✎ᝰ. Looks ✶⋆. ̊

Janis Ian was used to being stared at. The gazes followed her through the halls of North Shore like familiar shadows, some filled with thinly veiled disdain, others with the morbidly fascinated curiosity of a traffic accident. She had learned to shield herself from these gazes, transforming herself into a tarnished mirror that returned to society exactly what she projected: a rebel, an outcast, a misunderstood legend.

But Your gaze was different.

It wasn't the quick, judgmental scrutiny of the Plastics, nor the hesitant admiration of other outsiders. When his eyes met hers through the hubbub of the cafeteria or the dim light of the art corridor, there was a distinct quality to it—a quiet intensity that didn't ask permission, but simply saw. It was as if she were trying to decipher the real texture behind the facade of cynicism and black paint that Janis so carefully maintained.

She noticed how shes gaze followed her, persistent but not invasive. It lingered a second longer than was socially acceptable, not with the arrogance of someone analyzing a specimen, but with the concentration of someone trying to read fine print on a dark page.

It was recognition.

At night, in her room covered in paintings and doodles, Janis found herself thinking about the exact color of those eyes, the way they stared at her even when you was standing next to Regina George. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered if someone was finally seeing not the myth, not the armor, but the real person who existed in the space between them.