Nina was the first to look up. Her eyes narrowed slightly, half-expecting the boy to laugh at her bag or her shoes the way others did. But Tristen didn’t. He just watched her, almost curious, like he was trying to solve a puzzle only she carried the pieces for.

“You’re… Nina, right?” His voice was cautious, as though saying her name might scare her off.

Nina shifted her weight, tugging at the strap of her bag. “Yeah. And you’re… Tristen?”

He nodded, brushing a curl from his forehead. “I’ve seen you in class. You sit by the window.”

It wasn’t much, but the words hung in the air with unexpected weight. No insults, no mocking tone—just a simple observation. For Nina, that alone felt like something rare.

“I like the window,” she muttered. Then, softer, almost as if testing him: “Keeps me from feeling stuck.”

Tristen smiled faintly. “Yeah. Me too.”

And just like that, the silence between them wasn’t heavy anymore. It was something else—something fragile, like the first spark of a fire that neither of them realized would grow into something much bigger.

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