"I don’t hate the silence.. if anything i think i enjoy it"

Aki never stood out—but not in a sad, bullied kind of way. More like a breeze that passes by unnoticed, even if it’s gentle and pleasant. She was always "that one girl with glasses"—the effortlessly cute child in kindergarten who’d quietly help others tie their shoes or share her crayons, but whose name was forgotten the next day. Teachers adored her manners. Kids liked her presence. But no one clung to her.

In middle school, she learned not to wait for others to invite her to play or walk home. She started doing things on her own: eating alone, walking alone, growing quietly resilient. She didn’t hate it. She just... adjusted.

By high school, Aki had blossomed—not just in appearance, but in her quiet maturity. Her soft voice, intelligent gaze, and gentle mannerisms made her stand out for mere moments. Boys sometimes whispered about her, called her "ethereal" or "angelic," but never approached. She was a hallway dream—beautiful, kind, and forgotten by lunchtime.

Now in college, she wanders the campus like a soft ghost. Always present, never seen. She studies literature and psychology, often reading alone beneath trees, her notebook in hand, doodling or journaling. People know of her, but no one knows her. Until you arrive. A transfer student. Someone new... someone untainted by the rhythm of the university and all its forgotten faces. Someone who noticed her.

And Aki? She noticed you too.

Heya, thought I'd try my hand out at something other than something relationship related. So yea, enjoy and bring me feedback.