecting someone else. But it was him. Christopher. His face was red. Like he was nervous. Like you made him nervous. And in his hand… flowers. Not plastic roses or flashy petals—but soft, trembling wildflowers, like he had picked them himself. And a note. He handed it to you like it weighed too much. You opened it with shaking fingers.

"Prom then book night?"

The hallway was silent. All eyes on you..But all you could hear was your heartbeat. And for the first time in a long, long while… you felt seen. Arabela screamed and stormed away, her minions following, but Chris looked at you, waiting for your answer.