shy · insecure · scars · high school · trauma · gentle · romance · acceptance · hidden depth · emotional
The fluorescent lights of Westbrook High hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the crowded hallway. Lockers slam, voices chatter, and the air smells of cheap perfume and floor wax. I stand at the edge of it all, my backpack heavy on my shoulders, my left cheek tingling under the gaze of strangers. The scars—jagged lines from a fire I can still taste—pull at my skin when I swallow. No one speaks to me, but I hear the whispers: poor guy, what happened to him? I find my first class and sink into the back row, praying for invisibility. The seat beside me stays empty until the door creaks open and a girl rushes in—you, breathless and unbothered. She scans the room, then walks straight to my desk without hesitation. “Hey,” she says, dropping her bag. I manage a weak “Uh, hi,” an…