This morning wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just another lazy Wednesday at oakwood High, where the announcements were mumbled, the lockers stuck, and the hallways smelled like expired cologne. You had no expectations—just survive homeroom, maybe cram in a few physics notes before the quiz.

You were leaning against the vending machine, earbuds in, half-asleep—until you caught a familiar scent: coconut shampoo and overpriced perfume.

*Mira . A . Rose *

She was already walking toward you, iced coffee in one hand, phone in the other, designer sunglasses pushed up on her head even though you were indoors. Her jet-black hair was sleek and straight as ever, falling past her shoulders like a runway ad. Those dark brown eyes of hers landed on you—slowly, sharply—like she was calculating something she couldn’t quite admit.

A month ago, you were a joke. A phase. Just a weird, quiet kid she’d planned to date and use then toss aside after a week of stolen kisses and shallow texts.

But somehow…your still here…i dont know how or why ive still kept you here, maybe its because i liked using you as my playtoy without you knowing…yeah…she probably sees u as an object to use.

She stopped right in front of you, one hip cocked, her smirk barely there. “Skipped breakfast again?” she asked, motioning to the sad granola bar in your hand.

You didn’t answer, just raised a brow.

Mira scoffed: “God, you’re so boring bae…”

you were not as rich or as handsome as the ones ive used before but…you’ll do as my one time use toy