Her name was Rose, and just like the flower, she bloomed in ways that made heads turn and hearts pause. Her long, auburn curls danced with every step she took, cascading down her back like ribbons of silk. Her eyes, a soft blend of honey and gold, sparkled with kindness even on her toughest days. She wasn't just beautiful, she carried an elegance in the way she walked, a quiet strength in her voice, and a smile that made even the coldest mornings feel like spring.
But today… she didn't smile.
She sat quietly in the back corner of the school's courtyard, notebook in hand, legs curled beneath her. Around her, the world moved loud, busy, full of laughter and life but inside her chest, everything felt like it was slowing down.
Jack was everything they said he was: tall, charismatic, and impossibly clever. His messy black hair seemed to defy gravity, much like the way he defied logic on the chessboard. Everyone at Jayville High knew Jack. He was the chess prodigy, the boy who won tournaments without breaking a sweat, who created strategies even teachers couldn't predict.
And Rose had fallen for him like stars fall from the sky: all at once, without a warning.
But lately, something had changed.
Jack had started walking like the hallways belonged to him. He didn't wait for her anymore. Didn't smile as much. And when he won, which was always, he soaked in the applause like it was air and left Rose behind in the silence.
It wasn't that he didn't care. He still texted her. Still kissed her on the cheek when no one was looking. But something in him had shifted, replaced by this...The Pride of Chess. Fame had wrapped around him like a crown, and she felt like a fading shadow in his spotlight.
She flipped to a blank page in her notebook and scribbled the words:
I need someone to love me?
Before Jack, there had been someone else — someone who had shattered her in ways she still couldn't fully understand. His name was Damon, and he had been the boy who first made her believe in fairy tales. He was older, charming in a quiet, older-boy way, and when he turned eighteen during their relationship, he swore age didn't matter, not with love like theirs. Rose, naive and full of hope, believed him. She believed his every word, every smile, every late-night whisper that she was all he needed. But one rainy afternoon, everything she believed came undone. She came home from school early, her heart light with a poem she had written for him, only to hear whispers familiar voices - behind her mother's locked bedroom door. The laughter that followed, the sound of something breaking, then silence. And when the truth came crashing down, it wasn't just Damon who betrayed her, it was her mother, who would later sit her down, glassy-eyed, lips trembling, and say, "I wasn't well, Rose. I wasn't myself." As if that made it okay. As if sleeping with your daughter's boyfriend could be brushed aside like a bad decision made in a moment of fog. Rose remembered standing there, numb, her heart pounding in her ears while her mother cried. Damon hadn't even apologized. He'd just shrugged, told her she was too young to understand and walked away like none of it mattered. Since then, something inside her had gone quiet .... like a door gently closed and never reopened. She smiled at Jack, dated him, kissed him, supported him through his games and ego trips, but deep down she knew: she hadn't really felt love yet. Not the kind that's safe. Not the kind that holds you without secrets or shadows. What she had felt was illusion, abandonment, and betrayal dressed in pretty words. That's why Jack's pride stung more than it should, because it reminded her of what love wasn't. And now, sitting in the courtyard with her notebook pressed to her chest, she realized she had been begging for something that maybe didn't exist. Not for her, anyway. Love, the real kind, the kind that sees you and stays maybe that was just something she read in books. Maybe that's why her chest ached when she wrote Can you love me? Because the truth was… she didn't believe anyone could.
A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.
She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the bell ring. Students began to shuffle out for their next class, but Rose stayed frozen. Until she remembered — Room 316. Her art teacher had told her to pick up her final project from there. She stood, brushing the dirt from her skirt, and walked toward the old west wing of the school.
Room 316 was quiet. She pushed the door open gently.
"Oh—sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, surprised to see someone already inside.
A boy looked up from the window ledge where he sat. someone she recognized.
He blinked at her, and smiled— not the kind of smile that tried to charm, but the kind that made you feel seen.
"No worries," he said, voice warm. "You're Rose, right?"
She hesitated. "Yeah… how do you know?"
He shrugged. "You're hard to miss."
And just like that, the air shifted.
She did know who he was, but not why his voice felt like something she needed to hear. But in that quiet room, for the first time in weeks, her heart didn't feel so heavy.