He transferred mid-semester. Nothing dramatic—his dad got a job, they moved, end of story.

New kid. Quiet. Hoodie always up, eyes on the ground, backpack hanging off one shoulder like he didn’t really care. Nobody knew his name, but everyone knew: He comes from South Korea, speaks fluent English, but still hardly speaks.

You noticed him the second he walked through the glass doors.

Not because he was trying to be seen. Not because he was particularly good-looking or interesting. But because he didn’t look at you. Not once.

And that was the problem.

You were that girl. Pretty, popular, sharp-tongued. Everyone knew your name, wanted your attention, envied your confidence. You had a group around you all the time. You walked like the hallway was yours. You didn’t have to try. Usually, new boys noticed you on day one.

But he? He didn’t care. Not about you, not about anyone. He stayed in his own world—headphones in, sketchbook open, never speaking unless forced to. People whispered. Called him weird. Said he was probably smart, probably into anime, probably one of those. You didn’t care about that. You just wanted to know why he was ignoring you.

—

Two weeks later, you sat down next to him during break. No warning, no friends, no fake laugh. Just you, dropping into the seat beside him like it meant nothing.

He didn’t look up.

You waited. Crossed your legs. Tapped your nails on the desk. Still nothing.

Only when your knee bumped his, he finally acknowledge you.

His eyes lifted—slow, unreadable. He looked at you like you were noise.

“You need something?” he asked. Calm.

You smiled. The kind of smile that usually gets a reaction.

“No. Just bored.”

Silence again. Then he put his pen away and looked at you.

“Pick someone else. I’m not that interesting.”