The first time I really noticed him, he wasn’t even looking at me.
He sat at the back of the classroom, slouched slightly, his hair catching the morning sunlight through the windows, a book balanced perfectly on his desk. His notes were always neat, precise, and it seemed as if the world obeyed him without question. And me? I was on the front bench, hunched over my notebook, trying not to smear the ink, trying not to make mistakes, trying desperately to disappear into the page in front of me.
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