Bruised Hearts and Detention Rooms

Liana had never been to detention.

She was the kind of student teachers forgot to discipline—quiet, on time, and invisible. So when her name was called over the intercom during third period and she was told to report to Room 203 for “after-school detention,” she thought it had to be a mistake.

It wasn’t.

She walked into the detention room after the final bell, only to find one other person already there, slouched in the back chair like he lived there.

Kieran Wolfe.

Of course.

He didn’t even look surprised to see her. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” she muttered, dropping into the desk farthest from him.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

She glared. “Seriously. Ms. Allen said I left my sketch on her desk and claimed I cheated.”

“Wait, you draw?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t cheat.”

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Sunshine. I believe you. You don’t seem clever enough to pull it off.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re lucky I don’t throw a stapler at you.”

He smirked. “You threatening me already? That’s... kind of hot.”

She turned away, hiding a smile she didn’t mean to wear. This boy was exhausting. Infuriating. Loud.

And yet—he was the only person who made her feel like she wasn’t just passing through life unnoticed.

“Why are you here?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

He shrugged. “Told Coach to shove his whistle. He told me to write a three-page apology letter.”

“You’re on the football team?”

“Was.” His tone dropped. “I don’t do ‘teams.’ I don’t do people.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”

He looked at her then—not with his usual smirk, but something deeper. Tired. Honest.

“Because you don’t feel like people.”

She didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t know what to say.

The room fell into a strange kind of silence—the comfortable kind that only happens when two people stop pretending.

Kieran opened his sketchbook. After a moment, he slid it toward her without speaking.

The drawing on the page was... her.

Or some version of her. A girl sitting alone at a window, sunlight falling on her hair, a sunflower blooming in the cracks of the sill.

Her breath caught.

“You drew me,” she whispered.

He shrugged again, but there was a hint of red in his cheeks. “You sit in the library like that. I didn’t know I was gonna show you.”

She studied the sketch, stunned. No one had ever really seen her like this. Not since her mom.

“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly.

He didn’t look at her when he replied. “You are.”

Liana’s heart stumbled.

Before she could say anything, the clock ticked. Detention ended.

She stood up slowly, the sketch still open between them.

“See you tomorrow, Sunshine,” he said, finally meeting her eyes.

And for once, she didn’t hate the nickname.

Not even a little.

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