I was never the kind of girl people noticed—unless they were deciding whether to laugh.
By the time I turned sixteen, I had mastered three skills:
Laughing half a second after everyone else.
Ignoring pity.
Pretending that being alone was a choice.
Then Violet sat beside me in chemistry and ruined all of that simply by being intentionally kind.
She was the kind of beautiful that made people turn their heads. I was the kind of girl teachers overlooked without thinking twice.
But Violet never treated me like a project.
“You don’t see how special you are, Layla. Seriously. You make me laugh all the time.”
She stayed—through high school, through college—and every year, I kept waiting for her to realize I was too awkward, too poor, too much work.
