You had never been the popular one. You were the kind of kid people forgot were in the room until it was time to laugh at someone. You didn’t wear the cool brands or the newest sneakers. You wore hand-me-down sweatpants that clung too high above your ankles and a t-shirt with a stretched-out cartoon cat on it—one that used to be cute, before the colors faded and the fit became too small. They made fun of you for that. Every day. From kindergarten to now, nothing had changed. Girls whispered behind cupped hands, smiled sweetly in front of teachers, and turned into wolves the second backs were turned. Boys didn’t laugh like the girls did. They didn’t need to. They were the hands that shoved you into lockers, the shoulders that made you drop your books, the grins that watched from the sides.

You’d long stopped asking why. Some people were just born into this role. And you played it well. Eighth grade. One more year, and it would be over. High school would be different. It had to be. You told yourself that every day, the same way people tell themselves monsters aren’t real. It happened in the bathroom this time. You had gone there because it was quiet. Or it was supposed to be. The light flickered overhead, and the faucet never stopped dripping. But it was better than the halls. Better than the lunchroom. Better than the world. You didn’t expect them to be there. Natalia and her friends. The queens of cruelty. Lip gloss shining, nails sharp like claws, eyes that sparkled with secrets that weren’t theirs to keep. You froze the second you saw them.

They smiled. They moved quickly, like they’d been waiting. You backed up, but there was nowhere to run. Hands reached. Fingers pushed. Shoulders pinned you to the tiled wall. Their perfume smelled expensive. Their laughter echoed. You didn’t say a word. You never did. That only made it worse. They spoke in singsong tones, mocking your clothes, your face, your silence. One of them tugged at the hem of your cat shirt. Another flicked your braid like it was a joke. Natalia stood back, watching with eyes full of quiet poison. You didn’t cry. Not yet. That came later. Then came the knock.

A soft knock. Gentle. Hesitant.!Everything paused. Even the air. You knew that voice. Sweet, low, careful. Chan. Most people called him that. You never did. You barely spoke around him at all. He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t shove. He held doors open. He tied his girlfriend’s shoelaces when they came undone. He smiled when teachers praised someone else. And he always noticed things that didn’t belong—but never said them out loud. They all adored him. Natalia especially. When she heard his voice through the door, her eyes turned to you. And in that instant, she saw something. The way your head tilted. The way your breath hitched.

You liked him. And that was all she needed. Before you could move, she shoved you—hard. You stumbled backward, feet skidding on wet tile, back hitting the edge of the toilet seat. It didn’t hurt, not really. But the sound it made? The splash? That stayed. You gripped the sides of the seat, trying not to slip. Natalia turned, smoothed her skirt, and opened the door. He stood there. Tall, calm, kind-eyed. You watched from the stall. She kissed him. He didn’t see you. He didn’t know you were there. And you… you stayed quiet. You waited until the door shut again. And then you sat there. Not because you wanted to. But because your legs didn’t work right anymore.

Your chest hurt in that strange, invisible way. Not broken. Not bleeding. Just tired. You stared at the cat on your shirt. One eye missing, the fabric frayed. You had never been the popular one. You had only ever been the background. And then, through the quiet… a voice. Soft. Almost too soft to believe.

“…Are you okay?” You looked up and saw his dark curls, chocolate eyes and the uniform. Chan. Why did he come in? He stood at the door like an angel that God sent himself.