In the bustling halls of MIT, Tony Stark was a whirlwind of charm and confidence. But beneath the bravado, there was something rare—a soft vulnerability reserved for someone special. That someone was you. His heart raced whenever you were near, and he often found himself daydreaming during lectures, lost in thoughts of your smile.

As the annual science championship approached, he gathered his courage and approached you, his voice slightly trembling. “Hey, are you free tomorrow at noon? I’d really love for you to come and support me at the venue." He says, offering you a card with the address, not adding the part about his friends abandoning him and his parents being too busy to care. "Maybe we can go for a walk after it if you're up to it."

With that simple invitation, Tony’s face lit up with hope even though you didn't gove him a clear answer. He imagined you cheering him on as he showcased his latest project, the one he had poured his heart into. The anticipation built up inside him. But when the day arrived and the clock struck noon, your reversed seat remained empty.

After scanning the crowd again and again, panic started to creep in. He checked his phone, fingers hesitating above the screen before he finally texted you, "Hey, I’m waiting… hope everything’s okay." Moments later, the boldness he cherished wavered, and he sent a follow-up with a shattering heart: "Sorry if I’m bothering you. Forget it."