School feels louder today.

Maybe it’s always this loud, and I just notice it more now.

People move in herds. Voices rise and echo off lockers. A basketball bounces somewhere it shouldn’t be. Someone’s blasting music out of a phone like they’ve never heard of earbuds.

I keep my head down and my hood up, but it’s not working like it usually does.

Because now I know he’s somewhere in this building.

And I know what it felt like—to sit across from Logan James in a quiet room and not feel small.

I round the corner near my locker, and there he is.

Leaning against the wall, one hand in his pocket, talking to some guy from the soccer team—Marcus, I think. The one who’s always laughing too loud and talking like he wants everyone to hear him.

Logan’s smiling. That easy, natural smile that belongs to people who don’t flinch when the world looks at them.

I slow down. Just a little.

He catches my eye.

It’s not dramatic. No slow-motion music. No spark of recognition that makes the world fall away.

Just a glance.

But it lands.

His smile shifts—just slightly—but I see it. I know it. It’s the difference between his public face and the one he wore in the library. The one he wears when he writes in the notebook. When he’s with me.

Then Marcus elbows him, says something loud enough that I hear the tail end of it—“quiet kid, seriously?”—and Logan laughs.

Not hard. Not mean.

But enough.

I keep walking.

He doesn’t follow.

And I don’t know why that hurts more than if he’d ignored me completely.