---
Mondays have always been forgettable. Grey and heavy. They carry the weight of an entire week ahead of you like a stone in your backpack.
But this Monday… something shifted.
I walked into English class a few minutes early, hoping to grab my usual seat at the back before anyone noticed me. It's not that people care where I sit—they don't—but I care. I need my corner. My space to disappear.
Except this time, there was a folded paper taped to the front of the whiteboard with neat, black writing:
"GROUP PROJECT: FIND YOUR NAME. DUE IN TWO WEEKS."
My stomach sank.
Group project.
Of course.
The rest of the class shuffled in, some groaning, some whispering excitedly. I stood frozen, scanning the paper for my name. I expected the usual—being paired with someone who forgot I existed two seconds after we were assigned.
But then I saw it.
Rowan Hale – [My Name]
No.
My heart did this weird flutter and drop thing, like an elevator falling too fast. I read it again, just to be sure.
Rowan. And me.
Out of all the people in the class, the universe—or Mr. Jenkins—decided that pairing made sense.
I took my seat, trying not to look at anyone. The classroom buzzed louder than usual. Everyone was already sliding desks together, swapping numbers, planning hangouts to "work on the project" but really just talk and snack and pretend to care.
And then, like a quiet ripple through the noise, Rowan sat beside me.
He didn't say anything right away. Just pulled out his notebook and pen. His presence felt… calm. Not loud like the others. Still and focused.
I tried to think of something to say, something normal. But the words stuck.
"Hey," he said first, voice low but clear. "Guess we're partners."
I looked up, met his eyes. "Yeah… I guess we are."
He smiled. It wasn't a big, charming grin—just a soft pull at the corner of his mouth. Like he was letting me in on something secret.
"I'm not great at English," he said. "But I'm good at trying."
I blinked. "I—uh—I like writing. So… maybe I can help with the writing part. If you want."
"That'd be cool."
Silence.
But not the bad kind. The kind that feels okay. The kind that lets you breathe.
We talked for a while after that. Nothing big—just project stuff at first. Ideas for themes. Which book to use. Whether we wanted to meet after school or work during study period. But somehow, it drifted.
"So," he asked, after a pause, "have you always gone here?"
"Yeah. Since freshman year."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but… I don't think I've ever seen you before."
I gave a half-laugh. "That's kind of the point."
He tilted his head. "The point?"
"I like being invisible. It's quieter."
He didn't laugh, didn't look confused. Just nodded.
"I get that," he said. "At my last school, everyone knew everything about everyone. Felt like I couldn't breathe without it being someone's story."
I looked at him for a second longer. It was the first time someone had said something that made me feel... understood.
"You don't seem like the type who'd want to disappear," I said.
He shrugged. "Maybe not disappear. But I don't like being what they expect."
There was a long pause after that.
He looked at me differently then. Not like a boy seeing a girl. Not like someone judging, or curious, or entertained. Just… really looking.
I felt my cheeks warm. I turned back to my notebook.
"We can meet in the library tomorrow," I said, pretending to write something. "After school."
"Sounds good," he replied. "I'll be there."
And just like that, he stood, sliding his notebook into his bag as the bell rang. He gave me one last glance—soft, unreadable—and walked out.
I sat there for a moment longer, my heart steady but full. Like something had clicked into place.
It wasn't love. Not yet. But it was something.
The first crack in my silence.
The first color in my grey.
And for the first time in forever, I didn't feel like fading away.
---