My name is Dinah. At school, I'm a nobody.
Not the smartest girl who always sits in the front row and tops the class.
Not the pretty one everyone chases, or the center of attention during breaks.
I'm just... painfully average. The kind of student you could easily miss if you weren't paying attention.
But I didn't really mind.
I liked being like this — quietly observing, laughing at my friends' jokes, joining a few conversations here and there, and going home without leaving a trace.
I have three best friends: Sasha, Annie, and Mikasa.
Yes, you heard that right. The names might sound familiar — like characters from a famous anime.
But in my life, they're real. Each one has her own world.
Sasha is the loudest, always laughing first. She claims she can smell bread from two classrooms away. But don't underestimate her — when it comes to feelings, she's surprisingly sensitive.
Annie is the quiet type — cold and sharp. But when she speaks, her words cut deep. She doesn't let people get close easily, but somehow, she lets me stay by her side.
Mikasa... she's like a living shield. Calm but strong, not one for small talk, yet always there when one of us needs a shoulder.
And then there's Armin.
The boy with a clear mind, soft voice, and a calm way of speaking.
In the chaos of our classroom that often feels like a night market, Armin is like spring — gentle, warm, and comforting.
He makes small conversations feel meaningful.
And if I'm honest... sometimes I think he's the only one who really sees me.
There are many other faces and names in my class that color my days.
Like Eren — full of passion, sometimes too explosive, but clearly driven by big dreams.
He can cause a scene out of nowhere, but he's also serious about the things he believes in.
Then there's Jean, who acts all cool and loves teasing Eren, but secretly cares a lot.
Armin, as I mentioned, often plays the mediator.
Connie — the ultimate class clown, effortlessly funny.
Reiner and Bertolt — the tall, calm duo who seem mature but carry silence like a shield.
Floch, who speaks like a politician even when he's just making a point.
Nicolo, the culinary genius who often brings extra lunch.
Colt, quiet but observant.
Porco, a bit sarcastic, but honest.
And Pieck... Pieck always looks like she just woke up, but her mind is razor-sharp and unpredictable.
If our class were a theater, Historia and Ymir would be the leading roles no one cast, but everyone watches.
Historia — sweet smile, soft voice.
Everyone likes her, even the teachers are more patient when she asks questions.
But don't be fooled. Behind that serene look, she has sharp logic and a kind of courage that doesn't always show.
She avoids drama, but when she speaks, everyone listens.
And beside her, always — is Ymir.
The opposite of Historia in every way.
Blunt, sarcastic, unafraid to stare anyone down.
But somehow, only Historia can make her smile without the usual bite.
They always sit together. Group work? Always a pair. Like a packaged deal you can't separate.
Sometimes when Jean tries to flirt with Historia, Ymir shoots him a glare and says,
"Big mouth for someone who can't pass Math."
Jean goes silent. Armin chuckles quietly.
And Sasha pats my shoulder, "You know, if Ymir joined a national debate, her opponents would cry."
Then there's Hitch and Marlo.
Hitch sits by the window, always relaxed — sometimes too relaxed.
She somehow knows every bit of gossip before it even spreads.
"Eren and Jean arguing again? Ugh, boring. Wake me up when they throw chairs," she mutters while spinning her pencil.
But behind her carefree act, she's actually pretty thoughtful — in her own way.
She loves teasing people, but if you're sad, she'll quietly hand you candy without saying a word.
Marlo, on the other hand…
He's the kind of student who takes school seriously.
Highlights his textbooks, sticks his exam schedules on the wall, always sits straight like he's on trial.
And yet, for some reason, he's friends with Hitch — and her favorite teasing target.
"Marlo, relax. You're not the country's last soldier," Hitch says with her head rested on her desk.
"Responsibility matters. I can't rest until I'm done," he replies, as serious as ever.
"Look at them," Connie whispers to me. "They're like a slice-of-life anime couple. One's a military robot, the other lives on vacation mode."
I chuckle.
Because he's right.
Each of them plays a role.
Sometimes silly, sometimes exhausting, sometimes heartwarming.
But they're all... so alive.
And our class, for all its chaos and noise, is home.
And me?
Maybe I'm just the quiet narrator, sitting in the middle row, watching from the sidelines.
But I'm here. With them.
Collecting every small moment, not knowing what kind of memories they'll become someday.
