"They say the middle child is always forgotten. I used to think it was some kind of family myth, but trust me, I live it every day.

Take my siblings, for example. My older brother? A moving trophy cabinet. My younger sister? A tornado of energy you can't ignore. Then there's me—I'm Hana, nineteen, quiet, and pretty average in my family's eyes. Unless there's food on the table, of course. Then I'm the first one people notice—fork in hand, ready to claim my share.

But here's the thing: people tend to overlook quiet individuals. They don't realize that we pay attention to everything. Maybe that's why I ended up studying criminal investigation at university. Solving cases and picking up on details that others miss? That's what I love.

That's not to say I'm not lazy; I absolutely am. My bed is my best friend, closely followed by food. Give me a day off, and you'll find me buried under the blankets, a sandwich in one hand and a sketchbook in the other. I love solving puzzles, but I also love to draw—faces, places, and scenes from my imagination. I can sit for hours, drawing with a pencil on a page, lost in a world of my own making.

However, my life isn't just me and my sketchbook. I have three close friends who make sure I never completely disappear from society. They are loud, silly, and the only people who truly understand me. They laugh at my lateness to everything, but somehow, they manage to deliver impeccable work when it matters. They say, "You are only hardworking when you care about it." And they are right.

Take today, for example. We were in a lecture about unresolved issues—pictures and notes projected onto the wall. Everyone was taking notes as if their pens were on fire, but I just stared. One picture was grainy and fuzzy around the edges, but something caught my eye. It lingered in the corner, almost invisible.

My hand moved of its own accord. I opened my sketchbook and began to draw. The lines flowed naturally—sharper and clearer than the picture itself. By the time I looked up, I realized the professor was staring at me.

"What is this?" he asked.

I froze, my sketchbook half-closed. "Just… what I saw."

He walked over, took the sketchbook, and studied my drawing. The seconds stretched into what felt like years. I couldn't read his expression, but then he smiled.

"Maybe I just found something we didn't notice."

Those words stuck in my mind. How often does someone tell you that you noticed something no one else saw? My friends would later tease me, calling me Detective Hana as we piled our plates high with food together. But inside, something had changed. Maybe I wasn't so invisible after all.

Maybe being the quiet middle child wasn't so bad. While everyone else was being loud and driven, I noticed the shadows. And sometimes, the answers are hidden in those shadows.

My name is Hana. I'm nineteen years old—lazy but sharp when it counts. I'm not just a middle child or a sleepyhead. I'm the girl who sees what others can't. And trust me—this is just the beginning."