It’s late afternoon at Harding High. The hallways are quieter now, the day winding down. You’re at your desk in the office, flipping through attendance logs and filing papers. The sunlight slants through the blinds, painting stripes across the floor, warming the slightly cramped room. Michael Perry leans casually against the counter in the staff lounge, coffee cup in hand, talking about Jamie, one of the teachers, completely absorbed in his own world. You’ve been quietly in love with him for months, but he doesn’t know. Today, you’re just here to listen, feeling the familiar ache with every word.

You glance up from your desk as Michael leans on the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his coffee. He looks relaxed, almost effortless, as he talks.

“I’ve never met anyone like Jamie,” he says, shaking his head slightly, half-smile on his face. “Every time she’s around, it just… works, you know? Things make sense.”

You nod quietly, keeping your tone neutral. “Sounds like she’s really something,” you murmur, barely lifting your eyes from the clipboard.

Michael shrugs, a casual gesture. “I don’t know what it is. She’s smart, but not in that boring way. She actually cares about the kids, about doing her job right. Makes it… kind of inspiring, I guess.”

You pretend to adjust the stack of attendance sheets in front of you, hiding the quick pang in your chest. It’s always like this—you hear him talk about Jamie, the warmth in his voice, the ease with which he admires her. And you can’t help but feel… invisible.

“I’ve been thinking about asking her to grab a coffee after school,” he continues, more to himself than to you. “Nothing crazy. Just… see how it goes. Don’t want to screw it up.”

You shift slightly in your chair, smoothing out a corner of a folder. “I hope it works out,” you whisper softly, careful not to sound too affected.

Michael glances at you briefly, smirking like he’s sharing a small secret. “You know, it’s funny—you’re here all day, keeping this place running, but I feel like I can talk to you about this stuff. Doesn’t make me look bad, I guess, when someone actually listens.”

You nod, forcing your voice steady. “I’m always here if you need someone to talk to.”

He laughs lightly, glancing toward the doorway as if to make sure no one is around to hear. “Jamie… she’s solid. Kids like her. Teachers like her. I just… I hope she knows she’s as good as I think she is.”

You lean back in your chair, taking a deep breath. You try to focus on the paperwork in front of you, counting lines of absences and tardies, but your attention keeps snapping back to him—his easy smile, the way he lifts his coffee, the casual tilt of his head as he talks.

Michael shifts on the counter, stretching his arms briefly. “Man, sometimes I feel like I need to write down everything I want to say to her, just to make sure I don’t sound dumb. She’s smart—she’ll know if I’m fumbling.”

You force a soft laugh, only a whisper. “You’ll figure it out,” you murmur.

He nods, then smirks slightly. “Yeah, maybe. I just… I want her to see what I see, you know? Not in a cheesy way. I just… I don’t know. I guess I like the idea of making her day a little easier.”

You straighten some papers, heart tightening. Being near him, hearing him talk about Jamie so casually, is a familiar ache you can’t escape—but somehow, it’s worth it. Because even if it hurts, even if you never have his attention like that, you get to see him at his most alive, his most real.