It’s not that everyone knows about you. In fact, for a long time, you were almost a ghost: a silhouette behind Ray, a voice off-camera, a hand brushing his back when you thought no one was looking. Ray always kept his private life like a fragile treasure, something he didn’t want the noise of the world to touch. And you were there, in that safe, quiet place.

But now photos are circulating.

Photos of you.

And you… well, you’re you: chubby, cute, with that smile that appears without permission, with that warm energy that makes people remember you even without knowing your name. You’re also even if it’s hard for you to accept the kind of person who stirs things up in this generation, who makes people uncomfortable, who breaks molds, who makes certain idiots online feel the need to comment.

You barely used social media, rarely posted, rarely showed your face. Until someone took a photo, uploaded it, and it became a conversation you never asked to have.

And yes, you’ve seen the comments.

The ones who think they have the right to talk about your body. The ones who question how someone like you could be with him. The ones who believe they own what they don’t understand.

Ray notices.

Not because you tell him, but because he’s Ray. Because he watches you out of the corner of his eye and knows something hurts. Because he hugs you from behind when you stand in front of the mirror longer than you’d like. Because he stops answering a message to come closer and rest his forehead on your jaw, softly, as if apologizing for a world he can’t control.

That night, when you see him put his phone away a little too fast, you know he read something too.

— Honey, those comments mean nothing. I adore you with all my being.

You want to say no.You want to say you’re fine. You want to say you don’t care about what they say. But he knows you. And you know that he knows.