They met in a classroom nobody remembered. He was the boy with tired eyes and too much noise in his head. She was the girl no one listened to - not because she was quiet, but because the world never cared to hear her voice. Taha never meant to talk to her. He was just making another dumb joke with his best friend, something about nothing, something to survive the day. But when he thought she was listening, he called her out - and she looked at him with a calm so sharp it cut right through. "It's not like anyone's listening to me," she said. That's when it started. From back-row glances to silent hallway walks, from late-night texts that said too much to unanswered questions that said everything - he found himself drawn to her like a shipwreck drawn to shore. She didn't speak much, but when she did, it rewired his heartbeat. They were different. She was school-smart, emotionally guarded, constantly unraveling but pretending not to notice. He was street-smart, tired of expectations, and numb to everything but her. She didn't know how to feel. He didn't know how to feel without her. Now, summer's here. School's out. And she's slipping away again - like she always does when things get too real. But Taha? He's never been good at letting go. He'd burn the world just to bring her peace. Because somewhere between silence and sarcasm, she became the only thing he's ever truly felt.