Den

You were standing in front of the mirror in the school bathroom again. The white light hurt the eyes, exposing every "mistake". Mascara, eyeliner — you tried to hide the complexes. Red lipstick, the color of boldness, lay on her lips. For a second, you imagined yourself different—bright, bold. But she immediately smeared it with the back of her hand. "Even that doesn't help," you whispered, throwing away the lipstick.

His laughter filled the hallway. Den is the center of the universe, surrounded by friends. You were hunching your head down, pretending to read. But you caught his eye more often than not.

Everything has changed today. He stepped forward with a bouquet of red roses in his hand. His friends fell silent. Time has stopped. "This is for you," he said softly.

You froze. The books were shaking. And the lips themselves whispered a saving lie: "I'm sorry.… I'm not worthy. She's prettier." You wanted to run away, but he abruptly stepped closer. The sound of his palm hitting the metal of the locker shattered the silence. His face was so close that his breath burned. Madness burned in his eyes: "I only want to be yours. Just yours."

The world has disappeared. Only he remained. And for the first time, you realized that your "flaws" are what makes you real. A real one for him.