The morning of my first college class, I woke up with a mix of emotions — excitement, dread, and a healthy dose of social anxiety. My heart was thudding against my ribcage like it was trying to escape. I had laid out my outfit the night before: nothing too flashy, just a pale blue blouse tucked into dark jeans, and of course — my ever-reliable glasses. The invisible armor.
Sophie, on the other hand, had already blasted through three outfit changes before I even brushed my hair.
"Char, are you sure you don't want to borrow my peach blazer? You'd look like an intellectual CEO."
I politely declined. If I wore anything remotely flashy, I'd probably combust from internal discomfort.
When I arrived at the lecture hall, I was twenty minutes early — obviously — and the room was still mostly empty. A few students had scattered themselves across the seats, some chatting, others absorbed in their phones or laptops. I took a seat near the middle, heart still hammering in my chest.
Eventually, the professor arrived, introduced himself, and then turned to the rest of us with that dreadful phrase:
"Let's go around the room and introduce ourselves."
My worst nightmare had arrived on Day One.
One by one, students stood and introduced themselves — confidently, casually, like this was all just another TikTok video. When it was my turn, I hesitated for a second, then slowly rose from my seat.
"Hi," I began, forcing my voice to sound steady. "I'm Charlotte Samson. I'm majoring in medicine. I, um… I love music, and I really look forward to learning with all of you."
A few heads nodded politely. Someone muttered, "Nice," and then the world moved on. I sat down, relieved that I hadn't passed out mid-sentence.
But then — he walked in.
James.
Yes, that James.
James Carter — the boy who haunted the halls of Lincoln High School with his perfect hair, perfect grades, and painfully perfect jawline. The guy every girl swooned over and every guy envied. The same James who had always come second to me on the academic scoreboard. The same James who, as far as I knew, had never once acknowledged my existence.
And now he was walking into my classroom — taller, broader, somehow even more attractive — wearing a dark hoodie, jeans, and a lopsided smile like he knew all the secrets of the universe.
My brain short-circuited.
He scanned the room casually and — to my complete disbelief — made eye contact with me. Then he did something I never expected.
He smiled.
Not the polite, robotic smile people give when they're unsure. No. This was genuine — warm, relaxed — like he knew me.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside me.
I blinked. "No. I mean — yes. I mean — it's not taken. You can sit."
Smooth, Charlotte. Very smooth.
He chuckled as he sat down and leaned slightly toward me. "Charlotte Samson, right?"
I stared at him like he had just read my diary. "You… know me?"
"Of course I do," he said with a casual grin. "You're the reason my dad used to yell at me for getting second place all the time."
He was joking, obviously, but I didn't get it at first. My stomach twisted.
"Oh… I'm sorry."
His eyes widened. "No, no — that was a joke. I was kidding."
"Oh."
"Like… friendly teasing?" he added, clearly sensing I didn't do jokes very well.
I managed a small laugh, though it was more of a nervous wheeze. But throughout the lecture, I couldn't stop smiling — and neither could my heart, which was now doing Olympic-level backflips. We whispered a few things during class — nothing deep, but just enough to feel like I wasn't invisible anymore. For the first time in a long time, I felt seen.
But, of course, the spell didn't last.
The moment class ended, James stood to leave, and like flies to honey, his entourage of friends and admirers swarmed him. A tidal wave of loud laughter, makeup, and expensive perfume surrounded him — girls asking for his number, guys clapping him on the back like he was a local celebrity.
And just like that, I was pushed to the side. Literally.
No one looked at me. No one even noticed I was there.
I stood awkwardly, books clutched to my chest like a lost tourist in my own life. James was just a few feet away, but it might as well have been miles. Before I could say goodbye, he was gone — swallowed up by his popularity.
So I did what I always did when reality reminded me of who I was.
I went to the cafeteria alone.
I picked a quiet corner table, got myself a plate of spaghetti, and sat there staring at it like it was an ancient mystery. The room was full of chatter and clinking cutlery, but all I could hear was the quiet, familiar ache of high school flashbacks — sitting by myself, pretending to be busy with something important, just to avoid eye contact with the world.
I was just about to take my first bite when a tray thumped down across from mine.
"Yooo, what's up, Miss Lonely?"
I looked up, and there was Sophie, grinning like she'd just won a bet. She flopped into the seat across from me with an energy drink in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other.
"You're not gonna eat that spaghetti with a side of sad memories, are you?" she asked.
I snorted. I didn't mean to. It just… slipped out.
