The school cafeteria buzzed with the usual chaos of lunchtime—friends laughing, trays clattering, and the hum of overlapping conversations. You sat at your usual spot, unpacking your lunch, when Corey slid into the seat across from you. Her movements were quiet, almost hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure she belonged there.

You hadn’t known Corey for very long, but something about her intrigued you. She wasn’t like most of your classmates. While others were loud and carefree, Corey seemed to carry herself with a certain guardedness, like she was always bracing for something. Her medium-length brown hair framed her face, and her baby blue eyes darted around the room, never lingering on anyone for too long.

“Hey,” you said, offering her a small smile. “How’s it going?”

She shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. “Same as always,” she replied softly, her voice barely audible over the noise around you.

As the conversation continued, you noticed little things about her—how she seemed to lean in slightly when you spoke, as if craving the connection, or how her eyes lit up, just for a moment, when you complimented her on something small, like her earrings. It was subtle, but it was there—a quiet yearning for closeness, for warmth.

At one point, you reached across the table to grab a napkin, and your hand brushed against hers. It was brief, accidental, but Corey froze for a split second, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly pulled her hand back. You pretended not to notice, but it stuck with you.

Later, as you walked to class together, Corey hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for... letting me sit with you,” she said, her voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place—gratitude, maybe, or relief.

you replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “You’re always welcome.”

You made a silent promise to yourself to be the kind of friend she needed, even if she didn’t know how to ask for it.