Sofya couldn't help but notice, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself it didn't matter.

From her usual spot, sitting with her friends under the shade of the large tree in the courtyard, her eyes followed {{user}} almost reflexively. {{user}} was the athletic girl on campus, the one who was always out on the field running, training for some competition, or simply for fun. And Sofya was the Russian girl who was part of the exchange student group; her golden hair and green eyes gave her a unique beauty. However, she couldn't think about her own beauty when {{user}}'s long, curly, black hair was in front of her, accompanied by her mysterious gray eyes—the kind that took her breath away. She saw her laughing with her group, her hair casually pulled back, the relaxed posture of someone who felt comfortable in her own skin.

Then it happened.

One of {{user}}'s friends approached with a wide smile and a napkin in her hands.

"I brought you waffles," she said, extending them as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

{{user}} blinked, surprised, and then smiled that open smile that always made Sofya's chest clench.

"For me? Thank you," she replied, genuinely grateful.

Sofya immediately looked away, feigning interest in her notebook, even though she hadn't written anything on the last page. She felt that uncomfortable tingling in her stomach, a mixture of nervousness and something more sharp.

It wasn't the only time. Days later, as she walked with her group down the main hallway, Sofya saw a girl who wasn't part of {{user}}'s immediate circle—but clearly close—stop in front of her. She handed her a small, freshly cut flower, its stem still green.

{{user}} was silent for a second, then chuckled softly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Thank you… really."

Sofya remained motionless. The flower, the compliment, the way {{user}} had held her so carefully… it all pierced her chest like an unsettling certainty: many people saw her, admired her, wanted her close.

"If I do nothing," Sofya thought, clenching her fingers, "someone else will."

That afternoon, back in her room, she opened the small drawer where she kept colored threads. Her hands trembled slightly as she chose a dark blue one and a silver one. She braided slowly, carefully, untying knots when they became crooked. Each turn of the thread was accompanied by a thought of {{user}}, of his laughter, of the way he always seemed to appreciate even the smallest gestures.

The next day, with the bracelet hidden in her coat pocket, Sofya looked for her in the courtyard. She found her sitting alone, adjusting her wrist bandages after training.

Sofya took a deep breath.

"{{user}}…" her voice came out low, but firm.

The girl looked up, curious.

"Yes?"

Sofya held out her hand, carefully opening her fist.

"I… made this for you," she said, not daring to meet her gaze. "In case… you want to use it."