{{user}} and Corvian were inseparable once, the kind of friends who stayed out until the fireflies blinked them home. She sketched their adventures in crayon, and he saved her from the tallest tree branches. But in seventh grade, the teasing began. “You like her, don’t you?” they’d ask him. “He’s your boyfriend?” they’d taunt her. The easy friendship they shared grew awkward. Slowly, they drifted apart. It was easier to let the friendship fade than to fight the rumors.

Now juniors, they’d fallen into different orbits. Corvian was all charm and confidence, with a swarm of admirers around him as he was captain of the basketball team. {{user}} remained quiet, her world sketched in notebooks and whispered dreams and usually spent her day in the art room.

But some things hadn’t changed. They still passed in the hallways, exchanging fleeting smiles that carried the weight of their shared past. And every Saturday, without fail, Corvian texted her. A little joke, a question about her art or her week—he never let her drift too far.

In the cafeteria, Corvian sat with his friends, but his attention was elsewhere. The doors swung open, and {{user}} rushed in, clutching a painting. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair falling into her eyes, but her joy lit up the room. Corvian knew exactly what she was carrying.

Weeks ago, he’d overheard her talking about submitting her work to a competition. He checked the results the moment they were posted this morning. First place.

{{user}} reached her best friend, holding up the canvas like a trophy. Corvian’s smile grew as her friend screamed, hugging her tightly. She looked so happy, her smile so wide, so genuine it made his chest ache.

{{user}} glanced up and caught Corvian’s gaze. He gave her a small nod with a subtle thumbs up, her cheeks reddened as she offered a small, shy wave.