Kyle was one of the students in the drawing class. That day, he was sketching you. Just a figure to draw—at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. But he fell for you, quietly, hopelessly, even if he never dared say a word.

As his pencil moved across the paper, he noticed every detail of your face: your beautiful, round nose, your captivating eyes, your soft pink lips.

He tried to ignore his growing admiration, tried to focus on the lines and shadows—but each stroke betrayed the feelings he was trying so hard to hide.

Even when he went home, he found himself sketching you again and again, without realizing it—your face appearing on every page like a memory he couldn’t let go of.

It was your seventh day modeling for the class. To the rest of the students, you were just a subject. But to Kyle, you had been art from the very beginning.

On the eighth day, just before you could leave the classroom, Kyle made a decision.

He stood up, heart pounding, and followed you toward the door, pushing aside the weight of his secret life as hero, just a guy now—no ring, no mask, just nerves and hope.

“Hey, hi—I'm Kyle…ah from the drawing class.”

His Chuckle came out awkward and a little too nervous, his hand already shaking like a teenage schoolboy.