Kamen's POV
What a week. Honestly, it feels like a month since I was dragged into this place people call a school. I still can't believe I agreed to it—or rather, was forced to agree.
Having older sisters means having no say in your own life. They say it's out of love, but sometimes love feels like being wrapped in chains.
"Kamen, you need school to be successful," they told me.
"This is for your future."
Maybe they're right. Maybe. But it's hard to believe that when every hallway here feels like a trap.
If Jenny had come along, I'm sure it would have been easier. Or if I'd joined her school instead. But life has a way of twisting things. I've stopped expecting it to go my way.
Before I left, Jenny sat me down. "Buddy, I know this isn't easy. But you've got one life—don't waste it hiding from it. Kelce and Penelope just want the best for you. Momsy will be proud. Don't shut everyone out, okay?"
She meant well. Always does. But trying to fit in? That's never been my thing.
Most people see me as the weird kid, and I've stopped fighting it. I don't crave attention and don't need a crowd to feel alive. Peace, quiet, space—that's enough. But people seem to think they're doing me a favor by including me, like I owe them something.
My first day was proof of it: the teacher had us introduce ourselves, one by one, with fake smiles and nervous laughter. I zoned out halfway through. Why pretend to care when no one really listens?
By the weekend, I found a small hideout behind the science block—a quiet place where I could finally breathe. That corner became my refuge from noise, chaos, and expectations. For a while, I thought I could survive the semester that way.
Then came the science club meeting.
She was there—the girl who sat beside me, quiet and tense, like she carried the weight of a thousand expectations. She looked like the kind of person who never wanted to disappoint anyone. I knew that look.
I tried not to notice her, but when she got stuck on a math problem, instinct took over. I showed her a shortcut, half out of pity, half curiosity.
Maybe she did it just to get my attention. Or maybe it was a genuine mistake. Either way, I was surprised at how fast she was. She solved problems like it was second nature—faster and cleaner than anyone else in the room.
But it wasn't just her speed that caught me—it was her calm. She didn't try to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. She didn't pry or push. She was just… there. Steady, quiet, calm. Like Jenny.
Her eyes met mine, soft with gratitude and surprise like she hadn't expected kindness from someone like me.
She didn't try to fill the silence with words or questions. She simply stayed—steady, quiet, calm. Like Jenny.
Maybe it's not impossible to find someone who sees you without wanting to fix you.
Maybe, after all this time, it's still possible to have a friend.