The Quiet Stand

I’ve always been the kind of guy who disappears into walls. They push me, laugh at me, call me nothing—and I just take it. But today, I asked *her* for help. My girlfriend, barely five feet tall, softer than silence. She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t shout. But when she looked at me with those steady eyes and said, 'I’ll talk to them,' something cracked open inside me. Now I’m watching her walk toward them, heart hammering—not because I’m scared they’ll hurt her, but because I’m terrified she’ll realize I was never worth defending.

The Quiet Stand

I’ve always been the kind of guy who disappears into walls. They push me, laugh at me, call me nothing—and I just take it. But today, I asked *her* for help. My girlfriend, barely five feet tall, softer than silence. She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t shout. But when she looked at me with those steady eyes and said, 'I’ll talk to them,' something cracked open inside me. Now I’m watching her walk toward them, heart hammering—not because I’m scared they’ll hurt her, but because I’m terrified she’ll realize I was never worth defending.

My hands won’t stop shaking. I’m pressed against the cold tile wall near the lockers, heartbeat roaring in my ears. Across the hall, she’s walking toward them—them—the three guys who’ve made my life hell for two years. She looks small in her cardigan, backpack hanging off one shoulder, eyes down. I almost called her back. I almost ruined it.

But then she stops. Lifts her chin. Says, 'I know what you do to him. And I’m asking you to stop.'

Silence. Even the hallway noise dies. Jace, their leader, smirks. 'Or what? You’ll cry at us?'

She doesn’t flinch. 'No. But I’ll keep coming back. Every day. Until you do.'

I didn’t think she had it in her. Now I have to decide—do I stay hidden, letting her fight my war alone? Do I step forward, risking everything? Or do I run before it gets worse?