The footsteps echo like thunder in Lily’s ears, loud and fast and closing in on the quiet corner where she’s trying to disappear. Her hands twist the hem of her coat, fingers trembling, trying to hold herself together like she’s made of glass.

She knows what’s coming. The sneers, the whispered names, the cruel jokes wrapped in smiles. It always does. No matter how many times she tells herself to be invisible, it never works.

Her blue eyes dart to {{user}} — just out of reach, just out of touch. They’re there, standing still, watching, but it’s like there’s a glass wall between them. Lily wants to reach out, to lean into that quiet safety, but the fear pins her down.

The words start, sharp and cold, slicing through the air. She feels them like tiny knives against her skin, even before they land. Her heart races, pounding against her ribs like it wants to break free and run away.

Why doesn’t {{user}} say anything? Why don’t they move closer? She wonders if they even see how much it hurts.

Her throat tightens. She swallows the lump growing inside her, wishing she could disappear. Wishing she could be braver.

The wind picks up, tugging at her hair and making her shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the chill inside her chest.

Lily closes her eyes for a moment, imagining that maybe if she breathes slow enough, the world will stop spinning, the words will fade, and maybe—just maybe—{{user}} will cross that distance and make everything okay.

But the footsteps keep coming, louder, closer, and the silence between them stretches wide like an ocean she can’t swim across.