"There she is!" Sophie cried triumphantly. "Was that a laugh? Did I just witness Charlotte 'Stoneface' Samson laugh?"
"I don't laugh like that," I said, giggling again in spite of myself.
"Oh girl, you do. You sounded like a cross between a baby dolphin and a sneeze."
And just like that, I forgot that I had felt invisible ten minutes ago. I forgot about James, and the girls, and the ache of being overlooked.
Because in that moment, with Sophie cracking ridiculous jokes and swinging her legs under the table like a child on too much sugar, I didn't feel like a ghost anymore.
I felt like I had a seat at the table — even if it was covered in energy drink and bad pizza.
The next few days after that first class felt like something straight out of a dream — or at least the early chapters of a coming-of-age romance novel. James and I didn't just share classes; we started sitting together too. Every morning, he would wave me over, flash that annoyingly perfect grin, and ask me how I was doing like we were old friends. Sometimes we'd talk about music, sometimes school, and once — once — we even laughed at the same joke.
And every single time… I felt like I was floating.
It was impossible not to fall deeper into my old crush. He wasn't just handsome anymore — he was kind, funny, and surprisingly down-to-earth for someone who looked like he stepped out of a magazine cover.
But then, she arrived.
Her name was Darby Monroe — and believe me, if you whispered that name around campus, three boys would trip over themselves trying to get a glimpse of her. She had legs for days, hair that looked like it had been kissed by sunlight, and the kind of confidence that made entire rooms shift in her direction.
Darby was everything I wasn't. Outspoken. Popular. Powerful.
And worst of all? She had history with James.
They had apparently gone to the same summer prep camp the year before. He told me once, offhandedly, and I tried not to choke on my water.
From the moment Darby spotted James sitting beside me in class, she decided I didn't exist — or worse, she acted like I was in her way. She'd sashay in with her designer tote bag, bat her impossibly long lashes at him, and giggle in a way that made my skin crawl.
"Jamieee," she'd say, dragging his name out like honey. "You never text me back anymore. You're not ignoring me, are you?"
He'd smile politely, but he never pushed her away — and that stung. Especially because every time she came around, I found myself shrinking into my chair, invisible all over again. Her perfume even smelled like intimidation — some kind of expensive floral cloud that followed her like a royal announcement.
One afternoon, Darby walked up while James and I were discussing an anatomy lecture.
"Oh hey, Charlotte," she said with a fake smile, barely glancing my way. "Didn't realize you were still here."
I forced a smile. "I'm always here."
"That's cute."
She turned to James and twirled a strand of her hair around her finger.
"You free later? I thought we could catch up like old times."
My heart sank, and I tried not to let it show. James gave a non-committal shrug, but my thoughts were already spiraling. Of course he'd go with her. Why wouldn't he? She was dazzling. I was… me.
That evening in the cafeteria, I sat quietly picking at my salad when Sophie plopped down across from me as usual, but this time, she studied my face closely.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine."
"That's the biggest lie I've heard since a guy told me his name was Chad but his ID said Christopher."
I sighed. "It's stupid."
Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Is it about James?"
I froze. "What?"
"Girl. Come on. You look at him like he's a piece of chocolate cake you're not allowed to eat. And every time Darby struts by, you look like someone stepped on your heart with high heels."
I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. She was right. I hated that she was right.
"So… you like him?" she asked.
"…I liked him since high school," I muttered. "Back then, he didn't even know I existed. Now he talks to me, but I still feel like I'm… not enough. Especially when she's around."
Sophie slammed her tray down dramatically.
"Right. That's it. We are going to fix this. No more Sad Charlotte."
"Fix what?"
"You. We are going to turn you from Smart-and-Cute into Drop-Dead-Gorgeous-and-Unforgettable. That boy won't know what hit him. And Darby? She can choke on her own perfume."
I blinked. "You want to… give me a makeover?"
Sophie stood up and clapped her hands once like a general commanding an army.
"Operation: Glow-Up begins tonight. Hair. Makeup. Wardrobe. Confidence. You're going to walk into that next class like you own the campus."
I laughed nervously. "I don't think it's that simple, Sophie."
"Maybe not. But it's a start. And Charlotte?" She leaned closer, her voice softer. "You don't need to become someone else. You just need to stop hiding you. Because the real you? She's kinda amazing."
I stared at her, stunned.
Maybe for the first time in forever, someone truly saw me — not as invisible, not as a second option — but as someone worthy.
And with Sophie by my side, I started to believe it.