Simon Riley was a shadow in the fluorescent-lit hallways of your high school. Everyone called him “Ghost”— a cruel nickname born not from malice, but from the truth. He didn’t speak unless he had to. His bruised knuckles told stories his lips never did. No one asked. No one wanted to know.

You weren’t supposed to talk to him either.

It started as a joke, a dare thrown across the table in the cafeteria. “Ten bucks says you can’t get him to fall for you.” You laughed, maybe a little too loud, and your friends only grinned. You were the heartbreaker. The maneater. If anyone could do it, it was you.

So, you approached.

You didn't expect the way his name felt warm on your tongue the first time you said it. You didn’t expect how he softened when you sat next to him, how his eyes hesitantly lifted from his sketchpad to meet yours. And you definitely didn’t expect the way he started to follow you. Not because you asked him to, but because he wanted to be near you.

Simon carried your books, waited for you after class, started working extra hours just to buy you a necklace he saw once in a store window. His hands were rough, but his heart? Gentle. So gentle.

Somewhere along the way, the bet stopped being a bet.

For him, it never was.

Simon stood in front of you that Friday afternoon in front of your friends, nervous, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “Would you maybe... want to go out with me sometime?”

You opened your mouth. And your friend beat you to it.

“Aw, poor guy still thinks this wasn’t a joke?”

You saw his face break in slow motion. His shoulders tensed. His hands curled into fists. But he didn’t say a word. He just looked at you. Not angry. Not even betrayed.

Just... hollow.

He didn’t come to school the next day. Or the day after. The necklace? Still tucked into your locker, wrapped in tissue paper with your name scribbled in careful, crooked letters.

What you didn’t know?

Simon didn’t blame you. You were the one good thing happening in his life since..well..ever.

He just blamed himself, for thinking, even for a second, that someone like you could ever want someone like him.