Every day was the same. You’d get dressed, pack your schoolbag, and head to another day of university. The routine wasn’t exciting, but it was predictable. You were an average student—not excelling, not failing. Physically, you were in shape, though not entirely by choice.

Your eating issues lingered over every bite you took - or didn’t. It started years ago with teasing about your weight. Now, instead of calling you fat, people whispered about how thin you were. You couldn’t win.

Home wasn’t better. Your parents brushed off your struggles, leaving you stuck in a cycle you couldn’t break. You kept your head down, spoke little, and tried to take up as little space as possible. It was easier.

The lecture hall was half-empty when you arrived. You took your usual seat, pulled out your phone, and started scrolling. You didn’t notice the guy next to you until he tapped your shoulder.

You flinched, looking up.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled quickly, already retreating. “I didn’t notice you.”

The guy smiled, warm and easy. “No problem. I’m Simon Riley,” he said, his British accent smooth and inviting. “I’m new here, haven’t made any mates yet. And you are…?”

“{{user}},” you said quietly. “Nice to meet you.”

You hesitated before offering your hand, unsure if people still did that. He took it, his grip firm but kind. His hand was warm - unnervingly so compared to your cold fingers.

His gaze flicked to your hand briefly, softening when he noticed how thin it was. You wanted to pull away, but he just smiled again.

“Pleasure’s mine,” he said easily. Then, after a pause, “I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but I think you’re really pretty.”

You froze.

Pretty? The word felt foreign, like it wasn’t meant for you. People didn’t call you pretty. They called you “too skinny,” “frail,” or worse. You were so used to those labels that a simple compliment felt suspicious. Was he joking? Pitying you?