Monday morning came with its usual rush—cars honking, students crossing, and the faint smell of freshly cut grass drifting through the school gate. Olivia walked quietly beside Emma, clutching her backpack straps.
She had barely slept the night before. Her parents' argument lingered in her head like a shadow that wouldn't leave.
"Liv," Emma said gently, "you've been quiet all morning."
Olivia forced a small smile. "Just tired, that's all."
They entered the hallway just as students filled the building with noise. Laughter echoed off lockers. Teachers greeted students as they passed. Everything felt loud and alive—except Olivia. She moved through it all like someone walking underwater.
As they approached their classroom, a tall boy with neatly combed hair and an easy smile stood near the doorway—Peter Hughes.
Peter was known for being one of the brightest in their year. Confident, kind, and effortlessly friendly, he was the kind of student teachers loved and classmates admired. He'd tried talking to Olivia before, but she always found a way to keep her distance.
"Hey, Olivia," Peter called, stepping forward. "You dropped this last week."
He held out a blue notebook.
Olivia blinked, surprised. "Oh—thank you."
Their fingers brushed briefly as she took it. Peter noticed the faint tremble in her hand. "You okay?" he asked softly.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, shifting the notebook against her chest. "Just… thanks."
Before he could say more, Emma appeared, looping her arm through Olivia's. "Come on, we're going to be late," she said pointedly.
Peter chuckled. "Guess I'll see you in class."
Olivia nodded without meeting his eyes. She could feel Emma's curious gaze on her as they walked.
When they sat down, Emma leaned closer. "Why do you always act like he's trying to bite you?"
Olivia frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean Peter," Emma whispered. "He's literally the nicest guy in school, and he clearly likes talking to you. But every time he tries, you shut him out."
Olivia looked out the window, where sunlight played on the leaves of the big oak tree. "I just don't want to get close to anyone," she said quietly.
"Why not?"
"Because," she hesitated, "people who love you end up hurting you. That's what I see at home every day."
Emma's face softened. She didn't know what to say. For a moment, they both sat in silence as the teacher began class.
Later, during lunch, Peter found Olivia sitting alone under the shade of that same oak tree. He approached carefully, holding two juice boxes.
"I wasn't sure what flavor you liked," he said, offering her one. "So I brought both."
She looked up, startled but touched. "You didn't have to."
"I know," he said with a grin, "but I wanted to."
She hesitated, then took the apple juice. For the first time, she smiled genuinely.
"Thanks," she murmured.
They sat quietly, sipping their drinks as students laughed and shouted across the yard. The silence between them wasn't awkward—it was calm.
After a while, Peter spoke. "You know, people say life gets easier when you talk about what's bothering you."
Olivia gave a faint laugh. "Whoever said that probably never had my parents."
Peter tilted his head. "They argue a lot?"
She looked at him, surprised by his gentleness. "Almost every day. It's like they don't even see me anymore. I just… I don't want to end up like them."
Peter didn't respond right away. He just nodded slowly. "That's fair. But… maybe not everyone ends up that way."
Olivia smiled sadly. "Maybe. But I don't think love is for me."
For a second, Peter thought of arguing—but then he saw the pain behind her eyes and decided not to.
Instead, he said softly, "Then maybe friendship is a good place to start."
Olivia looked at him, almost smiling again. "Maybe."
When Emma spotted them from afar, she nudged another friend playfully. "Would you look at that—Olivia's talking to Peter."
It was small, simple, and ordinary. But to Olivia, it felt like the first time someone had seen her—really seen her—in a long while.
As she walked home later that day, the wind brushed through her hair, and she whispered again to herself, though softer this time:
"I'll never end up like them… unless love decides to be different."