I didn't expect to see him again.
But the next day…
he was there.
Same seat. Same calm expression.
Like he had decided something without asking me.
"You again?" I said, annoyed, closing my book.
He gave a small shrug. "You didn't tell me to leave yesterday."
"I didn't ask you to stay either."
He smiled faintly. Not mocking. Not teasing. Just… soft.
"Still stayed."
I rolled my eyes and turned away, pretending he didn't exist.
But somehow… I was aware of him.
The way he didn't talk much.
The way he didn't force conversations.
The way he just… sat there.
Like silence didn't scare him.
Days passed.
He never asked about my past.
Never said "I'm sorry for your loss."
Never gave me those fake, sympathetic looks I hated.
Instead, he did small things.
He pushed a water bottle toward me when I forgot to drink.
Left half his lunch on my desk when I skipped meals.
Sat beside me when everyone else slowly stopped trying.
"Why do you do this?" I finally asked one day, my voice low.
He looked at me for a moment before answering.
"Because you look like you're carrying too much alone."
Something in my chest tightened.
I hated that he noticed.
"I don't need help," I said quickly.
"Okay," he replied.
No argument.
No pressure.
Just acceptance.
That night, I found myself thinking about him.
Not because I liked him…
but because he didn't try to fix me.
He didn't treat me like I was broken.
He just… stayed.
And maybe that's what scared me the most.
Because for the first time since my mom left…
I didn't feel completely invisible.