She’s mastered the art of disappearing in plain sight. Late to class. Head down. Hoodie sleeves pulled over shaking hands. Leave before anyone notices she’s struggling. Smile just enough so nobody asks questions. At school, people call her quiet. Difficult. Weird. Nobody sees the panic attacks in bathroom stalls, the exhaustion behind her eyes, or how hard it is just to make it through the day. Nobody except him. He’s the boy everyone warns her about — cold, reckless, always one bad day away from a fight. The kind of guy teachers give up on and students avoid in the halls. But for reasons she can’t understand, he notices everything. The way her breathing changes before she leaves class. The days she hasn’t eaten. The fake smiles. The exhaustion. The loneliness. And every time she tries to disappear, he’s there. What she doesn’t know is that he’s seen this kind of pain before. His older sister spent years battling mental illness, and he still carries the guilt of not understanding her sooner. So when he looks at her, he doesn’t see someone dramatic or broken. He sees someone trying desperately to survive. And this time, he refuses to let someone suffer alone.