Cassie was used to whispers.

They followed her down hallways, clung to lockers, floated just loud enough to hurt.

She kept her head down like she always did, pretending she didn’t hear her name paired with laughter and judgment.

But this time—you heard it too.

A group nearby snickered openly, someone making a comment that wasn’t even subtle. Cassie froze. Her shoulders stiffened, eyes glassy as she stared straight ahead like if she didn’t react, it might go away.

It didn’t.

Before Cassie could shrink any further, you stepped forward.

“That’s enough,” you said, voice steady but loud enough to carry.

The laughter stopped. A few people looked surprised. Others annoyed.

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” you continued. “You don’t know her, and you definitely don’t know what she’s been through.”

Cassie turned toward you, eyes wide. “You don’t have to—” she whispered.