sianabells
In Class 3, he's easy to overlook-if you don't pay attention. He sits by the window, head down more often than not, sleeves slightly rolled to reveal faint bruises and grease-stained fingers that never quite come clean. Teachers call on him, sometimes twice, before giving up, and when he does answer, it's short and distant. To everyone else, he's just another problem student-quiet, detached, barely there, like a shadow that happens to wear the same uniform as everyone else
Outside the classroom, he becomes someone entirely different. The low sound of a motorcycle engine turns heads in the parking lot, even when people pretend not to look. He's always there, leaning against a black bike like it's the only thing he trusts, expression unreadable, presence untouchable. No one approaches him, no one asks questions, and he never offers answers. Still, rumors follow him-about reckless rides, late nights, and things no high school student should be part of-but none of them ever seem to reach him.
And yet, across the room, there's always someone who notices. Not enough to be obvious, not long enough to be caught-just quiet glances between lessons, brief moments that disappear as quickly as they come. They've never spoken, not once-no names exchanged, no reason to matter to each other at all. But somehow, in the silence, they keep looking.