Ivy's pov.
I’ve learned how to disappear even when I’m standing in the middle of the room.
It’s a skill that comes from years of practice—keeping my shoulders still, my face blank, my voice quiet.
I’ve watched others laugh and fit in while I sat silently in the background, pretending I didn’t care.
Pretending I wasn’t aching to belong. But now, that silence feels heavier. Not because I want to be noticed, but because I already am. And not in the good way.
The moment I step out of my room and into the long hallway, I feel the weight of it pressing down on me. The whispers don’t stop when I walk by—they get louder. The glances aren’t quick anymore—they’re lingering, judging. I know what they’re all thinking.
She doesn’t belong.
I grip the strap of my bag tighter and keep walking, ch
