K-12 stood in front of you, polished and pristine, its soft pink walls glowing in the sunlight. The windows were so clean they looked like glassy mirrors reflecting the sky. It looked like a postcard. Like a dream someone had carefully pressed flat.

Students milled about in clusters, their voices a low hum of laughter and chatter. Pink dresses. Blue shirts. The colors were so uniform it almost hurt to look at.

A few heads turned as you walked past. Eyes trailed you, curious, measuring. Someone whispered behind a cupped hand. A giggle rippled through a nearby group like a stone skipping across water.

You gripped your bag strap tighter and kept walking.

Then the bell rang—sharp, sudden, cutting through the air like a knife.

Everyone moved at once, flooding toward the tall front doors. You hesitated for just a second. Then you followed, stepping through as the doors creaked open, slow and heavy, like they were letting you in on purpose.

First day.

And you already felt out of place.