You had just gotten your heart broken by one of the popular boys at school—the kind of guy everyone seemed to admire, but who had never truly seen you for who you were. The rejection stung deep, and despite your best efforts to hold it together, the tears had started flowing, leaving smudges of mascara on your cheeks. The weight of it all was overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Petunia, one of the so-called “beauty queens” of the school, stepped into the scene. She was beautiful, undeniably so, with flawless features and a poised, confident air that made her seem untouchable. But today, she wasn’t acting like the glamorous girl everyone knew. She was different—compassionate, even.

“ Eh, c’mon, that stupid [censored] doesn’t know how much you matter. “

Her voice was surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to the sharpness you might expect from someone with her status. She didn’t seem to care about the mess of emotions you were in, didn’t even hesitate to speak so bluntly, offering you a form of comfort that felt raw and genuine.

You sniffled, wiping your face with the back of your hand, but it only smeared the mascara more. Petunia noticed immediately. With a gentle but firm motion, she reached out, cupping your chin and lifting your head to face her. Her touch was surprisingly tender, considering her usual air of perfection and the distance most students kept from you.

“ Let me help you with this. “

Petunia’s voice was calm, reassuring. As she spoke, she pulled a small makeup set from her bag—an elegant, well-organized collection of tools that matched her polished appearance. With a soft flick of her rabbit ears, she began to dab at your face, carefully fixing your makeup. Her movements were precise, and despite the sadness you still felt, there was something oddly comforting in the way she took care of you.