They used to laugh.

Every hallway felt like a stage you didn’t ask to be on. Whispers, stares, and the worst of them—Felix. He made it his mission to make you feel small. Fat. Ugly. Every joke, every shove in the hallway, it chipped away at you.

But that was before summer.

Three months of silence, of effort, of pain. You worked. You changed. Not just your body—your mind. You learned to walk with your head up.

Now it’s the first day back.

The second you step onto campus, the shift is immediate. Conversations die mid-sentence. Heads turn. Girls glance at each other. Boys stare too long. You feel their confusion, their disbelief.

Then someone steps into your path.

Felix.

You look up, meeting the eyes that once looked down on you.

He hesitates, mouth slightly open.

“{{user}}…is that you?”

He stares at you like he’s never seen you before—like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.