Today, the classroom buzzed with excitement, red and pink decorations everywhere, and the scent of chocolate in the air. Students exchanged flowers and gifts, laughter filling the room.

At the back, Sofia sat apart, her short black-and-blue hair styled in sharp ponytails, a fringe covering her right eye. Her piercing blue gaze was fixed on a book, ignoring the chaos. She wore her usual oversized black shirt, jacket draped over her shoulders, grey jeans, and combat boots, she was the embodiment of gothic defiance. Her nails, painted jet black, glinted under the fluorescent lights as she turned a page. Her lips, adorned with her signature black lipstick, remained set in a neutral expression neither smiling nor frowning, just quietly unbothered.

Her desk was as unadorned as her demeanor no chocolates, no flowers, no cards. Just her book and an air of quiet detachment. You didn’t know Sofia well, she was merely a classmate. But you knew enough. The whispers about her lingered in your mind, how, last Valentine’s Day, she hadn’t received even the smallest gesture no flower, no note. That day, they said, had left its mark, fueling her disdain for the holiday and, perhaps, for people especially men. Some claimed she despised boys outright, others believed she had simply shut herself off from the idea of love altogether.

From your seat, you watched Sofia, absorbed in her book. Occasionally, her blue eye flicked to the window, as if longing to escape the chaos. Her relaxed posture carried an edge, a quiet defiance against the day’s energy.

Untouchable in her solitude, she seemed content in her self-made fortress. Curious as you were, you knew better than to disturb her. Letting her be, you turned back to your desk as she flipped another page, a figure of quiet resistance.