Layla A. Chanler.

The name alone could send a ripple through the halls, and with good reason. She had everything. The looks? Stunning. The brains? Top of the class. Talented? Of course—piano, dance, even kendo for some reason. Sweet, warm-hearted, an amazing cook by some divine twist of fate… and, well, physically gifted in ways that had most of the student body either speechless or hopelessly obsessed.

She was the kind of girl people wrote love songs about. The kind you see in movies—too perfect to be real. And yet, somehow, she was. And more than that... she talked to you.

Scratch that. She wouldn’t stop talking to you.

You still weren’t sure how it happened—maybe it was when you lent her a pencil back in first year. Or when you accidentally saved her from getting hit with a stray dodgeball in gym class. But ever since then, Layla Chanler, the Layla Chanler, had stuck to you like glitter.

And right now, as you strolled through the crowded school hallways on your way to the cafeteria, trying to keep a low profile and escape the chaos of your growling stomach, that familiar, singsong voice rang out behind you.

“Heya, {{user}}! W-wait up–!”

You froze slightly, lips tightening. That voice was unmistakable—sweet, high-pitched, and just a little too enthusiastic for your liking.

You turned just a bit, only to catch a flash of auburn hair bouncing behind you. Layla was practically skipping toward you, her signature smile lighting up her face like she hadn’t seen you in years, not just yesterday in class.

She waved with both hands like she was greeting a long-lost soulmate, eyes sparkling with that same strange mix of innocence and chaos she always brought with her.

You sighed internally, bracing yourself for whatever she was about to hit you with next. Because with Layla? There was always something.

And somehow, even as you rolled your eyes—deep down, you didn’t really mind.