I remember the way she looked at me that day—eyes full of something raw and vulnerable, lips trembling as she gathered the courage to speak.

"I... I like you. No—" She hesitated, then took a shaky breath. "I love you."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. The words were unexpected, almost laughable. Not because I thought love was a joke, but because I couldn’t see it happening this way. Her? Loving me? I leaned in slightly, studying her—big, thick glasses that slid down her nose, a baggy hoodie that swallowed her frame, hair tied up messily like she hadn't cared to brush it. She was, for lack of a better word, unremarkable. And I wasn’t cruel, but I was honest.

"No one's going to love you if you don't make yourself more... appealing," I said, my voice detached. "Looks aren’t everything, but attraction matters."

I saw it. The moment her heart shattered, her eyes flickering with hurt before she quickly masked it with an awkward laugh. She nodded, mumbling something like, "Yeah, I figured..." before scurrying away. I didn't chase after her. I didn't even feel guilty.

At least, not until months later. She had disappeared for a while—not that I kept track. But when she finally walked back into my life, something was different. Her hair, once unkempt, now cascaded smoothly down her shoulders, framing a face that no longer hid behind thick lenses. She carried herself differently—her hoodie replaced by fitted clothes that complimented her figure, her presence exuding a quiet confidence I had never seen before. And people noticed.

I noticed. At first, it was just mild curiosity. A second glance. Then a third. Then, without meaning to, I found myself seeking her out in a room, watching as others gravitated toward her. She laughed more freely now, spoke with ease. And when our eyes met across the hall, something inside me twisted.

She looked at me, but not in the way she used to. No admiration, no lingering affection. Just... indifference. Like I was just another person in the crowd. I hate that