The beginning and quick end of everything

... •   —— 🤍 ——   •...

In my first year of high school, I was invisible—unless someone needed a target. They called me names. Scribbled cruel things on my desk. Tossed my backpack in the trash. Waited until after school to remind me that my existence meant nothing to them. You know, the usual things bullies do—except it never felt “usual” to me. It felt like drowning.

No one treated me kindly. I was painfully shy, the kind of quiet that makes people uncomfortable. I had social anxiety so bad I could barely answer a question in class. I was a mess. Honestly, I still am.

Back then, I got so tired of waking up. Tired of walking into school knowing exactly what the day would bring. I wanted to disappear. I convinced myself no one would care if I did. Maybe they’d pretend to be sad for a day or two. A week, max. But mostly, life would go on—easier without me.

At least the pain would stop.

And then, one day, while they were kicking me around like trash behind the gym, someone stepped in.

He wasn’t a teacher or a friend or a superhero. He was just a senior—tall, dyed hair, piercings, and a look that said he didn’t care what people thought of him. His name was Aki. Aki Hana.

He saved me. Not just from that beating, but from everything else, too.

He was the first person who looked at me without disgust in his eyes. The first to talk to me like I mattered. After so much time in the dark, he was a light I hadn’t expected. He smiled at me like I was worth something. And suddenly, for the first time in forever, I didn’t feel so alone.

Around him, I felt less small. Less anxious. Like maybe I could breathe again.

The invisible X I’d drawn across my chest—the one that said “worthless, broken, unwanted”—started to fade. I didn’t even notice it happening at first. But slowly, everything began to shift.

I wanted to be near him all the time.

Every second I spent with him felt like oxygen. I started helping him with anything he needed—carrying books, running errands, anything. Not because he asked. Just because it gave me a reason to be near him. A reason to matter.

He made me feel safe. And I couldn’t let that go. I was terrified of slipping back into the cold silence that used to define me.

Never again. I wouldn’t survive that again.

At the time, I thought it was friendship. Gratitude. A warm feeling, something good. I didn’t realize it was an obsession.

He’d tell me about a band he liked and suddenly it was my favorite band. Even if I hated the music. He’d mention a clothing style and I’d show up wearing it the next day. If he said, “You’d look good with baby blue hair,” I’d be at the salon that night. If he liked piercings, I got as many as I could afford.

I needed him to see me. I needed to become someone he’d want to keep around.

Before Aki, I didn’t have dreams. No future plans. Why would I? People had told me my whole life that I was useless, and eventually, I started to believe them. When the world repeats the same lie enough times, you start to accept it as truth.

And maybe… they were right.

Right?

...•   —— 🤍 ——   •...

After that day he saved me, I saw him again—by chance, or maybe fate—in the art club. He had just joined. I’d been there longer, so naturally, I was asked to show him around, help him settle in.

And of course, I did. I had to.

They said I was one of the better artists in the club. Maybe I was. Maybe not. But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was the one who got to help him.

Aki.

With that soft smile and effortless charm that somehow felt like a warm blanket over my shivering nerves, he made everything worse and better at once. Every interaction—no matter how small—fueled something inside me. Something I didn't understand yet.

During class, I started sketching without thinking, and when I looked down, I’d drawn him again. And again. He was everywhere on the page. His profile, his eyes, his hands. He was the perfect subject—unintentionally still and endlessly captivating.

He was the first person who ever encouraged my art. Who looked at my work with real admiration and told me I was talented. That my lines were expressive. That I had something special.

He said I should chase it. That I could make something of it.

No one had ever said that to me before—not like they meant it.

And somehow, he found out about the other thing I loved. Photography. I never told anyone about it. But he noticed.

I used to sneak into quiet corners of the city, the school, even the hallways when no one was watching, just to capture a glimpse of beauty. I took photos of whatever gave me a reason to feel something. They made me happy, quietly. Privately. Some of them were even displayed on the school bulletin board once, though nobody knew they were mine.

But Aki saw them. Really saw them.

He said I had an eye for wonder. That I could turn the ordinary into something magical. He told me I was gifted. That I had motivation, drive, passion.

I didn’t believe him.

Maybe he was just being kind. Maybe he pitied me. Why else would he say those things?

Why was he so nice?

No one is kind without wanting something in return. That’s what I’d learned. That’s what I’d lived. So what did he want?

I didn’t know. And that terrified me.

Sometimes, I took pictures of him when he wasn’t looking. Tiny stolen moments—him laughing, reading, looking out the window, brushing his hair from his face. I kept them like treasure, locked away where no one could find them. Each one felt like it was worth a million dollars.

Maybe you’d call me insane. Maybe you’d say I crossed a line.

But to me, those photos weren’t creepy or wrong. They were sacred. A way to hold onto the only person who ever made me feel real.

He was too perfect to be shared with anyone else.

...•   —— 🤍 ——   •...

It happened on a Friday afternoon, during lunch.

I saw him before he saw me—his eyes scanning the courtyard like he was looking for someone. Like he was looking for me.

He was.

My heart nearly collapsed under the weight of that simple truth.

He was searching for me. So we could eat together. Like friends do. Like people who matter to each other.

God, he looked so good. He’d cut his hair—just a couple of inches—but somehow, it changed everything. His face looked sharper, his smile brighter. I couldn’t look away.

So I did what I always did when something felt too beautiful to trust: I tried to capture it. I pulled out my phone and aimed the camera, careful to make it look casual. I checked that he wasn’t looking.

But the flash—

God. The flash.

That stupid little burst of light betrayed me in the loudest silence imaginable.

He turned his head. Our eyes met.

He saw. He knew.

My stomach dropped. The world blurred around me. I wanted to disappear.

He must think I’m a freak now. A creep. Some obsessive little loser. He’d never talk to me again. I could feel it already—the distance, the rejection, the cold silence creeping back in.

I would be alone again.

Alone and lost, just like before.

I couldn’t survive that. Not again.

I couldn’t lose the only good thing I’d ever had.

But how do you fix something when the truth has already broken it?

How do you hide from someone who’s just seen everything?

...His eyes found mine and I shattered.
Panic flared—wild, stupid, loud.
I looked away, then back, then nowhere.
Caught. Exposed. Filthy. Small.
If shame had teeth, I was already bleeding.
I shouldn’t have looked.
I shouldn’t have existed....

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