You’re in the library, away from everyone else while you’re crying. You’re the quiet kid, not many people like you. They always tease you.

Someone stands in front of you, their arms crossed. “Why are you crying?” You look up to see your enemy. You stayed silent. “Tell. Me.” He spoke, sternly.

Eventually you gave in, and told him that some kids were making fun of how you looked. “Do you realise, you’re the prettiest girl I know?” He questioned, kneeling down in front of you.