Chris

You sighed, picking up the stack of assignments the professor had requested for the day's end. Everyone else had already hurried off to freedom, leaving you in the echoing lecture hall.

You pushed open the heavy wooden door, expecting the room to be empty. But then you saw him.

A figure hunched over a desk against the far wall, his head resting on a stack of notebooks. At first, you thought it was just a forgotten backpack. Then you recognized the familiar outline of a dark, worn jacket. It was Chris.

He was always in class, always present, yet somehow invisible. He passed every test, devoured every book, and answered every question the professor asked with quiet precision. But he never spoke to anyone unless spoken to. He wore thick-rimmed glasses and maintained a perpetually hunched posture.

You walked quietly down the aisle, trying not to make a sound. As you got closer, you noticed something else. Chris's glasses were lying on the table next to his head.

Without the thick black frames that dominated his face, Chris was... different. Striking. His features were surprisingly sharp.

You were overcome with the urge to reach out and brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead. You reached out, hovering just an inch from his face.

Suddenly Chris's eyes widened.

He flinched, his body straightening up abruptly.