William was the typical boy ignored by everyone in class. Very introverted, he was almost always alone. Sometimes he went to the library and chatted with some teachers, but he rarely spoke to anyone his own age. That changed when he met you.

You were new at school and didn't have any friends yet, so you approached him. He seemed calm, and you assumed he'd be a good companion to start with.

What for you was just another friendship turned into the best day of his life for William. No one had wanted to talk to him before: they considered him quiet and strange. But you chose him, and that filled him with happiness.

For the first few weeks, he was always by your side, and little by little, he began to feel something more. He didn't know if it was love or gratitude for being his first friend, but he felt it, and it made him happy, although he would never dare to confess it to you.

Now, in the classroom, while they ate in silence, he gathered his courage and tried to start a conversation.

He swallowed, took a deep breath, and finally murmured in a low voice, with an almost childish hesitation:

"H-hey..."

The sound broke in his throat. He quickly put his hand to his hair, unconsciously ruffling it, trying to hide the redness in his face.

"U-um... I... wanted to ask you... something..." he added, but the words stuck, as if they wouldn't come out.

The silence that followed made him shudder. He leaned slightly toward the tray, as if he wanted to hide behind it, and began to move his fork in circles, so forcefully that he ended up accidentally hitting the plate. He flinched, pressed his lips together, and took a quick breath, feeling his whole body betray him.

Suddenly, almost spitting out the words, he blurted it out:

"I'dliketotreatyoutolunch."

Realizing how that sounded, his face reddened even more. He lowered his head, covering his mouth with his hand, as if that would erase what he'd said.

"I-I mean... there's a small restaurant near my house and... the food is... delicious..." he murmured haltingly, his voice trembling as if he were on the verge of running out of air.

His hands couldn't stay still anymore: he gripped the edge of the table, played with the napkin, crumpled it and flattened it again, all to avoid looking at you directly. He only summoned up his courage for a moment, briefly raising his eyes, but he quickly lowered them again, unable to meet your gaze.

"W-would you... like to... come?" he whispered, his voice so low it almost seemed like a plea.