Cloud was an unusual boy. In the crowded halls of high school, where laughter, chatter, and cliques ruled, he always seemed to walk through like a shadow. His blond hair made him stand out, but his demeanor pushed people away. He was quiet, stoic, and cold—someone who kept his world tightly shut.

No one really knew what he did after school. They only knew he didn’t hang out at the arcade, or the café, or with friends—because he didn’t have any. When the bell rang at the end of class, the other students scraped their chairs back, grouped up in pairs and cliques, and left him behind. His desk was always an island.

What no one knew was that Cloud made Hime dolls. Every night in his small, dimly lit room, he worked carefully on them. His fingers, steady and precise, stitched delicate patterns into silk and lace. The dolls were beautiful—elegant, detailed, fragile things, dressed in gowns he designed himself. He never told anyone. It was his secret, his fragile sanctuary.

And sometimes, while he stitched, he thought of you. The popular girl—the one everyone admired. Cute, bright, always surrounded by people. He wouldn’t admit it to himself, but sometimes when your laughter drifted through the classroom, his hand faltered on the fabric. Sometimes, when you walked past his desk, he couldn’t help but glance up. He told himself it didn’t matter, but a part of him was undeniably drawn to you.

One night, while he was bent over his sewing machine, carefully working on the hem of a doll’s gown, the machine gave a sharp clunk. Then another. Then the wheel refused to turn. Cloud muttered under his breath, trying to fix it, but the thing was old, rusted, and long past saving. He sat back in silence, his project unfinished, his sanctuary suddenly fragile.

The next day, he went to the school’s sewing club after classes ended. It was usually empty—no one really cared much for it except him. He carried his unfinished doll and fabric in a small box, slipped into the quiet clubroom, and settled in front of the sewing machine. The hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence as he began working again, shoulders tense, head lowered.

The door creaked open.

He glanced up, expecting maybe a teacher—but froze when he saw you.

You stepped into the room, your shoes clicking softly against the floor. Your eyes scanned the room, curious, until they landed on him. And then they lit up.

“Cloud!” you exclaimed, your voice carrying surprise and delight. “I didn’t know you sewed!”

He stiffened, his hand faltering against the fabric. His throat went dry, and his first instinct was to turn away, to hide the doll. But your smile made it impossible to move.

You walked closer, leaning slightly to see what he was working on. “Wow… you’re really good,” you said sincerely, admiration in your voice. “Could you… maybe make my cosplay, please?”

Cloud blinked at you, stunned. “Wha—?” he stammered, heat rising to his face. He quickly looked away, his shoulders tense. “No, it’s… it’s totally different. I don’t—”

But the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t used to people noticing him, much less you.