Sometimes I think...
Even if I'm just a shadow in the corner of the classroom, these people — my friends — are the colors in the painting of my life.
And maybe, in my own quiet way... I color theirs too.
---
Our class is never really quiet.
Even when the teacher hasn't arrived yet, it's like an endless night market.
Sasha usually starts the chaos from the back of the room.
"DINAAAH! I GOT POTATO BREAD!!"
Even though it's just her own lunch, she opens it like she's filming a food commercial.
"Can you eat without a public announcement for once?" Jean groans, head tilted back, eyes still eyeing the bread.
"She just wants everyone to know she's happy," Armin says with a soft smile, eyes still buried in a thick novel that seems endless.
Connie jumps in, "Wait, wait. Is it bread stuffed with potato, or potato stuffed with bread?"
And boom — the whole class laughs.
No teacher in sight, yet it already feels like a talk show.
Eren usually sits in the far corner, sometimes lost in his own world.
Then suddenly stands up and says,
"I don't get why we have to study economics when freedom is all that matters!"
"Oh please, Eren... that's not freedom, that's running from responsibility," Jean snaps.
"Don't you get it? Responsibility is part of freedom too!"
And thus begins another debate that won't end until the final bell.
Reiner just shakes his head, while Bertolt listens quietly, pretending to take notes.
"Again," Annie mutters to me, "a pointless riot."
Pieck strolls in five minutes before the bell, looking like she napped on the school lawn.
"What's the drama today?" she yawns.
"Today's topic: why Eren thinks economics is irrelevant even though exams are next week," Armin says, finally putting down his book in surrender.
Floch is already making a mock poll — writing down who's most likely to pass just because they have an innocent face.
"I'm putting your name here, Dinah. 'Innocent face gets you a passing grade.' Armin too."
"Don't drag me into your chaos," Armin responds with a helpless half-smile.
Amidst all the noise, I usually just sit back and listen.
Enjoy it.
Because honestly, I like it this way.
Noisy. Alive.
Weird, right?
An average girl in the middle of a wildly chaotic class.
But maybe — just maybe — it's the quiet ones who survive the storm best.
Sometimes Mikasa glances at me, sees the tears in my eyes from laughing too hard, and says in her usual calm tone,
"Don't die from laughter, Dinah. We still have Biology homework."
And when the teacher finally walks in, everyone sits up straight.
But the laughter, the energy — it still lingers in the air like an echo of joy that never really fades.
---
That day, the sun was still low as I walked home.
The sky was a pale orange, like it couldn't decide whether to set or not.
Sasha's sandals slapping the pavement, Connie's laughter echoing in the distance, Armin's soft footsteps beside me — all still played in my ears.
But now I was alone, walking down the small street that led to my house.
My steps slowed as I reached my gate.
Something was different.
The old, empty house across the street — the one with always-closed windows and peeling paint — had its door open.
And someone was standing there.
A man.
He stood alone by the gate — around 23 years old.
Jet black hair, neatly cut.
His face… calm, but too blank. Too rigid.
As if he were made of ice, not blood and flesh.
His eyes locked onto mine — cold.
Not angry, just… hollow.
Like he was staring at a wall, not a person.
As if he'd forgotten how to show emotion.
His eyes were deep, unreadable.
His expression betrayed no interest in anything around him.
Hands tucked into his dark jacket pockets, posture stiff — too composed for someone who just moved in.
I hesitated, but somehow, my feet moved toward him.
We crossed paths at the gate.
I took a deep breath and greeted him.
"Hi," I said warmly, my voice a little shaky but genuine. "Just moved in?"
He turned.
Only for a moment.
That look — sharp and icy — crawled over my skin.
Then… without a word, he walked away.
No reply.
No nod.
Not even a second glance.
As if I was nothing but background noise.
As if I hadn't spoken.
As if I didn't exist.
I stood frozen.
The afternoon breeze slipped through my hair like a whisper I couldn't quite understand.
There was something about that look.
Not just cold or distant.
But something else...
I watched his back disappear into the house.
The door closed behind him, and the silence that followed seeped into my chest.
For the first time in a long while, that empty house felt alive.
But not in a warm way.
Alive — like a dream you wish would end.
I chuckled to myself as I stepped into my own house and muttered a silent vow:
"I'm never greeting him again."
---
A cup of matcha and us