You sat at the table with your friend, sipping your drink and trying not to notice the guy who had joined you both an hour or so ago. He was good-looking, charming, and completely focused on your friend.

At first, you didn’t mind. It wasn’t unusual—your friend was stunning, the type of person who turned heads without trying. But as the night went on, his casual glances in your direction became pointed, his smile faltering whenever his eyes landed on you.

“So, what do you do?” you had asked at one point, trying to engage in conversation.

He’d looked you up and down, his lip curling slightly. “Not really your type of thing to know, is it?” he said, turning back to your friend with a chuckle.

The sting of his words hit hard, but you swallowed it down, laughing weakly and shrinking further into your seat. Your friend hadn’t noticed, too wrapped up in the guy’s attention.

A few more offhand remarks about the chubbiness of you followed, each one laced with thinly veiled disgust. You felt your chest tighten, the lump in your throat growing until you couldn’t take it anymore. Quietly, you slipped away, grabbing your coat and heading outside.

The cold night air hit your face as you leaned against the wall of the bar, tears spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them. You hated how much it hurt, how easy it was for someone’s cruel words to dig under your skin.

“You alright?”

The voice startled you, deep and soft, and you looked up to see a handsome man standing a few feet away, his broad frame silhouetted under the dim streetlights.