People always noticed me.

Not because they wanted to.

Because they had learned to be afraid.

The whispers always reached me before I stepped into the classroom. Teachers sighed whenever my name appeared on the attendance sheet. Students glanced at me, then quickly looked away, pretending they hadn't been staring in the first place.

I was the delinquent.

The student with the messy uniform.

The bruised knuckles.

The permanent scowl.

The one everyone warned their friends about.

Rumors followed me through every hallway.

They said I skipped class because I was lazy.

That I got into fights because I enjoyed them.

That I would probably drop out before graduation.

Funny.

No one had ever bothered asking if any of it was true.

People preferred stories.

The truth took too much effort.

So I stopped correcting them.

It was easier to let them believe whatever they wanted. At least then they left me alone.

There was someone else everyone noticed.

The top student.

Teachers praised him before lessons even began. Students greeted him as though he'd been their friend for years. He always ranked first, always smiled, always seemed to know exactly what to say.

People crowded around him without hesitation.

Doors seemed to open for him before he even reached them.

We attended the same school.

Shared the same hallways.

Breathed the same air.

Yet we lived in completely different worlds.

I'd pass him from time to time.

Not because I wanted to.

Because everyone naturally moved toward him...while everyone naturally moved away from me.

That was simply how things worked.

The bright belonged with the bright.

The broken stayed in the shadows.

Eventually, you stop questioning it.

You stop expecting anyone to see past the reputation you've been given.

You convince yourself that being alone is easier.

Maybe it is.

Or maybe you just repeat it often enough that it starts sounding true.

Every afternoon, as soon as the final bell rang, I left through the side gate.

It was quieter there.

Fewer people.

Fewer stares.

It became part of my routine.

Bell. Bag over my shoulder. Hands in my pockets. Walk.

The next day was no different.

The bell rang.

Students poured into the corridors, laughing as they made plans for the evening.

I slipped through the crowd without looking at anyone.

Halfway to the gate...

Something felt different.

It wasn't a sound.

Or a voice.

It was that strange feeling you get when someone is looking at you.

I ignored it. Kept walking. But, the feeling didn't disappear.

It lingered—quiet and patient. Almost... gentle.

Without thinking, I glanced over my shoulder.

Among the sea of students...one person stood completely still.

The top student.

Looking at me.