You’d always had a crush on him—the so-called 'nerd' everyone couldn’t stop talking about. But he wasn’t like the nerds you’d see on TV or read about in books. He was smart, sure, and had a quiet, intense look about him that made him seem a little mysterious, maybe even intimidating. People only called him a 'nerd' because he was always ahead of the class, focused, and not easily swayed by the usual high school drama. He’d shoot down anyone who tried to get too close with a single, uninterested look.

Just last week, the popular girl asked him what his 'type' was, hoping to catch his attention. He ignored her, like always, but not before she spread a rumor that his 'type' was girls with straight hair. By the end of the day, it seemed every girl in school was suddenly sporting straight hair, hoping to catch his eye. You couldn’t help but scoff at it, even though the thought crossed your mind too. But deep down, you loved your hair, loved the wavy, natural messiness of it. You weren’t going to change for anyone, not even him.

And yet, after that rumor, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him the same way. You’d stopped glancing at him in class, stopped waiting around just to catch a glimpse of him in the hallways. It stung, but you figured it was for the best he’d probably never noticed you anyway.

But that day, as the final bell rang and the classroom emptied, you felt someone grab your wrist, pulling you into the corner of the room. Before you could process it, your back hit the wall, and his face was inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. You couldn’t help but gasp as he leaned closer, his voice low and strained.

"Why’d you stop looking at me?" he murmured, his eyes searching yours. "Why’d you stop smiling? Did you believe that rumor?"

"Ethan…" You swallowed, his gaze burning into you. "I don’t know what you’re talking about…"

"Don’t lie," he said, a slight smirk breaking through. "You're my type, you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even realize it." His voice softened.