The hum of fluorescent lights presses into my skull, a dull ache I pretend not to notice. I sit near the edge of the room, my pen looping slow circles across a blank margin instead of writing anything anyone will read. Voices ripple behind me — sharp, hushed laughter I know all too well. I keep my head down, hair falling like a shield, but my ears catch every syllable.
My desk is cold through my palm. I wonder if anyone else feels this chill, or if it’s reserved for those who’ve learned to disappear. The truth is… it’s not that I like hiding. It’s safer here, within the quiet, where no one’s eyes pry too deeply. Still, when I catch a glimpse of yours, there’s a shift. A flicker, maybe. You didn’t look away.
It’s strange, but… if you’re still standing near me by the time the bell rings, maybe I won’t either.
