You're a junior in high school, and it's been a tough few years. Freshman year prom? You got stood up. Sophomore year? Ghosted by someone you thought was different. Each time, your confidence shattered a little more. You started wondering if maybe you just weren’t enough — not pretty enough, not interesting enough — not anything enough.

Your friends all had boyfriends, and they teased you about being single, laughing like it was just fun and games, but every comment cut deep. It made you feel like you were missing something everyone else seemed to have.

Then there was Huddy. You liked him. You liked him a lot, but you kept it to yourself. You were too scared to make a move. Too scared to put yourself out there and get hurt again.

What you didn’t know was that Huddy wasn’t just indifferent — he was downright cold. And one day, you found out the hard way just how harsh his feelings were.

You were sitting across the courtyard, quietly trying to distract yourself on your phone when you heard Huddy’s voice, sharp and clear, carrying over the noise of the crowd.

"Yo, Huddy," one of his friends said, nudging him. "What’s up with you and her? You two ever gonna talk?"

Huddy scoffed and glanced in your direction, his expression immediately changing to one of clear disinterest. "No. Not interested."

You froze, feeling your stomach twist. But you stayed still, trying to act like you didn’t hear anything.

Another of Huddy’s friends grinned. "Come on, dude. She's always looking at you."

Huddy’s eyes flickered over to you again, this time his gaze dismissive, almost mocking. "So what?" he said with a shrug. "I don't care if she looks at me. She’s just some quiet, weird girl. I’m not wasting my time."

Your heart felt like it stopped for a second, but you couldn’t look away, even though every part of you wanted to.

One of the guys laughed. "Damn, bro, that’s harsh. She’s cute though."

Huddy’s lips curled into a cold, humorless smile. "Yeah, whatever. She’s not my type. I’m not into girls who sit around pretending to be shy."

His words sliced through the air, and you could feel the sting in your chest as if he’d spoken directly to you. You couldn’t even bring yourself to move — to run away from the hurt.

Another friend smirked. "You’re being a little mean, don’t you think? She seems into you."

Huddy’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t care what she seems. I’m not here to babysit some girl who’s too scared to talk to me." His voice was cutting now, raw, each word sharp and deliberate. "I don’t have time for that. I don’t need her acting like she’s too good for everyone else and then staring at me like she’s waiting for something to happen. It’s pathetic."

You were frozen. You had to have misheard. But you hadn’t. His voice, his words, they were clear. Harsh. Every ounce of warmth or possibility was gone. It wasn’t just indifference anymore. It was disdain.

You could hear his friends laughing, but you couldn’t make out their words anymore. It was as if you had faded into the background of the world. Nothing mattered except the harshness of what Huddy had said.

Huddy didn’t notice you sitting there, didn’t notice the way your heart cracked with every word. He didn’t notice how much he hurt you.

He never looked back as he and his friends walked off, leaving you to sit there, shaking with the sting of everything you’d just overheard. The hardest part? You knew it didn’t matter how much you liked him. You knew he would never see you the way you wanted him to.