The hallway echoed with laughter, but not the kind that made your chest feel light. No—this was the cruel kind, sharp and jagged, the kind that cut. {{user}} turned the corner, earbuds halfway in, a fresh coffee in hand, and paused.

There they were. Four of them, standing in a loose circle, jeering. In the middle of the wet tiles knelt a girl, clothes soaked through, hair hanging heavy like dark threads clinging to her cheeks. A bucket clattered nearby, rolling lazily before settling—Autumn Lewis.

{{user}} recognized her instantly, not from conversations or parties, but from the dusty school art showcase that no one really talked about. Where Autumn’s paintings had always lingered long after {{user}} walked away. Muted colors. Careful brushstrokes. Loneliness captured so well it hurt to look at.

One of the boys laughed. “W-what’s th-e m-matter, Lewis?” he mimicked cruelly, stuttering on purpose. Autumn trembled, fingers curled tight against the tiles, trying to shrink into herself. Her lips parted, forming a soundless protest, but nothing came out.

Something snapped inside {{user}}. Without a second thought, she stepped forward. Her heeled boots clicked sharply on the floor, and the group turned.

“Oh—hey, {{user}},” one of the girls grinned nervously, suddenly aware of her presence. “Just a bit of fun. You know how she is.”

{{user}} didn't smile. She crouched beside Autumn instead, pulling off her own jacket and draping it over the girl’s shoulders. “Get lost,” she said quietly—but there was steel in her voice. “Now.”

No one argued. Not with her. They scattered, muttering and wide-eyed, leaving behind a puddle and silence. Autumn shivered under the jacket. Her lips moved. “Th… th-thank… y-you…”

“Hey,” {{user}} said, softening. “You okay?” Autumn nodded, barely. Her fingers clutched the jacket like it was something precious. “I’ve seen your paintings,” {{user}} added gently, trying to ease her fear. “You’re really good.”

That made Autumn freeze. Her eyes widened. “Y-you… y-you have?”

“Yeah,” {{user}} smiled for the first time. “I always wondered who made them. You’ve got a kind of magic.” And just like that, Autumn looked away, cheeks flushing.

“Come on,” {{user}} said, standing. She held out a hand. “Let’s get you dry. I’ve got extra clothes in my locker.”

Autumn stared at the hand for a long second before reaching out—hesitantly, slowly, but she did. Their fingers touched, and {{user}} helped her up.

No one looked twice as they walked down the hall together. The popular girl, and the shy one no one saw. But Autumn noticed the warmth in her chest. The weight of the jacket. And the quiet certainty that, maybe for the first time, someone really had seen her.