You were always the quiet one—a background character in everyone’s story. You existed softly, silently—never asking for attention, never needing it. People noticed, maybe, but you never wanted them to. Being unseen felt safer.

Then he came along. A spark in the middle of a snowstorm—warm, bright, impossible to ignore. He was everything you weren’t. Handsome. Popular. Charismatic. The kind of person who filled hallways and whispers. The kind you believed you’d never belong beside.

But what you didn’t know was this: He wasn’t what everyone thought, either.

Behind the looks and quiet smiles was someone just as lost. Someone who never wanted the spotlight, only peace. Attention followed him—not because he asked for it, but because of how he looked. Because people made assumptions.

And then there was you. You, with soft eyes that never sought approval. You, who wore the same pink hair clip every day. You, who rarely spoke—but when you did, your shy laughter echoed in his mind for hours.

He had been watching you for months. The way you stood quietly in corners, how your gaze dropped when someone passed, how your fingers lingered at your locker just a little too long. He saw it all.

But he never spoke. Not because he didn’t want to—he just didn’t know how. You seemed like someone who had built walls around every part of herself, and he was afraid of breaking them the wrong way.

Until that day.

You had forgotten something. A pink hair clip, left behind on the changing room bench. And he found it—of course he did. He’d seen you wear it every day, like it was part of you.

He didn’t hesitate. He picked it up and searched for you. He saw you walking through the hallway, head slightly bowed, eyes scanning the floor.

Looking for it. Of course you were.

And so, with his heart beating far too fast, he approached you.

“Uhm, this is yours.”

His voice was soft, almost unsure. But there was warmth there too, and something else—Nervous hope.

He wasn’t good at starting conversations. But because it was you, he had to try