I noticed her before I even meant to.
It was second period, and I was walking down the hallway pretending I knew where I was going. Students rushed past me like waves, but she stood still—leaning against a wall covered in murals, as if she belonged in a painting instead of real life.
Olivia.
I didn't know her name yet, but I knew she wasn't like the others.
Her short black hair framed her face like soft shadows, the kind you find in a midnight sky just before the stars appear. She wore mismatched bracelets and had paint smudged on her fingertips, as if she'd come from somewhere else entirely—somewhere more interesting, more colorful, more hers.
She didn't talk like the rest. She didn't rush.
She just watched the world, almost like she was listening to something no one else could hear.
I'm not sure what pushed me toward her—boldness or desperation—but my feet moved before my thoughts could catch up. Maybe it was because she looked alone, but not lonely, and I wondered what that felt like.
When I reached her, she looked up slowly, as if she already knew I was coming.
"Hi," I said, trying to steady my voice. "I'm Kate. I'm… new."
She blinked once, studying me—not in a judging way, but in a curious, quiet way, as if she was reading a story I didn't realize I was telling.
"I know," she said softly. "You walk like you're trying not to disappear."
My breath caught. No one had ever said something like that to me. Not cruel. Not rude. Just… true.
"I—do I?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Most people walk loud. Their egos do the talking."
Her lips curved into the tiniest smile. "You don't. You move like you're waiting for someone to give you permission to exist."
She wasn't wrong.
And somehow, she didn't make it feel like a flaw.
I felt my cheeks warm. "I guess I don't really fit in yet."
"That's good," Olivia said, pushing off the wall. "The world tries to make everyone the same. You shouldn't let it."
Her voice was strange—soft but strong, like she was older on the inside. Wiser. Imaginary in the best way.
"That mural…" I pointed at the wall. "Did you paint it?"
She shook her head. "Not yet," she said, which confused me until I realized she meant she would. One day. Someday. In her mind, maybe it was already done.
Olivia wasn't like the others.
She wasn't even close.
I watched her tuck her hands into her pockets, one foot tapping lightly as if her thoughts were too restless to stay still.
"I'm Olivia," she said finally.
The name fit her perfectly.
Before I could say anything else, she turned and walked away, not in a rude way—just in a way that said she had places to be inside her own head. Places I wished I could see.
I stood there for a long moment after she left, thinking about what she'd said.
About how seen I felt in just a few sentences.
She didn't smile much.
She didn't try to impress anyone.
She didn't care what the world thought of her.
And as she disappeared around the corner, I realized something:
I wanted to know her.
Not like a classmate.
Not like a stranger.
I wanted to know the girl who didn't match the world.