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Chapter Two – The Girl Who Didn't Listen
Harry didn't speak to Sophie for the rest of lunch. But he didn't leave either. That alone said something.
When the final bell rang, most students practically ran for the doors. Harry moved slower, keeping to the edge of the crowd like always. Sophie hadn't said anything else to him after that first "hello," and part of him was glad. Part of him wasn't.
The walk home felt colder than usual, though the sun was still high. The streets were familiar, lined with crooked fences, cracked sidewalks, and cars that hadn't moved in weeks. It wasn't dangerous—but it wasn't comfortable either. He passed the same houses he always passed. Same dog barking behind the same broken gate. Same lady on her porch chain-smoking with one slipper on.
His home sat at the end of the street. A small two-bedroom house with paint peeling off the shutters and a squeaky front door that always stuck halfway open. Harry didn't mind. It matched how he felt most days—half-closed, mostly ignored, a little broken.
Inside, it was quiet. His dad worked late. Sometimes night shifts, sometimes early mornings. It didn't matter. They barely talked anymore, and when they did, it was short.
He tossed his bag onto the couch and headed straight to his room. Posters of bands and video games lined his walls. His desk was cluttered with books he hadn't opened in weeks, papers half-done, a guitar in the corner gathering dust. He used to play. Not anymore.
He lay on the bed, arms folded under his head, staring at the ceiling. Sophie's voice kept echoing in his mind.
"You looked like you could use a hello."
No one had said something like that to him in years. Not since his mom left. Not since everything changed.
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Across town, Sophie Bennett sat cross-legged on her bed, doodling in her notebook instead of finishing her math assignment. Her room was covered in little paper butterflies she'd cut out herself, taped to the walls in patterns that danced when the fan was on. Music played softly from her speaker—old Taylor Swift, the kind of comfort music she always returned to.
She couldn't stop thinking about Harry.
The way he barely spoke. The way his shoulders stayed tense, like he was ready for someone to throw something at him at any moment. The way people looked at him. Like he was something to avoid.
She hated that.
"Sophie! Dinner's ready!" her mom called from downstairs.
"Coming!" she shouted back, but didn't move yet.
She flipped the page of her notebook. Drew a cartoon of a boy sitting under a raincloud. Next to him, a girl holding an umbrella. She gave the girl curly hair and a bright sweater.
Sophie smiled faintly.
She didn't know Harry's full story yet, but she could tell it wasn't a happy one. Still, something in her gut told her he wasn't as unreachable as people claimed. He just needed someone who didn't give up so easily.
Maybe she could be that person.
Maybe this wasn't just another school. Maybe she wasn't just another girl fading into the background.
Maybe this time, she could make a difference.