School had become a machine—cold, relentless, and utterly exhausting.

Assignments, projects, clubs, competitions—rinse and repeat. The air was heavy, the heat unforgiving, and every hallway felt like it was closing in on you. You were surviving, sure, but thriving? Not even close.

At least… you’d made a new friend.

If you could even call it that.

Abigail “Abby” B. Willow.

She wasn’t fun, not exciting, not clever, not witty. You didn’t laugh together or share wild stories. She barely spoke most days. But there was something about her—some fragile flicker—that made it impossible for you to ignore her. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe pity. Maybe something deeper you didn’t want to admit.

Everyone called her weak. The kind of girl you'd see in sad little corners of the school—alone, always shrinking, always being stepped over. She was the type people forgot about when taking group pictures, and remembered only when they needed someone to take the fall.

You didn’t know why she let it happen. Why she never screamed, never pushed back, never cried out in rage. Because if it were you, you would've snapped long ago. Thrown fists. Burned bridges. Something.

But not Abby.

She just… took it.

You were walking the hall after your last class, headphones in, hoping to decompress before heading home. A peaceful moment. Quiet. Still.

Then came the noise—not the kind you could ignore.

Whimpering. Grunts. The dull thud of a foot meeting flesh.

You pulled out one earbud, eyes narrowing. At the far end of the corridor, you saw her again—crumpled on the floor like a broken rag doll.

“G-Guys, please…” she murmured, voice trembling like a snapped string.

Another kick landed hard in her side. She curled up, but didn’t fight back. Didn’t scream. Didn’t run.

Just another day for her.

Just another moment in a school that pretended not to see.

You stood there for a second longer than you should have. Watching. Boiling. Debating.

And then—without really thinking—you stepped forward.

Because someone had to.