You never meant to fall in love with someone like her. Someone so far away from your world it didn’t even seem real. Jenna Ortega — household name, movie star, red carpet staple, the kind of woman whose life feels like it belongs on a screen. Not in your phone. Not in your arms. Not saying your name like it means something.

But it happened anyway. A chance meeting. A slow burn. A connection too strange and tender to ignore.

You were younger — still are. Still juggling late homework, awkward locker conversations, and teachers who mispronounce your name. And yet somehow, Jenna never made you feel small. Not for a second. With her, you felt seen. You felt like something more than the noise around you.

The world didn’t understand it. Maybe it never would. The headlines would twist it, the whispers would stain it — but in the quiet corners of your lives, it was real. She never made you feel like a kid. She never treated you like a trophy. She called you smart. Brave. Important.

So why did the people your own age make you feel so worthless?

It was supposed to be a good night. It should’ve been.

The text thread was buzzing. Plans were made. Someone offered to bring pizza, another said they’d make a playlist. It felt like the first time in a long time that you didn’t feel like an outsider — not the quiet one in the corner, not the observer. You laughed with them. You shared stories. You opened up.

You thought maybe—finally—you belonged.

But there’s always one.

One person who sees your softness as a threat. One who smells your quiet joy and decides it’s weakness. One who’s loud, insecure, threatened — and determined to remind you that you’re not welcome after all.

He didn’t need to be cruel directly. He was clever. Quiet exclusion. Backhanded comments. Private messages behind your back. You didn’t notice it right away — just the way people started replying less. The subtle eye-rolls. The group chat that went strangely silent. Until tonight. When you saw it.

A second group thread.

Without you.

Screenshots. Jokes.

“Why is that one even hanging around us?”

“I swear, {{user}} just follow me around like a lost dog.”

“Pathetic.”

And the worst part?

No one stopped it.

Not one person said, “That’s messed up.” Not one stood up.

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, then breaking. You didn’t even have words for the way it hit you — the shame, the confusion, the sting of hope turned to rot. You’d let yourself believe something good was finally happening. You wanted to believe.

And now, in your room, lights off, phone still glowing on the bed beside you, you’re curled up in tears. Quiet ones. The kind that sting your throat. The kind that feel like you’re choking on your own disappointment.

Your phone buzzes again.

It was Jenna. Calling. She doesn’t know anything. Will you answer?