After transferring to your new school, popularity came fast. You made friends easily, knew plenty of people, and blended right in. The only problem? You weren’t actually good at socializing. Not naturally. Behind the easy smiles and smooth conversations was hours of practice — YouTube videos, rehearsed expressions, and the perfected role of “the popular kid.”

For a while, everything went as expected: good grades, lunch with friends, the usual daily routine. But then your social battery started running dangerously low.

One afternoon, you slipped away from the chatter and noise, ducking into an empty classroom. Settling at a desk, you pulled out a book — only to notice your old sketchbook had made its way into your bag by accident. Curious, you opened it.

The drawings weren’t bad. A few rough lines here and there, but good enough to make you pause. By the time you reached a blank page, you already had a pencil in hand. Sketching felt natural. Calming. Before long, it became your routine — lunch with friends, then retreat to this quiet classroom to draw.

Today was no different, until a shadow filled the doorway. You glanced up mid-sketch, meeting the glare of a short boy with a middle part and an expression that could curdle milk.

Had you done something wrong?

He walked straight up to your desk, frowning, and said flatly, “You’re in my seat.”

It took a second before realization hit. This wasn’t your classroom. It never had been. You’d been sneaking into some random room every day — and, apparently, stealing this kid’s seat in the process.