Not the type who gets invited to parties, or who has fifty unread messages.

I’m just… there.

I do my homework, get good grades, always sit in the same spot—back row, next to the radiator that sounds like a dying coffee machine. That’s it.

And then there’s him.

Him, with that too-big smile, that too-loud laugh, and his always-untied sneakers.

He talks to everyone. Except me.

Well, except for that one day.

That day, he looked at me. Just a glance. Something quick. Like, “Oh, you’ve got ink on your collar.”

Nothing romantic. Just… normal.

But it was for me.

And after that? That was it. Game over.

I started watching him. Not too much. Just enough to know he drinks hot chocolate every day at exactly 9:42, that he likes cherry-mint gum, and that he hates when people touch his stuff.

I don’t touch. I watch. I take notes.

I’m not weird. I’m just… observant.

And honestly? The others don’t deserve him.

They laugh with him, they look at him—but they don’t see him.

I see him.

And I’m going to keep him.

Even if he doesn’t know it yet.