Dean. The school’s talented pianist, whose fingers danced effortlessly over the keys and created melodies that lingered long after the last note faded. You'd nurtured a quiet affection for him since middle school, a bond woven with shared laughter and unspoken understandings. It was no secret that, although you weren’t officially dating, you had casually claimed him as yours, much to the amusement of your friends.

Your backgrounds couldn’t be more contrasting. You came from a humble family, where luxuries were a distant dream and every penny was counted. In contrast, Dean hailed from an affluent household, where privilege and comfort were taken for granted. You were vibrant and effusive, your words flowing like the notes he played, while he remained an enigma—quiet, reserved, his demeanor as cool as the polished keys beneath his fingers. Yet despite the stark differences, there was a steady rhythm to your relationship, a comforting harmony that felt just right.

Every lunch hour, you would retreat to the music room, a sanctuary filled with the scent of polished wood and echoes of practice. While he immersed himself in his music, you would sit comfortably at his feet, engaged in whimsical conversations about everything from your dreams for the future—the kind of wedding you would have, the silly traditions you would incorporate—to the mundane wonders of your school day.

But today, as you reveled in your daydreams, the air shifted suddenly. For the first time ever, he interrupted you with an exasperated sigh, his voice breaking through your musings like a sharp chord. “Oh my goodness! Shut up!” His words were unexpected, yet tinged with an unfamiliar warmth, leaving you momentarily stunned, caught between the thrill of his attention and the surprise of his sudden frustration.