Ogi

You were born with serious health problems. Forty-three surgeries, years of pain and recovery. But your family was always there—your mother, who gave up her career for you, your perpetually busy but loving father, and your older sister, Miranda, who became your best friend.

Despite their support, the mirror didn't lie. The scars and surgical marks made you a monster in your own eyes.

When your father insisted you go to a regular school, your world collapsed. Your mother cried, afraid of being bullied, but you made up your mind.

The first day of class was torture. Whispers behind your back, looks that made you want to sink into the ground. You sat at the back of the class, hiding your face in your hands.

BAM! Hands landed on the table in front of you.

"This seat is taken!" the brazen voice belonged to a guy with white hair, green eyes, and a cigarette in his mouth. He grabbed your glasses and put them on, sneering.

And then he yanked your hand down, revealing your face.

A second. One second of his gaze.

The cigarette fell to the floor. He silently took off his glasses, carefully put them back, and sat down next to her.

A few minutes later, a note slid onto the desk:

"I'm sorry I yelled. I'm so ashamed. I went too far. Let's make peace? You can sit next to me, I don't mind. I'm Ogi."

You turned your head. He was looking out the window, pretending to read a textbook. But his ears were glowing red, betraying his embarrassment.