The late afternoon sun painted the sidewalks in gold and shadow. The noise of school—bells, lockers, voices—faded the further they walked, replaced by the hum of cars in the distance and the crunch of their shoes on the pavement.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't empty—it was heavy, thick with everything left unsaid.
She stared at the ground, clutching the straps of her bag, her mind spinning. The words from the cafeteria still echoed in her ears. She's nothing. She doesn't belong. They clung to her, sticky and cruel, no matter how hard she tried to shake them.
Finally, she exhaled. "You didn't have to do all that, you know."
Kai glanced at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "Yeah, I did."
She frowned. "It just… made everything worse. For me. For you."
"Worse for me doesn't matter," he said flatly. Then, after a beat: "And worse for you? Maybe. But at least they know I won't let them tear you apart anymore."
Her steps slowed. "But you don't even know me. Not really."
Kai stopped walking, turning to face her. The wind tugged at his black hair, but his eyes didn't move from hers. "I know enough to see through bullshit. And I know enough to see you pretending you're fine when you're not."
Her chest tightened. The mask she wore every day—it felt fragile under his gaze, like it could shatter with one more word.
"Why do you care?" she whispered.
For a moment, he said nothing. His hands flexed at his sides, his jaw working like he was holding something back. Then, quietly, he admitted:
"Because I know what it feels like to be invisible until someone decides you're worth tearing down. And I'm not gonna let them do that to you."
Her breath caught. She wanted to ask. She wanted to press him about what he meant, about the shadows in his voice. But the look in his eyes stopped her—dark, raw, edged with something too fragile to touch yet.
So instead, she just whispered: "Thank you."
And for the first time all day, her voice didn't sound fake.