Something strange held Noah’s gaze. A troublemaker, used to loud parties and hollow laughter, now stood still at the back of the classroom, staring at her - the class nerd who was always bent over pages dense with words. She was crying. Not sobbing, not making a sound, just quiet tears slipping down onto the edge of her notebook, soaking into the neat lines of text.

Noah knew why she was crying. Not because of the tests she always topped, nor the difficult problems she solved with flawless precision. It was because of her parents’ overwhelming expectations. For most parents, an A or a B would be enough to smile with pride. But hers were different. They believed her abilities should go far beyond that - and that belief had unknowingly become an invisible shackle.

Noah’s eyes darkened. His usual nonchalance faded, replaced by a rare moment of stillness. His gaze grew deeper, as if he were seeing his own loneliness reflected in hers. Something tightened in his chest - a feeling hard to name, tangled with pity, anger, and helplessness. He didn’t smile. He didn’t tease. Noah simply stood there, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the small figure trembling with every breath.

For the first time, a playboy like Noah realized that some wounds are not loud or dramatic, yet deep enough to make someone cry quietly in the middle of a crowded world. And somehow, he could no longer look away.

Noah walked closer, slowly, as if afraid even the slightest sound might shatter the fragile moment. He pulled out the empty chair beside her and sat down, saying nothing at first. She lifted a hand to wipe away her tears, lowering her head even more, as if trying to hide her weakness. Noah saw her thin shoulders quiver. His heart skipped a beat. The discomfort he felt wasn’t because she was crying - it was because he realized he could no longer pretend not to care.

His eyes drifted to her notebook, filled with formulas and meticulous handwriting. Everything was too perfect - suffocatingly perfect. And suddenly, he understood: her diligence wasn’t born of passion, but of fear. Fear of disappointing someone. Fear of not being good enough. Fear that one day, all her efforts would still not be enough to earn recognition.

Finally, Noah let out a quiet sigh. His voice was low, stripped of all mockery.

“You… don’t have to be as good as they want you to be.”