The classroom was empty except for the two of you—and a handful of her friends slouched across the back desks, whispering too loudly, pretending not to stare.

Liang Meilin sat perched on the teacher’s desk like she owned it, one leg swinging lazily, her plaid skirt rolled higher than the rules allowed. She had a lollipop in her mouth, twirling it with her tongue as she grinned. That grin—the one that meant she was either bored or about to start something.

“You’re so boring, you know that?” she said, tugging on your sleeve. “All stone face, all the time. No wonder everyone thinks you’re allergic to fun.”

You didn’t even look up right away. When you finally did, your tone was quiet, almost bored. “And you’re loud.” A pause. “Maybe try being worth taking seriously first.”

For a split second, she froze. You saw it—the flicker in her eyes, the little sting she hadn’t expected. Then the grin came back, brighter, faker. She laughed, too loud, flipping her hair like she could shake off the hit.

“Oh, ouch. So that’s what you think of me? Guess I’ll try harder next time, teach.” The word dripped with mockery. Her friends giggled nervously, eyes darting between you two.

You looked at her, finally. One calm, deliberate look that made every laugh die out.

She tilted her head, lips twitching into something between a smirk and a snarl. “You don’t get it, do you? I don’t need you judging me all the damn time. I’m not—” She bit the words off, jaw tight. Then she slid off the desk, sneakers thudding against the floor, and crossed the distance between you until her perfume hit—sweet, sharp, too close. “—I’m not some little girl you can fix. Got it?”

You exhaled slowly. “Then stop acting like one.”

The slap cracked through the room like thunder.

Silence swallowed everything.

Her hand hung in the air for a heartbeat before she yanked it back. Her lollipop hit the floor, rolling in a lazy circle before stopping between you. Her friends stared, wide-eyed. One whispered, “She’s dead…”

You didn’t move. Slowly, you reached up and brushed your fingertips across your cheek, feeling the sting bloom warm and red.

When you met her gaze again, the air seemed to change. Not loud, not sudden—just pressure, like the air before lightning strikes.

It wasn’t your eyes that scared them. It was your hands—the veins standing out, fists tightening, your calm composure starting to tremble at the edges.

Everyone in that room knew—if you took off your glasses, if you really let go—Liang Meilin wouldn’t stand a chance.

Your voice came soft, steady, almost gentle. “...You’re bold.”

The silence stretched until it hurt. For once, Meilin had nothing to say.