Not him, But you.

Chapter 1

My name is Isabel Brown and I'm invisible until I’m not.

I blend in like a shadow at noon. People pass me in hallways, in classrooms, in the cafeteria—and never look twice. I used to hate it. Now, I depend on it. It's safer this way or so I think.

Until Mondays.

Mondays, I sit beside Theodore Caldwell. And for a whole fifty minutes, I forget how invisible I am. Because he’s the kind of boy you don't just see-you feel. In the quiet, in the way he turns pages like the world can’t touch him..

When you're out of your comfort zone, you'd think you'd break down-wanting nothing more than to crawl back into the hole you came from. But there’s also that need... that desperate pull to fit in. The feeling of needing to be seen. The ache of being in a place you don’t belong. The reminder that you will never be enough. It’s a feeling. A real one.

You dream about things that are impossible for you to have.

Speaking of comfort zones... that’s mine.

Dreaming.

Well, not just dreaming -daydreaming.

I love to daydream. A lot. But not just any kind of daydreams. I dream about someone. I dream of being close to him. Of being that girl. But you just know your class. You know where you stand. And you know—you are not at the top.

Despite how hard you try, you’ll never be that person.

I daydream about this all the time. I think. I smile.

People say Mondays are the worst days of the week. Mondays are perfect for me. Don’t come at me. I know they’re not for everyone, but to me? Monday means I get to see him.

He sits beside me in class. And there’s no queen bee here. No top socialite. Just nerds.

Just me. And him.

And a couple other students but who's counting.

Speaking of daydreaming… I need to get out of this one. I’m literally staring at him now - and you don't want to know what's on my mind.

Yeah. I stare. And I don’t even care if he notices. Half the class stares at him anyway. What do you expect when you toss a guy like him into a class full of nerds? Like they won’t ogle?

It’s been barely three minutes since class started, and I’m fully in my comfort zone.

Until the door swings open.

A girl walks in.

Mr. Maxwell, our literature teacher, glances at her, walks to his desk, and checks the attendance sheet. Then he says something that would end up tormenting me more than I could ever imagine

“Class, this is Rosalie Vale.”

I finally tear my eyes away from Theo and glance at her. And I freeze.

So does Theo.

I sigh. I already know what’s coming. The only seat left is the one between me and him.

She’s... perfect. The kind of girl you *know* everyone wants to be with. The kind of girl Theo would want to be with.

She walks over slowly, gracefully. She’s strawberry blonde—almost ginger—but not quite. Luckily, I’m still the only true redhead in class.

Her eyes are a different shade of blue from mine, but they’re... familiar. Too familiar. As I peer closer, I realize we share a lot of the same features.

But she’s pretty. And I’m not.

How?

To be honest, a lot of things don't make sense in the universe and this is one of them.

She takes the seat between us, and her scent immediately fills my nose.

How does someone smell that good?

“Hi,” she says casually.

I almost collapse in shock. She's talking to me? Me?

Then I remember—we’re in a class full of nerds. She probably doesn’t have much choice. Her reputation isn’t at stake here.

But before I can reply, I realize—she wasn’t talking to me at all.

She was talking to him.

Theo smiles and extends his hand to her.

I’m stunned.

This is a guy I’ve sat beside all semester, and he’s never so much as said hi. He doesn’t even talk.

And now—he’s already reaching for her?

She takes his hand. The entire class watches as he kisses it. No joke -kisses it.

Everyone groans and turns back to their books. I can’t. I can’t look away. I can’t keep watching either.

Then, suddenly, she turns to me.

I panic and dive into my textbook.

“Hey,” she says again.

I stab myself, metaphorically, along with her. And Theo. And everyone else in the class.

But I raise my head anyway.

“Hi,” I say back, giving a small smile before burying my face in the pages again.

Another class.

Another day.

Another reminder of where I stand.

And for the first time in this school year, I despise how close i sit to him coz not only does Rosalie obstruct my view and interrupt my day dream , she flirts with him and he flirts back . I on the other hand can hear every word , giggle and some words I wish to erase.

Oh how I hate Mondays.

---

*Cafeteria

Lunch. The loneliest hour of my day.

It always starts the same way. Me, clutching a tray like it might slip through my fingers. Eyes low, ears tuned out. Navigating the crowd like a ghost. Everyone else has a place, a rhythm, a group. I have... a wall. The far left corner. Two seats away from the trash can. Where I can pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist.

