I walked under the rain, umbrella in hand, as the sky wept over the city like it knew exactly how I felt.
People rushed past me — suits, students, couples — all in a hurry to get home before the storm got worse. Cars zoomed by, horns blaring, tires slicing through puddles with careless sprays. Yet, somehow, the sidewalks remained busy. Umbrellas collided. Raindrops pelted down like nails. No one noticed me.
But then again, they never really did.
I was just another miserable final-year student, trudging home like the weight of the world clung to my spine.
Terrible at love. Worse at being anyone's first choice.
The friend I once held closest, my childhood light, abandoned me the moment life stopped being easy. She called me her "rock" when we were younger — promised we'd always be there for each other. But when my family fell apart, when money dried up, when I needed her most... she left.
And then there was my girlfriend.
If I could even call her that.
She only ever messaged when she needed something — a dress, new shoes, tickets to a concert I couldn't afford. But I tried. I pushed myself to get those gifts, working part-time shifts after school, skipping meals just to buy her things she never even said thank you for.
I told myself I was lucky.
Lucky that a pretty girl would even look at someone like me.
When I was younger, I'd smile and swear I'd be rich someday. I'd protect the people I loved. I'd become someone important — someone who mattered.
But then my older brother died.
After that, it all fell apart.
He was everything I wasn't — brilliant, confident, beloved. And when he was gone, people didn't look at me. They looked through me, asking, "Why couldn't it have been you instead?"
From that day on, I stopped being a person.
I was his ghost.
A placeholder.
"The second option."
That title stuck to me like a scar. It didn't matter what I did. No matter how hard I tried, someone else was always better. Louder. Brighter. Loved.
Sometimes, the only place I found peace was in the memory of an old childhood cartoon — Miraculous Ladybug.
More specifically, Luka Couffaine.
I used to think he was cool — calm, kind, musical. He never demanded attention, but you could feel how deeply he loved. Especially Marinette.
Even as a kid, I rooted for him.
But as I got older, I saw what others missed.
Marinette never chose him.
She danced between Adrien and her own confusion, never realizing how patient Luka was. How much he gave.
He reminded me of myself.
And eventually, I realized something.
Luka was too good for her.
And I… I was too good for the people who never truly saw me.
I was lost in thought when it happened.
A flash of movement.
A squeal of tires.
A giggle from a child.
A little girl — couldn't be more than six — splashed into a puddle just ahead of me. She laughed as she stomped in the water, her pink raincoat soaked, hood slipping from her head. I would've smiled — once, long ago, I might've even joined her — but then I saw it.
She slipped.
Her tiny body skidded onto the street, just as a car rounded the bend too fast.
Time slowed.
For once, I didn't think. I just moved.
I dashed forward, tossed my umbrella aside, and grabbed her just in time — throwing her back toward the sidewalk.
I barely heard the screams before the light hit me.
A blinding flash.
Pain.
Then… cold.
My body hit the ground with a thud, rain soaking into my clothes as warm blood leaked from somewhere I couldn't feel. My chest burned. My lungs screamed. Everything hurt and then… didn't.
People ran over, some shouting, others filming. A woman screamed for help. A man cursed at the driver. Someone knelt beside me, trying to press down on the bleeding, hands trembling.
"Stay with me! You're going to be okay!"
But I knew the truth.
I wasn't going to be okay.
And maybe that was fine.
As the world around me blurred and the rain poured harder, I stared up at the gray sky and wondered if my brother would be waiting for me. Or if maybe, just maybe, this was it — the end of being invisible.
If fate was real, and if some twisted god was listening…
Then I only had one last thought to offer.
> If I ever get a second chance...
I won't waste it pleasing others.
Never again will I be the second choice.
Then everything went black