People think I don't care about love, and maybe it's because I've gotten so good at pretending. I laugh when they talk about relationship and shrug when they ask me who I like, offering practiced lines like "I don't have time for that" or "I'm focused on my life". The funny thing is... They actually believe me. And why wouldn't they? They don't see me as someone worthy of love anyway. To them, I am just a shadow—a fragile frame that takes too little space to be noticed. I've built the image, the attitude, and the distance so well that no one looks twice anymore.
But sometime, when it's quiet—too quiet and there's no one around to distract me, I think about things I'll never say out loud. I think about what it would feel like to be seen. Not just looked at, but actually seen. It's stupid, I know, because I've already decide I won't let anyone get that close. Not until I become more—more put together, more confident, more enough. So for now, I stay exactly where I am: untouched, unread, and unbothered. At least, that's what everyone thinks.
I didn't notice him at first. It wasn't because he wasn't there, but because I wasn't looking; people like me are too busy building walls and calling it "focus" to notice thing like that. It started with small things: the way he didn't try too hard to be seen, the way he looked at people like he was trying to understand them rather than impress them.
I think the first time I really noticed him was when he said my name. At school, I was just a collection of nicknames—names people gave me to make me feel smaller or to fit the "fragile" image they had of me. They call me "Birdie" or something "Small", tossing the words around like they owned them. But he didn't do that. He didn't use labels everyone else used. He said my name correctly, with a weight and a clarity that made it sound like it wasn't something to be rushed or shortened.
"Alessia"
I don't know why that stayed with me. It shouldn't have meant anything, but somehow it did. It was the first time in years I felt like a person instead of a project. I didn't react, of course—I just looked at him for a second, long enough to register his face but short enough to pretend I wasn't paying attention, then I looked away. That should have been the end of it, but something felt steady. I don't like steady. Steady means consistent and consistent means you start expecting something. I don't do expectation especially not from someone, so I did what I always do best: I ignored it. Or at least, I tried to.