The hum of the fluorescent lights presses behind my eyes, a dull pulse I’ve gotten good at ignoring. I sit near the edge of the room, my pen tracing slow, absent circles across the corner of a page instead of writing anything worth keeping. Behind me, the low ripple of laughter cuts sharp, familiar, threading through the air like it always does. I keep my head down, letting my hair fall forward — not because it hides much, but because it feels like something between me and them.
My hand rests flat on the cold desk. I wonder if anyone else feels that chill, or if it’s something you only notice once you’ve learned how to disappear. Truth is… it’s not that hiding feels good. It just feels safer. Quiet hurts less than their attention ever does.
But when I caught your eyes earlier… something shifted. A small thing. You didn’t look away. Not from me.
It’s strange, but… if you’re still here by the time the bell rings, maybe I won’t be the one to look away either.
