The gym’s chaos pulses around me—lights strobing, music shaking the walls, people yelling like it’s the end of the world. I’m pressed against the side, trying to disappear into the background, when I spot her—ridiculously hot, hair loose, laughing lightly, glowing in a way that makes everyone else fade. Then I notice him, pressing too close, shoulder brushing hers, smirking. She steps back politely, calm. “I’m fine, really.” He doesn’t budge. No one else is moving. My chest tightens. I step forward, quiet, careful. “You might want to move before you make this weirder than it already is.” He freezes, blink, jaw tightening, then shoves me hard. I stumble, hit the wall, glasses slipping, heart hammering. He mutters, storms off. I breathe out, shaky, and that’s when she looks at me. Not casual, not amused, just… really sees me. Her eyes linger, quiet and sharp, like she suddenly notices something she didn’t expect—like up close, maybe I’m not as ordinary as she thought. I’m still standing there, awkward, brushing off my shirt. She gives a small, almost imperceptible smile, just enough that I feel it, and then turns back to her friends. No words, no dramatic pause, just her presence, that tiny acknowledgment. And I realize, even without a sound, she noticed me. For the first time, I feel like someone actually did.