Loving her scars

Curiosity

Chapter 5

Brandon’s POV

Someone pulled a chair beside me, and I lifted my head from my desk, already slightly irritated at the interruption—until I saw her. The irritation faded instantly, replaced by something I couldn’t quite explain. She didn’t say a word. Not to me, not to anyone. She simply sat there quietly, like she was trying not to be noticed, like she didn’t want to take up space. But somehow, that only made her more noticeable to me.

I found myself staring, even though I knew it was rude. I just couldn’t stop. There was something about her that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t loud or obvious, not the kind of beauty that demanded attention. It was quieter than that. Subtle. The kind that pulled you in without trying. But it wasn’t just that. It was her eyes. They looked tired—too tired for someone her age. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix, but something deeper. Something heavier. And for some reason, seeing that made my chest tighten.

Before I could think too much about it, Mrs. Smith walked into the class, her presence immediately silencing the room. Her eyes landed on the girl beside me. “Annabelle Mercedes,” she called. So that was her name. Annabelle. It fit her in a way I couldn’t explain. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied softly. “Come forward and introduce yourself.” She hesitated briefly before standing, walking to the front of the class with careful, almost unsure steps. “Hi… I’m Annabelle Mercedes. I’m twelve years old,” she said, her voice quiet, slightly shaky. Mrs. Smith raised a brow. “That’s all?” Annabelle nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” “Alright, take your seat.” And just like that, she returned, sitting beside me again without looking at anyone.

No one really paid attention to her after that. The class moved on like nothing had happened. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Something about her stayed with me. She looked younger than the rest of us, not just in age, but in the way she carried herself—like someone who had been forced to grow up and yet was still trying to hold onto something she had already lost. I didn’t understand it, but I didn’t like it either.

Later that day, I found Simone in the hallway. “Hey,” I called, stopping her. She turned to me with narrowed eyes, already suspicious. “Why do I feel like you’re about to drag me into something?” I sighed lightly. “Relax. I just need your help.” “With what?” she asked. I hesitated for a second before answering. “The new girl… Annabelle.” Her brows lifted immediately, and a knowing look spread across her face. “Oh? What about her?” “Can you talk to her?” I said. “Make her feel comfortable. Show her around or something.” Simone crossed her arms, studying me carefully. “Why me?” “Because you’re good with people,” I replied. She smirked slowly. “Or because you’re too scared to do it yourself?” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like that.” “Sure,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “What do I get?” I sighed. “I’ll pay for your next nails.” That got her attention immediately. Her face lit up with a grin. “Now you’re speaking my language. Consider it done.”

After that, I told myself I wouldn’t pay attention to her anymore. That it was nothing. Just curiosity. But somehow, I kept noticing her. In class, she barely spoke. During breaks, she stayed to herself most of the time. Even when Simone tried to engage her, she didn’t open up much. It was like she had built walls around herself, thick and unbreakable. And no one was allowed in. I didn’t know why that bothered me as much as it did, but it did.

That evening at dinner, I barely spoke, lost in my own thoughts. “You’ve been quiet,” my mom said, her voice pulling me back. “Is everything okay?” I nodded, but it didn’t feel convincing even to me. My dad looked at me thoughtfully. “Is someone bothering you at school?” “No,” I said quickly, then paused. “It’s just… there’s this girl.” That was all it took for Chase and Hunter to react. “Ohhh—” they started at the same time. “Don’t,” I cut them off immediately. My dad gave me a look. “Watch your language.” I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. “I just… like her. I think. But I don’t even know how to talk to her.” My mom smiled softly, the kind of smile that made everything feel a little less complicated. “Then don’t rush it,” she said gently. “Start small. Sometimes the smallest things mean the most.”

Her words stayed with me long after dinner ended. That night, I lay in bed thinking about her. The way she avoided people. The way she looked like she was carrying something too heavy for her age. I didn’t know her story, didn’t know what she had been through, but I knew one thing for sure—she wasn’t okay.

And for some reason, that mattered to me.

I didn’t fully understand why I cared so much, or what I was supposed to do about it. But one thing became clear the more I thought about it. I wanted to see her smile. Even if it was just once. Even if I had to stay in the background to make it happen. Even if she never knew it was me.