Ezra was someone people noticed before they even realized they were doing it.
He had that kind of face. The kind that made strangers look twice and classmates look longer. Teachers softened when they spoke to him. Girls smiled a little too quickly. Boys were either jealous or admired him. People assumed things about him before he ever opened his mouth.
They call it the Halo Effect, a psychological bias where one positive trait especially physical attractiveness makes people assume other positive traits about a person, even without evidence.
That life must be easy. That he must be confident. That someone like him could never feel lonely.
Ezra lived inside the halo effect.
He played the part well.
He was good looking, yes. He was also hardworking. Always at the top of his class.
His grades didn't come from brilliance as his classmates liked to believe, they came from desperation. The desperation to be loved.
Ezra was adopted.
His parents never hid it. They never used it as an insult either. It simply existed in their house, hovering in the air like a fly, something that couldn't be said but was known, quietly buzzing in his ear, reminding him.
They were polite to him. Kind, even. They fed him, educated him, praised him when he performed well.
It didn't feel like love. It felt like a cheap replication.
If Ezra brought home perfect grades, his mother smiled longer. His father spoke to him more at dinner. If he slipped even a little, conversations stopped. He was not punished. He was ignored. And somehow that hurt more.
Then there was his little brother.
Their real son.
His brother did not have Ezra's looks. Did not have his grades either. He was loud, clumsy, average in every possible way. And yet, he was loved effortlessly. Hugged without reason. Defended without question. At school, he was compared to Ezra constantly, which made the resentment worse.
Ezra saw it in his brother's eyes sometimes. The jealousy. The quiet anger of not being enough compared to him. And Ezra hated himself for being the reason.
No matter how hard he tried, he could never be the real son. Never be loved without conditions.
So he studied harder.
He smiled wider.
He became everything they praised, hoping that one day it would turn into something permanent.
At school, he was admired. Popular. Charming without trying. People wanted to sit next to him. Be seen with him. Date him. Compliments followed him everywhere, and he clung to them like proof that he mattered.
Still, one thought refused to leave him alone.
What if I was not good looking?
What if I was not smart?
Would anyone stay?
The question gnawed at his insides slowly.
Life started to feel pointless. People did not love him. They loved the version of him that succeeded. The version that impressed. And if that version disappeared, so would they.
So sometimes, when the emptiness got too loud, Ezra went to the bridge.
There were not many people there. That was why he liked it.
That evening, he sat on the edge, legs dangling, staring down at the water below. The hopelessness crept in quietly, the way it always did.
What would it feel like to jump?
What if I didn't exist?
Would anyone care?
Maybe for a while. His friends, perhaps. Then they would move on. Everyone always did.
He leaned forward.
Just a little.
Then suddenly, he felt a sharp tug from behind.
"What the-"
He turned, startled, and froze.
A girl stood there, gripping the front of his shirt with one hand while the other covered her eyes completely. She was breathing hard, like she had sprinted here, her hair slightly messy.
"I don't know you," she said quickly, voice rushing . "I might be completely wrong. But if you are here to jump, I am really sorry, I cannot let you do that."
Ezra blinked.
He stared at her. Analysed her. She was… cute. Round cheeks, slightly panicked expression, a small birthmark near her cheekbone. He could not see her eyes, and oddly, that bothered him.
Then she continued, sounding very serious about something incredibly unserious.
"Because if you jump while I am holding you, I will get charged with pushing you. And I really do not want that on my record right now."
He almost laughed.
A real smile tugged at his lips, surprising him. It had been a long time since something had genuinely made him smile.
She did not notice. Of course because she was covering her eyes. She was too busy holding him like her life depended on it.
"I have covered my eyes," she added, pressing her palm harder against her face. "So I don't know who you are."
That… was oddly comforting.
She did not know what he looked like. Did not know who he was. Did not care if he was handsome or smart or worth saving.
She just wanted to save him.
"I do not know what you are going through," she said, her voice wavering slightly now. "But please wait. Like… one year. Just wait one year before making this decision. You can do whatever you want after that. I won't stop you then. I mean, what are the chances I come here again? But right now, please don't."
One year.
The thought lingered.
Her grip tightened.
"Also, please come down slowly. Because if you jump, I jump, as I would rather die than spend my senior year in prison."
That did it.
Ezra huffed out a soft laugh.
He did not feel like jumping anymore.
So he listened.
He stepped back. Carefully. The moment his feet touched solid ground, she exhaled loudly, like she had been holding her breath the entire time.
She turned away, clearly ready to disappear.
Before he could stop himself, his hand moved.
He caught hers.
She stiffened.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice lower than he expected.
"Salvia," she whispered.
He let go immediately.
She walked away without looking back.
"Salvia," he repeated softly to himself, watching her disappear down the street.
The name felt strange in his mouth. Gentle. Memorable...
He knew, that he would never forget it.
And for the first time in a long time, Ezra felt something different.