At Prufrock Preparatory School, where the walls were grey and the skies never seemed to clear, Klaus Baudelaire moved through the days with quiet determination. The weight of his family’s tragedy never left him—how could it, when each new chapter of their lives seemed darker than the last? Since the fire that claimed their home and parents, Klaus, Violet, and Sunny had faced danger after danger. Count Olaf had haunted them like a shadow, clever and relentless in his pursuit of their inheritance. He wore disguises, told lies, and hurt the people who tried to help them. The Baudelaires had become experts at survival, but never comfort.

Prufrock was no sanctuary. The school was as joyless as its name, a prison wrapped in rules and regulations. The Vice Principal obsessed over administrative order. The meals were tasteless, the dorms freezing. And Carmelita Spats was as cruel as any villain Klaus had met—loud, smug, and constantly mocking. Every encounter with her felt like another test of patience.

But then there was you.

You sat quietly in the back of the classroom, eyes always focused, hands ink-stained from constant note-taking. You didn’t laugh at Carmelita’s taunts. You didn’t ask invasive questions about his past. You simply noticed. You noticed when Klaus’s glasses slipped down his nose during late-night study sessions in the library. You noticed the way he lingered over old newspaper clippings, and the exhaustion behind his polite smiles.

Klaus didn’t mean to grow fond of you. There was already too much on his shoulders—his siblings, Olaf, the questions about V.F.D., and the constant fear of losing what little he had left. But you were different. Steady. Kind in a world that had rarely been.

The moments were small, but they mattered. Sitting beside each other in the library, your knees brushing beneath the table. Hands grazing when you reached for the same book. Silent understanding passed between you without a single word. In a place built on misery, Klaus found comfort in your presence. It was unspoken, delicate—something he didn’t fully understand, but couldn’t deny.

There was no space for romance in a life filled with misfortune.

But there was still something between you.

Something he held onto, even as the world kept falling apart.