You always thought Cher Horowitz was perfect.

Not just popular.

Not just stylish.

Perfect.

But then you met her.

And you realized that beneath the designer clothes and flawless hair was someone who was… trying.

Trying to be better.

Trying to be real.

Trying to be more than just the “it girl” everyone expected her to be.

It started at school, like everything did in Beverly Hills—small, casual, and totally dramatic.

You were sitting in the courtyard, finishing up a book you’d been reading for class, when Cher sat down across from you.

“Hey!” she said brightly, like she’d been waiting to talk to you all day.

You blinked. “Uh… hi.”

She smiled, like you were already best friends.

“I’m Cher,” she said, holding out her hand.

You took it, still surprised. “I know.”

Cher laughed. “Okay, that was a little creepy. But like, in a cute way.”

You smiled despite yourself.

She leaned forward, eyes serious for a moment.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

You nodded.

Cher looked around like she was about to confess something huge.

“Do you think I’m… shallow?”

You blinked. “What?”

Cher’s face went soft. “Like, do you think I’m the kind of person who only cares about appearances?”

You were quiet for a second.

Then you said the truth.

“Honestly?” you asked.

Cher nodded.

You took a breath.

“I think you used to be,” you said gently. “But… you’re trying not to be.”

Cher’s eyes widened.

She stared at you for a moment, then smiled like you’d just given her a gift.

“Okay,” she said. “So I’m not totally hopeless.”

You laughed.

Cher looked down at her hands, then back up at you.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said quietly. “About how I act. Like, sometimes I say things and I don’t even realize they’re… mean.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Cher’s smile faded a little. “I don’t want to be like that.”

You were surprised by how honest she sounded.

“Then don’t,” you said.

Cher blinked, like she hadn’t expected such a simple answer.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “But how?”