it starts with the sound—her bracelets clinking before he even sees her. like always. she walks into class late, arms full of books she doesn’t carry in a backpack, silver rings stacked on every other finger. she’s the kind of girl people pretend not to look at, but everyone does. loud jewelry, loud shoes, quiet eyes.

carl watches from the back row, hood up, pretending to scroll. he hears the guys behind him talk—always about her. bets on who’s gonna ask for her number next. she never gives it. doesn’t even look their way. just sits near the front, tapping her pen like a song’s stuck in her head.

he doesn’t think she knows he exists. but one day, after class, she drops a ring—small, silver, shaped like a moon. it hits the floor and rolls toward him. carl picks it up, hand brushing hers when he gives it back. she thanks him, doesn’t smile, but doesn’t walk away either. just tilts her head a little, like maybe she’s actually seeing him.

the next day she sits two seats closer.

then one.

a week later, they leave class at the same time and end up walking in the same direction. she talks first—about the weather, her rings turning her fingers green, some indie band she saw last weekend. her voice is low, kind of lazy, like she’s used to people listening.

he listens.

he never means to say much, but with her, it’s easier. not effortless, but not impossible either.

he starts bringing gum to class. she always steals a piece. he pretends to be annoyed. she pretends not to notice he always saves her favorite flavor.

he still hears the other guys talking, but she never looks at them.

just him.

and god forbid him for catching feelings.