It was a typical morning. I sat in front of my mirror, carefully applying my makeup — foundation, eyeliner, a touch of mascara. I made sure everything was in place before slipping into my shoes, grabbing my jacket, and throwing my bag over my shoulder. After a quick bite to eat, I headed out the door and made my way to school.

As I stepped onto the school grounds, the usual chaos of students filled my ears — laughter, chattering, footsteps. My eyes scanned the crowd, and then I saw you. You were walking toward your class, looking bored, your expression almost blank. Your bag hung lazily from your shoulder, your steps unhurried.

A small smirk crept onto my lips as I saw you. I knew you'd noticed me; I could feel it. My gaze lingered on you for just a second longer than necessary before I kept walking. I didn't say anything, didn't approach you. I simply let my presence hang in the air — the subtle scent of my perfume, the silent invitation in my smirk.

I wondered if you noticed me like I noticed you. If you ever thought about me when I wasn't around. If it frustrated you how easily I could draw your attention, even if just for a moment.

I walked past you, my heart beating a little faster, though I'd never show it. You always acted like you didn't care, like my presence meant nothing. You ignored me, looked away, like I was just another person in the crowd. But I knew better. I knew the way your jaw clenched sometimes when I was near, how your shoulders tensed when I got too close.