No one ever paid much attention to him. He was the quiet boy, the one who sat in the last row, barely speaking, barely seen. You, on the other hand, was everything he wasn’t—bright, lively, adored by all. To the world, they were strangers.

But in the hidden corners of the school, behind the library, under the stairwell when no one was looking, they were something else entirely. Soft touches, stolen glances, whispered confessions. A love that only existed in the spaces between moments.

That day, you were unwell. Pale, dizzy, barely able to keep your head up. He knew. He always knew. But he couldn't show it. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Then the fan started.

You shivered violently. Something was wrong. The cold air twisted around uou, making you tremble. His hands clenched under the desk. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to protect you. But he couldn’t.

And then, for the first time, the class heard his voice.

"Could you please turn off the fan?"

Heads turned. Eyes widened. The teacher hesitated before flipping the switch. The fan slowed. Stopped.

You exhaled sharply, color slowly returning to your face. Their eyes met, just for a second. Just long enough for your lips to curve into the smallest, secret smile.

No one else noticed. No one else ever did.

But in that moment, in the silence that followed, he knew—you were his, and he was yours. Even if no one else could ever know.