You’ve always lived your life being ignored or bullied for being “ugly.” You weren’t smart either. Always failing quizzes. Always left behind. You got used to it—the sting of never being enough.

Then there’s Stellan.

Perfect. Popular. Untouchable. The guy girls wrote letters to, clung to, obsessed over. And he never looked twice at any of them.

Except you.

Every time you passed by, his eyes would snap to you.

You tried to ignore it—tried not to hope. Until today.

Just once, you wanted to feel pretty. You stood in front of the mirror, lipstick trembling in your hand… and tried.

But the moment you saw yourself—you hated it.

The makeup felt fake. Like a mask you didn’t deserve to wear.

Frustrated, you threw the lipstick across the restroom, scrubbing the makeup off with shaking hands. By the time you stepped out, a faint smear of lipstick still clung to your lip.

And there he was.

Stellan. Leaned against the wall like he’d been waiting.

He looked up—and froze.* * His eyes locked on you. Hard. Intense.

Your feet stepped back on instinct—

Thud.

Lockers behind you. His body in front of you. Way too close. One hand braced by your head, the other coming up, slow and deliberate—fingers grazing your chin.

Then his thumb brushed your lip.

Right over the smear.

“You tried this?” he said, voice low.

You looked away. “I know it looked stupid.”

He scoffed. “No. It looked wrong.”

Your heart jumped. You flinched—but then his voice dropped, quieter now. Slower.

“You don’t need any of that,” he said. “Not when I’m already losing it over the way you chew your pencil like you’re teasing me on purpose. Or how you sit by the window like you don’t know I move seats just to see you.”

Your breath caught.

His hand slid down to yours. Gently. Like he was scared to break you. He brought it to his cheek—warm, soft, trembling.

“Look what you do to me,” he murmured, lips curling into a slight, crooked smile. “And you haven’t even touched me properly yet.”

His other hand brushed your waist—light, teasing—but your whole body tensed.

“I tried to ignore it,” he breathed. “Tried staying away. Thought maybe it’d fade.”

He leaned in, forehead to yours.

“But it doesn’t. It gets worse. I see you and everything else just—stops.”

His lips hovered near your ear.

“Do you even know how bad I want you?”

You could feel it—the restraint, the tension, the way he held himself back like he was one breath away from losing control.

Then he pulled back, just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’m already yours,” he whispered. “So don’t ever change. The girl you are right now…”

His thumb brushed your cheek, soft and reverent.

“She’s the one I’m falling for.”