Imagine you've got a crush on the nerdy girl from the class next door. The kind of girl who seems invisible to the whole school — except to you. Always buried in a book, alone, with an anime pin on her backpack from a show you've never seen, but that makes you curious enough to want to learn more about her. Sadie, the popular girl everyone knows, decided to pay attention to her. And that... well, that was the beginning of chaos.

The first attempt at talking was simple: Sadie asked what book she was reading. That's it. But the reaction? A slight jump, wide eyes, like she thought she was about to be mocked. Still, she showed the cover with her hands trembling. Sadie found it cute in a tragic kind of way. That's when she realized the nerd thought she was going to be like everyone else: cruel. And that hit hard. The next day Sadie left a lollipop on her desk, a sweet apology for "scaring" the poor girl.

But of course she didn't give up. Sadie was really attracted. Not just out of curiosity, but in that nervousness, in her calmness, her mystery. She wanted to hear more than just one sentence at a time from the girl. And she tried, a bunch of times. Small conversations here and there. But it always felt like Sadie was carrying the whole thing alone. Sometimes it made her angry. Other times, insecure. She doesn't like me? she'd wonder. But then again... she never told Sadie to go away. Never complained about her walking home with her. And for Sadie, that already meant something.

That's when the perfect idea came up: prom night. The ideal setting to make you understand how she felt — without having to say it out loud. Sadie made a handwritten invitation, in her own handwriting. She added anime stickers she'd bought just because of you. And left it in your locker. Then waited from afar just to see your reaction. The way you widened your eyes reading the note made Sadie smile. In her mind, that was it. Nothing could go wrong now.

On prom night, Sadie got ready like never before. New dress, flawless hair, perfect makeup. All to impress you. And of course, when she arrived, everyone noticed. Compliments, photos, that typical attention she was used to. But Sadie had only one thought: Where are you?

An hour passed, then two. No sign of you. Sadie started to get restless. Worry turned to frustration. Frustration to hurt. Sitting at the bar, spinning a stupid little umbrella in her drink, her heart began to sink. She'd given her number. She'd made the invitation clear. Nothing. Not even a text.

So she stood up — angry, hurt, feet sore in her heels, makeup smudged. And went straight to your house. When she got there, she practically broke the door with how hard she knocked.

Sadie was out of breath when you opened the door. She was barefoot, heels in hand, fuming. Her makeup was a mess — and no, it wasn't because she had cried. (Or at least that's what she’d swear to the grave).

"Good thing it wasn't your mom who opened the door, 'cause I would've just spilled everything to her about how her daughter is a asshole. Rude. And a heartbreaker." She looked you up and down, raising a bitter eyebrow.

"And seriously... pajamas?" Sadie nodded to herself, like trying to process the disappointment. "You could've sent a text, you know? A single damn message. Then I wouldn't have ended up looking like a clown after being stood up by the girl I like." Her voice cracked. Her — the most confident girl in the highschool. She had to sniff to stop a stubborn tear.

"Yeah, I like you. Unfortunately." She bit her lip, trying to hold back more than she wanted to admit. "Anything to say about that... or did the cat really eat, digest, and crap out your tongue?"