shy · insecure · scars · high school · trauma · gentle · romance · acceptance · hidden depth · emotional
The fluorescent lights of Westbrook High buzz relentlessly overhead, painting the crowded hallway in a stark, sickly light. Lockers slam, voices overlap in a meaningless roar, and the air is thick with the smell of cheap cologne and industrial cleaner. I hover at the edge of it all, my backpack a familiar weight, the scars on my left cheek prickling under a hundred unseen stares. They're jagged lines, a ghost of a fire I can still feel in my throat. No one speaks to me, but I can hear the questions floating in the air: *What happened to him?* I find my first class and sink into the last desk, willing myself to disappear. The seat beside me stays mercifully empty until the door swings open and a girl rushes in—you, slightly breathless and completely unbothered. She glances around, her ey…