I spent the rest of the day pretending I was fine.
Literature class blurred into a low hum of voices and turning pages, the teacher's words slipping past me without sticking. I stared down at my notebook, tracing the faint scratches on the desk with my fingernail, though I hadn't written anything since the lesson started.
My mind kept drifting back to the hallway.
To him.
The stranger.
I told myself it was ridiculous. He hadn't done anything. He hadn't spoken to me for more than a few seconds. But there had been something in the way he looked at me that refused to leave my thoughts. Not curiosity. Not casual interest.
Attention.
The kind that lingered.
I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs tightly beneath the desk as a strange warmth crept up my spine. I hated that my body reacted before my brain could catch up. Hated that I kept replaying his voice, calm and measured, like he wasn't in a hurry to be anywhere else.
You're overthinking, I told myself. I always did that. Made something out of nothing. People didn't suddenly notice me. They never had.
I was invisible by design.
When the bell rang, I jumped, my heart pounding harder than it should have. Chairs scraped loudly as students stood, conversations bursting back to life. I shoved my notebook into my bag quickly, hoping to escape before anyone could acknowledge me.
"Damie," the teacher called.
My stomach dropped.
I turned slowly, forcing myself not to look as startled as I felt. "Yes?"
"You're Cassie's friend, right?"
Of course I was.
Not Damie. Not the quiet girl who always sat near the back and turned in her assignments on time. I was Cassie's friend. A footnote to someone louder, brighter, easier to remember.
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Why?"
"She hasn't been attending this class lately. She used to. Do you know why?"
I shook my head quickly. "No. I don't."
The answer came out sharper than I intended. Before she could respond, I muttered something that sounded like an apology and hurried past her, slipping into the hallway with my head down.
The corridor felt too open, too long, like every step echoed louder than it should have. I hugged my books to my chest and walked faster, shoulders slightly hunched, my reflection in the lockers confirming what I already felt.
Small. Forgettable. Easy to overlook.
By lunchtime, the unease in my chest had settled into something dull and familiar.
I sat at my usual table near the corner of the cafeteria, unwrapping my sandwich slowly. The table was just close enough to the windows that sunlight spilled across it in thin stripes. I liked that. It felt quieter there.
Cassie sat across the room, surrounded by laughter and noise, Duke's arm slung comfortably around her shoulders. She looked effortless, like she belonged exactly where she was.
I didn't.
I told myself I preferred it this way. Sitting alone meant I didn't have to pretend. Didn't have to compete for space in conversations that moved too fast for me anyway.
Halfway through my lunch, a strange sensation prickled at the back of my neck.
That feeling again.
Like being watched.
I lifted my head slowly.
He stood near the vending machines across the cafeteria, leaning casually against the wall.His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, like the chaos around him didn't matter. His gaze wasn't scanning the room the way most people's did.
It was fixed.
On me.
My breath caught in my throat.
For a second, I forgot how to move. Forgot how to look away. The noise of the cafeteria dulled, fading into the background as my heart began to pound loudly in my ears.
He didn't glance aside.
Didn't look embarrassed or distracted.
He just watched.
There was no smile on his face this time. No obvious expression at all. Just that calm, unwavering attention, like he was memorizing something he didn't want to forget.
My fingers tightened around my water bottle. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I dropped my gaze quickly, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt sitting there alone.
When I dared to look back up a moment later, he was gone.
The rest of the day passed in fragments.
Classes ended. Lockers slammed. Voices rose and fell around me, but I moved through it all on autopilot, my thoughts circling the same point over and over.
Why me?
I walked home alone, my backpack heavy against my shoulders as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky. The streets were familiar, lined with houses that all seemed to blend together. I took the same route every day, past the corner store, past the row of trees that shed leaves no matter the season.
Normally, my mind stayed quiet on these walks.
Today, it didn't.
His face kept appearing in my thoughts uninvited. The steadiness of his gaze. The certainty in the way he had spoken, like he wasn't guessing when he addressed me.
I tried to imagine what he thought of me. What he saw that I didn't.
The idea made my chest tighten.
By the time I reached my house, the sun had dipped behind the rooftops. The place looked the same as it always did. Quiet. Still. Unchanged.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Silence greeted me.
No voices. No footsteps. No smell of food or sound of a television playing in the background. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the clock in the hallway.
My parents were working late again.
They always were.
I dropped my bag by the door and kicked off my shoes, moving through the house without thinking. I'd gotten used to this routine. Coming home to empty rooms. Heating leftovers. Doing homework alone.
It didn't hurt anymore.
Or at least, that's what I told myself.
I went upstairs to my room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment longer than necessary. The quiet pressed in, thick and heavy, leaving too much space for my thoughts.
I flopped onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day like a scene I couldn't fast-forward through.
The hallway.
The cafeteria.
The way he watched.
I didn't know why it unsettled me so much. Or why, beneath the unease, there was something else curling in my chest.
Something dangerously close to warmth.
I rolled onto my side and pulled my pillow closer, my phone resting face down beside me. For the first time in a long while, the emptiness of the house didn't feel comforting.
It felt like an invitation.
And somewhere deep down, a quiet part of me wondered what it would be like if someone noticed when I came home.