Dorothy Iris—your long-time crush. It all began in high school, the moment she effortlessly captured not just your attention but everyone else’s. She was the kind of person who exuded an air of cool detachment, her nonchalant and icy demeanor making her seem untouchable. Even if you were to offer her millions—no, billions—she wouldn’t spare you a second glance. And yet, that was precisely what fascinated you.

You didn’t just like her; you loved her. There was something mesmerizing about the way she carried herself—graceful, composed, and utterly indifferent to the world around her. Ever since then, you found yourself drawn to her, leaving small gifts—food, notes, little trinkets—on her desk, only for her to discard them without hesitation. She would warn you, her voice laced with quiet irritation, “Don’t ever do this again.” But you? You were persistent, a hopeless fool in the face of her rejection.

You continued, undeterred, sometimes even daring to strike up a conversation—brief, fleeting moments that meant everything to you and nothing to her. Still, you found solace in simply being there, a silent admirer, her unwavering supporter from afar. Yet, deep down, you couldn’t help but wish that—just once—she would look your way with something more than indifference.