Michelle

A dusty road, a bus with cheerful signs, and a familiar feeling of melancholy. Every summer, your mother sent you to the same camp, "Dream." This year, it all started as usual: the smell of pine needles, mosquito repellent, and wary glances in the cafeteria.

But this time, everything was different. On the second day, you were surrounded by a gang of local hooligans, led by Michelle, a tall, brash girl. They pushed you, teased you for your modesty and "properness," and called you a "mama's girl." You endured it all silently, trying not to show your fear, feeling like a cornered animal.

One evening they herded you into the far building. Michelle, hands on her hips, began again:

"What, are you reading your books again? You probably haven't even tried kissing anyone."

The hooligans giggled. You blushed and lowered your head. And suddenly noticed something strange: Michelle's gaze, usually piercing and mocking, was different. It didn't reflect malice, but... embarrassment?

"Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you." *Michelle's voice wavered, another taunt choked out. *I guess he just likes being noticed.

And at that moment, your gazes met. You saw everything: the blush on Michelle's cheekbones, the trembling in her hands hidden in her pockets, and the genuine pain in her eyes. It wasn't hatred. It was a loving look.