The first thing you need to know is that my name, Nina Sean, meant two things in high school: poor and invisible. Unless someone wanted to be mean.
My life wasn't about wishing for things; it was about my next work shift and figuring out how many cheap instant noodles I could buy for my younger brothers and sister. My mother worked two hard cleaning jobs. I was the oldest, so I had to manage our small apartment and the bills. I was smart—my grades were great—but my old clothes and big glasses made me an easy target. They called me "The Ghost." They said my face was as ugly as my clothes.
Then there was Anders.
He was the only person who saw me. He wasn't rich, and his family wasn't rich. He lived near me, but he had a strong way of being that felt exciting. He was my protector. When some girls cornered me, ready to pour soda on me, Anders just showed up, and they ran away. He didn't fight; he just stood there. His presence was strong and stopped them.
"Don't listen to them, Nina," he would say. His warm, brown eyes would hold mine until I felt calm again. "You are going to leave this place. They won't."
I was easily hurt. I built high walls around my heart with my school books and my jobs. I was too afraid to let anyone close. I had too much to worry about already. I couldn't handle romance. When he first told me he liked me, after studying late one night, I said no right away.
"Anders, stop. I can't. I have too much to do for my family. And... I just can't risk being hurt."
He didn't push me. He just nodded. But he never stopped being there. He brought me coffee when I worked late. He helped my brother with math. He listened without judging me. He was always the same, always kind.
The moment everything changed was one very cold night. My mother was in the hospital. She had worked too much. I was only 17, scared, and trying to study for tests while covering her work shifts. I was sitting outside the hospital, crying, and the tears froze on my face. Anders found me. He didn't say anything. He just pulled me close, letting me cry into his jacket.
"Let me help carry this heavy weight," he whispered near my ear.
I was so broken and needed help so much that I let my wall fall down. I took him in, not because I felt passion yet, but because I needed someone stable in my messy life.
Our first kiss wasn't soft. It felt like we were both desperate. It tasted like cold air and hidden promises. He stopped being my protector and became my secret, and then, my lover. I was shocked by how much I wanted him. The way his hands, usually so gentle, held me fiercely. It excited me and scared me a little. We were just two poor students, stealing moments in dark corners—a library, a storage room—where our real life disappeared, and only pure, hot feeling was left.
In his arms, I wasn't an ugly nerd. I was... everything to him. He taught me about lust—a strong, hungry need that didn't require words. It was my escape, a necessary break from my hard life.
I told myself his strong feelings were love. His sudden anger when I talked to another male student, I called obsession. I was beginning to love him deeply, with the complete belief of a woman who finally felt chosen. We were a team against the world, ready to succeed together.
But when his fingers traced my jaw that night, his breath hot on my skin, the look in his eyes felt less like a future and more like a trap, a beautiful one that I couldn't escape. I closed my eyes, letting the exciting danger of his touch control me, not knowing that the chains I was welcoming were already pulling me toward my own ruin.