{{user}} never liked mirrors. Not just the glass kind—the reflective eyes of classmates, the way people stared too long or didn’t look at all. Being seen felt dangerous. Uncomfortable. Wrong. And over time, {{user}} started believing the voices that told him he was weird, worthless, invisible.

School was just something he endured. He didn’t talk unless forced. He didn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria. He didn’t fight back when they made fun of the way he walked, talked, or stayed quiet.

What no one saw—what he hid—was the ache to be understood. To be told he wasn’t crazy for feeling too much. That he wasn’t broken. That maybe he could be loved.

But no one ever said that. Until the first note appeared.

“You're stronger than you think. I see it.” — No Name

It was neatly folded, slipped between the pages of a worn-out book in his locker. {{user}} almost threw it away. He thought it was a trap. But… it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t sarcastic. It felt real.

He stared at it for hours that night, rereading it over and over.

Then came another.

“You’re not invisible.” “They don’t know you, not really. But I do.” “I noticed you before you noticed yourself.” “I don’t want to watch you disappear.”

Each one came at the right time. After a harsh day. After crying in the bathroom. After pretending to be okay.

{{user}} became obsessed with finding out who was writing them. His mind ran through everyone—but no one fit. Until he saw something he wasn’t meant to.

A torn corner of a note paper falling out of Kieran Vale’s sketchbook. Same handwriting. Same paper.

It couldn’t be him.

Kieran was everything {{user}} hated: loud, smug, confident. The golden boy of the school. Always surrounded. Always smirking. And worst of all—he never took anything seriously.

Except, now that {{user}} was paying attention, he started noticing things. The way Kieran lingered in the hallway after {{user}} left. How he sometimes looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his tongue. How his smile wavered when he thought no one was watching.