I settle into the plastic seat, force a small breath, and stare at the food I’m not really hungry for.

I sigh as I watch every other being in the cafeteria in groups and are chatting away. It's like there's an invisible rule that prevents them from talking to people like me - the ones stuck in the middle, not nerdy enough and not pretty enough ,or at all.

I'm not one to complain but at least the thought of offering it up counts too.

Then I hear it.

“Mind if I join you?”

I look up slowly.

The voice is deep. Smooth. Familiar only in how unfamiliar it is.

My eyes land on him.

And for a second, I forget where I am.

He’s... beautiful. Not in the overdone, obvious way. In the kind of way that makes your breath hitch without warning. Curls that look like they were made for fingers to run through. A jawline that could slice through pride. Skin like warm bronze in sunlight. Lips that looked inviting and sweet. Arms that you'd feel protected in if wrapped around you. His eyes.........Gawd a shade of green that just feels so natural and puts you at peace just by staring.

I blink. I had to. He can’t be talking to me.

He raises an eyebrow and I realize I've been staring.

“Me?” I manage, pointing at myself like an i***t.

He chuckles softly. “Is there someone else at this table?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat feels dry, like I’ve swallowed sand.

And then he smiles.

It’s over. I’m gone. I don't think I can breathe.

His tray hits the table as he sits across from me without asking again. Confident, easy. The type of person who makes space for himself without permission—because he knows he belongs. He could sit anywhere but here ......

“I’m Noah. Noah Creed,” he says, like I’m someone worth introducing himself to. “I’m new here. Figured I’d sit with someone who looks like she’s got good taste in books.”

I glance down at the worn paperback beside my tray. My cheeks heat. I want to hide. I also want to scream.

He noticed my book.

“Thanks,” I say, and even my voice sounds different. Softer. Nervous.

“You always sit alone?”

I nod, then shake my head. Then nod again. “Not always. Sometimes. I guess.

He laughs again. Not mockingly. Gently. Like he finds my awkwardness amusing in a way that makes me feel... safe.

I let myself exhale.

Then I hear it. A laugh. One that hits my chest before my ears.

Theodore.

My head turns before I even think. There he is, across the room, laughing at something she said. Rosalie. The new girl.

She’s seated next to him. Her arm lightly brushing his. She leans in, too close, too familiar. And he's letting her.

I freeze. My stomach twists.

They’ve known each other for barely a day. How?

And why does it already feel like I’ve lost?

I forget Noah is still talking.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers gently in front of me.

I blink, startled. “Sorry. I just—”

“Let me guess.” He follows my gaze. “Him?”

I look down, ashamed.

“You’re one of those girls,” he says.

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The ones who stare at him like he’s more than human. Like he’s a prize and not a person.”

I look away. “I’m not—”

“It’s okay,” he says, more gently. “I’ve seen it before. I’ve been him before.”

That makes me look back.

I take another look at him and it's obvious girls would also do anything for him just like they treat Theo.

He leans in, voice quiet. “Theodore is the kind of guy who collects attention. He doesn’t know what to do with it except use it. And girls—” He glances at Rosalie. “They let him.”

I blink at him. “You know him?”

“No,” he says. “But I know his type.”

I want to argue. I want to defend Theo. But… I can’t. Because deep down, I’ve seen it too. The girls, the charm, the way he barely looks twice.

“I’ve known him for years,” I say. “Since middle school. We were neighbors. He used to ride bikes with my brother.”

“But not with you?”

I hesitate.

Exactly.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I mean... I think so. I dream about him.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Not like that—well, maybe a little like that.” I laugh nervously. “But mostly... I dream about being someone he could want.”

There. I said it.

Noah studies me. His eyes aren’t mocking. They’re careful. Thoughtful.

“I can make him want you,” he says.

I stare at him.

“What?”

“I can make Theodore look at you like you’re the only person in the room.”

“Why?” I ask. “Why would you do that?

i want to ask how too but i dont want to look desperate.

He leans back. Shrugs. “Maybe I hate guys like him. Maybe I think you deserve better. Or maybe I just want to see what happens.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet.” He grins. “But I know a challenge when I see one.”

I look down at my tray. Then at Theodore again.

He’s laughing. Rosalie’s hand is on his.

My chest tightens.

“What’s the plan?” I ask quietly.

Noah smirks. “That’s more like it.”

He leans closer.

“There’s nothing a guy wants more than the girl who doesn’t want him. That’s your power, Isabel. I’ll help you use it.”