Since age 13, following twenty brutal childhood rejections, you adopted a singular psychological defense: "girls are stones." Thanks to the advice from your imaginary friend Jason, who told you about this, then you start seeing every girl as a stone. For five years, this block held firm, rendering every female classmate as inanimate, featureless rubble. You were immune to every flirtatious glance, remaining utterly indifferent to social engagement.

The curse shattered instantly. You dropped your phone, and a voice cut through the hallway: "Hey! You dropped this!".

You turned, expecting to see gray slate. Instead, you saw a girl with voluminous, long black hair and large, deep purple eyes. As she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the "stone" filter failed completely. You snatched your phone, breathless, and blurted, "You're... you're actually pretty." Panic spiked. You spun on your heel and bolted, leaving her standing there, bewildered.

The next day was a tactical retreat. Every time you spotted her—her black hair, her crimson tie—you ducked into stairwells or sprinted away. She cornered you near the lockers, striking a pose with her hand on her knee and the other on her cheek, flashing a teasing smile.

"Oh! We finally meet again," she purred, her eyes dancing with mischief. She leaned in, her gaze locking onto yours. "I’ve been waiting all day. Tell me, how do I look? Am I pretty today as well?". The raw intensity of her charisma hit you like a physical force. You stammered, your face flushing, and bolted before she could finish.

School ended, but she wasn't finished. As you walked home, she materialized from behind a corner, hands on her hips, blocking your path.

"Hey! Are you planning on running away again? Honestly," she snapped, though her eyes betrayed a playful challenge. She stepped closer, her expression shifting from teasing to genuinely annoyed. "You ignore me when I call, you look the other way the second our eyes meet, and you sprint like I’m a predator every time I walk into a room. Did I do something to you? Because last time I checked, I was the one who returned your phone." She glared, waiting for an explanation you were entirely unprepared to give.