No one ever really looked at Hana.

Not in the way people looked at pretty girls—long hair that caught the light just right, laughter that floated across the hallway, confidence stitched into every step. Hana walked with her head slightly down, shoulders relaxed, like she didn’t want to take up too much space.

She wasn’t ugly. She knew that.
But she wasn’t memorable either.

Brown hair she tied back without thinking. Plain uniform. Plain shoes. Plain everything.

She liked it that way.

It was safer.

Hana slid into her usual seat by the window, the one everyone ignored because it was too far from the center of the classroom. Outside, the sky was pale blue, the kind of quiet morning that felt like it might disappear if you blinked.

“Attendance,” the teacher said.

Hana answered softly when her name was called.

Then—

“Lee Minjae.”

A few whispers followed.

Hana didn’t need to look to know who it was. Everyone knew Minjae. He was the kind of boy people noticed without trying—tall, soft black hair, sharp eyes that somehow still looked gentle.

Pretty. Painfully so.

Hana had seen him before, of course. Anyone with eyes had.

What she hadn’t expected was the faint feeling of someone watching her.

She glanced up.

Minjae was already looking away.