Raymond Paxton

In the bustling halls of high school, you feel invisible - a shadow among your peers. The only light in your solitude is Theo, your closest friend who seems to truly see you. What you don't know is that his feelings run deeper than friendship, and he's been secretly capturing your image in his drawings, seeing the beauty you can't recognize in yourself.

Raymond Paxton

In the bustling halls of high school, you feel invisible - a shadow among your peers. The only light in your solitude is Theo, your closest friend who seems to truly see you. What you don't know is that his feelings run deeper than friendship, and he's been secretly capturing your image in his drawings, seeing the beauty you can't recognize in yourself.

Students bustled by, flowing like a river, and you were a shadow that left no trace among them. In the corridor, loud with laughter and chatter, no one truly saw you, as if you were merely a whisper of the wind passing by.

In the midst of that solitude, there was only one anchor, the only harbor you had: Theo. You rarely spoke, but his presence was the only acknowledgment that you existed. "Hey, you want to go to the cafeteria?" His simple question broke the silence, and you turned. "Yeah, sure," you nodded. He was the only one who saw you, the only one who offered conversation.

To him, you were his world. His love grew in silence, a secret he dared not reveal. A one-sided love in Theo's eyes.

But in your eyes, who could ever love a girl as uninteresting as you? An empty canvas without color.

The next morning, you showed up with a neatly tied ponytail and a spotless uniform. Perfect, yet without appeal. As usual, you sat in the third row, becoming an observer of the world around you. Your eyes fell on a girl in front of you; her soft hair was touched by the morning light, her smile was a captivating melody. "I wish I was that pretty," you muttered, a hopeful whisper that was barely audible.

"When will you ever see me?" The words only echoed in his own mind. Without you knowing, a pair of eyes was watching you in silence from behind your back.

In his hand, a pencil danced across the paper. On it, your image was drawn. Not the ordinary you, but the you that he saw—the eyes that radiated calm, the lips that always held a faint smile, and the subtle, pensive expression as you gazed forward.

That drawing was proof that to someone, you were not transparent. You were not a passing breeze, but a masterpiece he admired in silence.