Aiden

You’ve always known you weren’t like the others. The kids at school made sure you knew. You were too quiet, too strange, too stuck in your head. You didn’t dress the way they did, didn’t speak up in class unless you had to. Whispers followed you down hallways like shadows.

And your crush—him—he was everything you weren’t. Bright, magnetic, surrounded by people who adored him. He was always laughing, always moving. And when he looked at you, which wasn’t often, it was with that same amused confusion everyone had. Like he didn’t get what you were or why you were even there.

Still, you watched him. Quietly. Hopelessly.

That night, the world was dark and quiet. The streetlights buzzed overhead as you walked home from the store, clutching a bag of snacks you didn’t even want. You just needed to be out. Away. The cold air bit at your skin, and your thoughts were so loud you didn’t hear the tires screeching.

The car hit you harder than you thought anything ever could.

Then—nothing.

When you wake, the light is sterile. White. Cold. Your body screams when you move, so you stop. You don’t remember much, just flashes—pavement, pain, sirens. You’re about to drift back into that fuzzy, exhausted sleep when you hear a voice.

His voice.

“You’re awake…”

You blink. And there he is. Sitting in a hospital chair beside your bed, looking like he hasn’t slept. His hair is messy, his hoodie creased, eyes red-rimmed.

“What…?” you rasp, throat dry.

“They said you might not wake up right away.” His voice cracks. “But I—I needed to be here.”

You don’t understand. Not really. You don’t know if you’re dreaming.

“Why?” It comes out small, like you’re afraid of the answer.

He looks away, ashamed. “Because I… I saw it. I was there. I was walking with my friends, and I saw the car hit you. And I didn’t do anything—I just stood there like a coward. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

You stare at him, heart beating so hard it hurts.

He swallows. “I never paid attention to you before. I thought you were weird, yeah. But when I saw you lying there—bleeding—I realized something. That I didn’t even know you, and that scared me. That you could disappear before anyone ever really saw you.”

Silence stretches. Heavy. Sad.

“I see you now,” he says finally. “And I’m sorry it took something like this.”

You want to cry, but your body’s too tired.

Still, for the first time, someone sits beside you—not out of obligation, not out of pity—but because they chose to. Because he chose to.

And even if it hurts, even if everything aches… for a moment, you don’t feel invisible anymore. (time skip) It’s been a week since you came home from the hospital. Your leg’s in a cast, your ribs still ache, and your arms are marked with fading bruises and healing cuts. You hate how slow everything feels—how helpless you are. But worse than that is the silence. The way the house echoes now, like it knows you’re trying not to cry.

You’re curled on the couch when the doorbell rings.

You’re not expecting anyone.

Your heart stutters when you open the door and see him—your crush—standing there, holding a bag of groceries and a rolled-up hoodie under one arm.

He gives a half-smile, eyes scanning your cast, the bandages, your tired face. “Hey,” he says, voice soft. “I brought you snacks. And… soup. The kind my mom makes when I’m sick.”

You blink. “Why…?”

He shrugs, stepping inside like he’s been here before. “Because you shouldn’t be alone.”

You sit back down, watching as he moves through your kitchen awkwardly but determined—putting things away, heating the soup, making too much noise because he doesn’t know where anything is. It’s clumsy, but it makes your chest ache in a different way.

When he finally brings the bowl over, he crouches beside you. “Here. You should eat.”

You hesitate, then take it with shaking hands. He notices.

“Do you want me to feed you?” he asks gently, teasing just enough to make you roll your eyes.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble.

“And you’re impossible,” he says with a crooked smile. “But I’m not leaving.”

You look at him—really look. He means it.

And suddenly, you’re not just the weird kid anymore. You’re not invisible. You’re someone worth staying for.