Sunflower Girl Meets Thunder Boy

Liana told herself she wouldn’t think about him again. Not his voice. Not that smirk. It's not the ridiculous nickname.

And yet, there she was—twenty minutes into second period—still hearing it in her head. Sunflower.

No one had called her that before. No one had really called her anything in a long time.

The rest of the morning blurred by in sleepy lectures and half-hearted note-taking. But when the lunch bell rang, everything sharpened.

She stepped into the cafeteria, gripping her tray like a shield. The noise was instant—laughter, arguments, the clatter of trays. Liana scanned the room for a quiet spot.

Her usual corner was taken.

So was her backup table.

She turned slowly, preparing to eat outside, when a voice stopped her.

“Sunshine. Over here.”

Her stomach did a small, annoying flip.

Kieran Wolfe sat at the far end of a table near the window, boots up on the chair beside him like he owned the place. He nodded toward the seat across from him, casually tossing an apple between his hands.

“No thanks,” she said quickly.

“You sure? Looks like you’re about to dine with the squirrels.”

She hesitated. Every part of her wanted to keep walking, to hold onto the invisible bubble she’d crafted so carefully over the years.

But something inside her—the lonely part - the curious part—moved her feet before her brain could stop it.

She sat.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he said, sounding impressed.

“Me neither,” she muttered, stabbing her fork into her rice.

He grinned. “So. Tell me something boring about you.”

“What?”

“You look like the type who’s all mystery and mood lighting. C’mon—give me something dull. Like your favourite cereal.”

She rolled her eyes but said, “Cinnamon Squares.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Respectable choice.”

“What about you? Or are you too edgy for cereal?”

“Frosted Flakes,” he said without shame. “Judge all you want.”

She almost smiled.

Almost.

“What are you even doing here?” she asked. “You don’t seem like the school type.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Got into trouble back home. Mom thought a ‘fresh start’ might fix me.”

“Will it?”

He shrugged. “Doubt it.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The noise of the cafeteria faded into background fuzz.

“You don’t talk to anyone else,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “Neither do you.”

“Yeah, but I like it that way. You… I think you used to talk. I think something made you stop.”

Her chest tightened. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he said. “But I will.”

She pushed her tray away, suddenly too full to eat. “I have class.”

He watched her stand. “Library after school. For the project.”

She nodded once, then walked away—fast, like distance could undo the strange feeling in her chest.

He was right.

She had stopped talking.

But somehow, Kieran Wolfe had started to make the silence feel too loud.

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