A short, dull girl sat at the far back corner of the classroom, hidden from view. Her desk had practically become part of the wall, like a forgotten piece of furniture, an afterthought in a room full of noise and chatter. No one really noticed her, and that's the way it had always been. She was different—"not normal," as they liked to say.
Emma Carter. The girl everyone ignored.
She didn't fit in, didn't try to, and the other students made sure to remind her of it. They pushed her back—figuratively and literally—every chance they got. Her silence unnerved them. Her black, emo clothes, always the same somber shades, made her an easy target. And the fact that she rarely spoke only made them whisper louder.
"Weird," they called her, "not normal." And they said it with enough force to make it true.
But Emma didn't care. At least, that's what she told herself.
During lessons she tried not to be noticed even by the teacher as the teacher usually liked to ask the people who didn't really participate, so to avoid that she folded her arms on her desk and layed her head on them to pretend that she was sleeping .
During lessons, Emma did everything in her power to remain invisible, especially to the teacher. Mr. Harrison had a habit of calling on the quiet ones—the students who blended into the background—forcing them to speak when they least wanted to. Emma knew this all too well.
To avoid his attention, she would fold her arms on the desk and rest her head on them, feigning sleep. Her hair, which hung like a dark curtain, shielded her face from view. As long as she looked uninterested, maybe he'd overlook her. Maybe they all would. The last thing she wanted was the teacher's gaze landing on her, dragging her into the center of everyone's attention—their judgmental stares burning into her.
Her breathing slowed as she waited. Each time Mr. Harrison's voice rose with a question, Emma's heart raced, but she stayed still, hoping she could melt into the desk itself. If she were lucky, the day would pass without a single word spoken to her. And that, she thought, would be a small victory.
One day, as Emma hurried down the corridor, she clutched her half-ripped bag tightly. Books teetered on the edge of falling, her hair a mess, and her uniform crumpled and stained from who-knows-what. She hadn't had time to fix herself up—not that it mattered. She just needed to get to her next class before anyone noticed her.
But luck wasn't on her side. In her haste, she crashed into someone—hard. The impact sent her books and papers scattering across the floor. Her heart sank when she realized who she'd bumped into. Liam Gray. The most popular guy in school. The one everyone loved, and who looked down on her with open disgust.
"Watch where you're going!" Liam's sharp voice echoed through the corridor. His sneer deepened as he glared at her. "Look, everyone! It's our little emo piglet!"
Emma's cheeks flushed as the hallway erupted in laughter. Everyone's eyes were on her, and she felt like shrinking into nothing. She scrambled to gather her fallen books, her hands shaking, wishing she could disappear. But the more she tried to collect her things, the more people gathered, pointing and whispering.
Just as she reached for her most treasured possession—her diary—Liam's shoe slammed down on it. He laughed cruelly, the sound piercing Emma's chest. "What's this?" he taunted, bending down to pick up the diary, waving it around like a prize for everyone to see.
"No—please," Emma whispered, barely audible over the noise. But her words were drowned out as Liam flipped the diary open. A small folded paper slipped from its pages, fluttering to the ground. The crowd's laughter faded into a curious murmur as everyone's eyes locked onto the piece of paper drifting down.
Liam snatched it up, unfolding it with a smirk. His expression twisted as he looked at the drawing Emma had made—a boy who looked exactly like him, surrounded by hearts and lipstick kisses. Emma had drawn it in secret, a silly thing she never meant for anyone to see. Now it was exposed, right there in the middle of the hallway.
Liam's laughter broke the silence, sharp and mocking. "Oh my God, she's obsessed with me!" he shouted, holding up the paper for everyone to see. The crowd erupted in laughter again, the noise deafening. Emma felt like her world was crashing down around her.
He tossed the diary back at her feet, smirking with satisfaction. "That's pathetic," he sneered, while the others followed his lead, jeering and calling her names. Emma's hands trembled as she grabbed her diary, tears stinging her eyes. She wanted to run, to hide, to escape the humiliation that felt like it would never end.
hat was the moment everything was revealed—the truth Emma had buried deep inside for so long. She had been crushing on Liam for as long as she could remember. It was almost inevitable, really. He was everything she wasn't: admired, charming, and effortlessly popular. How could someone like her—a girl as plain and "weird" as she was—ever hope to be noticed by someone like him? The thought seemed laughable now, even to her.
Liam sat at the very front of the class, where all eyes were on him. Emma had been watching him from her corner seat for months, quietly, desperately, without him ever noticing. But it wasn't always that way. Once upon a time, Emma had sat in the front row, too—before everything changed.
Back then, her classmates merely tolerated her. But as time went on, they couldn't stand her. Neither could the teachers, it seemed. Eventually, they moved her to the farthest corner of the classroom, out of sight and out of mind. A place where she might as well have been invisible. But even from there, Emma had kept her eyes on Liam, watching him in every way she could without drawing attention.
For a while, it worked. She remained unnoticed, her feelings locked away, her glances at Liam unnoticed by anyone. But that fragile world she had built—her secret, her hope—had crumbled in an instant, shattered by what happened that day.
Now, her deepest secret was out in the open, exposed for all to see, and Liam's mocking laugh was a constant reminder that the one person she dreamed of would never be hers. Not in a million years.
Whenever Emma felt sad, she would think of Liam, and just the thought of him would lift her spirits, even if only for a moment. It was as if, in her mind, Liam had become her safe place—a distant dream she could retreat to when everything around her felt too heavy. Imagining him smiling or catching a glimpse of his carefree laugh would chase away the loneliness, if only for a little while.
But now, that comfort was gone. Her secret was no longer hers, and her safe place had been ripped away, leaving only the raw humiliation behind. Liam wasn't the fantasy she had held onto anymore; he was the source of her pain. And now, she didn't know how to feel better.
Her refuge had been destroyed, and she didn't know how to rebuild it.