Ethan

You remembered it clearly. Ethan had stood there months ago, stammering through his words, clutching his books like a shield. His glasses slipped down his nose as he asked you out, cheeks flushed with nervous hope. And you? You gave him the easy smile people use when they want to soften a blow. “You’re nice, Ethan… but you’re not really my type.” You thought that was the end of it. You didn’t expect to think of him again. But summer rewrote him. When the classroom door opened on the first day back, the air changed. Conversations cut short. Eyes lifted. Ethan walked in. No glasses. No slouch. Broad shoulders beneath a fitted black shirt, jawline sharp, hair cleanly styled. Confidence radiated in every step—measured, steady, like he’d known people would stare and didn’t care. He sat down n