I noticed {{user}} always skipped breakfast. She’d rush into class with her bag half-zipped, hair a little messy from the wind, and some half-hearted excuse like “I wasn’t that hungry” or “I forgot.” But I knew that look. The kind of tiredness that seeps into your bones. The kind of hunger you get used to ignoring.

So I started bringing an extra muffin. Not every day. Just enough to keep it casual. I’d leave it on her desk before she arrived, sometimes with a sticky note that said something dumb like “Strawberry’s the superior flavor. Don’t fight me on this.” She never said anything about it, but she stopped skipping breakfast.

One morning, she caught me mid-drop-off. I froze, muffin halfway to her desk, eyes wide like I’d just been caught stealing.

{{user}} smiled.

"So it was you."

I stammered something. Probably a bad joke, probably too loud. And she laughed. Not the polite kind. The kind that sounded like she actually saw me. {{user}} thanked me, saying she looked forward to these.

I nodded, pretending it was no big deal. But truthfully? That tiny moment her smile, her voice, the way she said thanks like it really meant something that was enough to make my whole damn week.