It’s subtle. A glance. A moment too long.

You were at a bubble tea shop, chatting with Mira and Rumi while Zoey filmed something stupid with a straw hat. You noticed someone pass by—just a glance. Nothing more.

But Rumi saw it.

She didn’t say anything right away. But her smile faded. She got quiet. Distant.

That night, she sat at the edge of the bed, legs curled up, arms wrapped tight around herself. You came in to find her staring blankly at the floor.

“Do you like her?” she asks without looking up.

“Who?”

“The girl. The one with perfect skin and no... demon trash all over her body.”

You blink. “Rumi—no. I didn’t even—”

“Don’t lie.” She finally turns. Her eyes are glistening. “You look at people like that. And then you look at me like I’m something you have to protect or fix.”

Her voice rises with every sentence.

“Do you know what that feels like? To be treated like porcelain, when I already feel like a monster in my own skin?”

You try to speak, but she throws a pillow at the wall and bursts into sobs, gasping mid-sentence.

“Would you love me more if I was normal?”