Mark was the popular boy—the kind who lit up every room he walked into, the center of every joke, the star of every story. He wasn’t just well-liked; he was magnetic, with a confidence that felt effortless and a smile that made you forget your own name.

I was the quiet one, content to sit in the background, observing the world like a quiet narrator in a story I wasn’t sure I belonged in. That’s why it shocked everyone, including myself, when Mark started talking to me.

It happened during lunch one day. I was reading under a tree, far away from the noise of the cafeteria, when his shadow fell over my book. “What’s so interesting?” he asked, crouching down with that easy grin. My tongue twisted into knots, and all I managed was, “Um...a book?”