chapter l

Chapter 1: Unspoken Dreams

Claire always thought love was meant to be beautiful. Her favorite books described it as a force that could light up even the darkest corners of the world. But for Claire, love was a shadow—a ghost that lingered just out of reach. It began with Lucas, the boy who sat two rows ahead in biology class, the boy with ocean-blue eyes and a smile that could melt glaciers.

He was perfect in every way—or at least, that’s how Claire saw him. But Lucas didn’t know Claire existed. To him, she was just a quiet girl in the back of the room, her nose buried in sketchbooks or her gaze lost in the world outside the window.

It started innocently. Claire would doodle his name in the margins of her notebook, her heart racing whenever he laughed at a joke she wasn’t part of. She watched him from afar, memorizing the way his lips curled when he smiled, the way his fingers drummed on his desk when he was bored.

But admiration soon turned into obsession.

Claire began leaving anonymous notes in his locker—small scraps of paper folded neatly, bearing messages like “You have the kindest eyes” or “Your laugh brightens the room.” She would watch from a distance as Lucas found them, his brow furrowed in confusion, his friends teasing him about his secret admirer.

She knew it was foolish, but she couldn’t stop. Each note felt like a piece of her heart being torn out and placed at his feet.

One day, she mustered the courage to speak to him. It was after school, the hallway deserted except for the two of them. Lucas was at his locker, and Claire’s trembling hands clutched the strap of her backpack.

“Hi,” she said, her voice barely audible.

He turned, surprised, and for the first time, his eyes met hers. Claire felt as though the world had stopped spinning.

“Hey,” he replied, his tone polite but distant.

“I just… I wanted to say you’re really talented in art class,” she stammered, though she had never actually seen him in art class.

Lucas chuckled softly, his smile disarming. “Thanks. That’s nice of you to say.”

The moment was fleeting, but for Claire, it was monumental. She replayed it in her mind a hundred times that night, dissecting every word, every gesture. She told herself it was a sign, that maybe—just maybe—he could love her too.

But Lucas didn’t notice her after that. Days turned into weeks, and he remained as distant as ever. Meanwhile, Claire’s feelings deepened, consuming her like a fire she couldn’t extinguish. She skipped meals, lost sleep, her thoughts endlessly revolving around him.

Her friends noticed the change. “You’re not yourself, Claire,” her best friend Sophie said one afternoon. “Is something going on?”

Claire shook her head, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

But she wasn’t fine. The weight of her unrequited love was suffocating. She began to believe that if she gave enough of herself, if she tried hard enough, Lucas would see her.

She started staying late after school, decorating his locker with handmade drawings, slipping small gifts like candy bars and keychains inside. She even learned his favorite coffee order and left it waiting for him at his desk.

At first, Lucas seemed flattered but confused. “Who keeps doing this?” he asked his friends one day, holding up a sketch of a sunset with his name scrawled in the corner.

Claire overheard him and felt a flicker of hope. Maybe he would connect the dots, realize it was her, and finally see how much she cared.

But then something happened that shattered her fragile world. One afternoon, she saw Lucas walking down the hall with another girl—Emma, the captain of the volleyball team. They were laughing, their hands brushing, their eyes locked in a way that made Claire’s chest ache.

The truth hit her like a train. Lucas didn’t belong to her. He never had.

That night, Claire lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as tears streamed down her face. She had given so much of herself to someone who didn’t even know her name.

And for the first time, she wondered if love was meant to hurt this much.

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