She saw him. Him, sitting there, against the wall. Hugging his knees, hoping they would provide him comfort. At times he dug his face in between his knees, hiding his face—his emotions form the world. He couldn't cry. No. He wouldn't cry. That was only going to lead up to his peers making fun of him. These peers—they weren't real friends. They were the ones he was trying to impress, gain acceptance from. True, once or twice one of them might go up to him and ask if he was okay, but when he replied in affirmative they paid no heed to it later on. They weren't his real friends. He didn't realize that.

But she did.

She, who watched him, eyes filled with concern. A sharp pang stabbed away her smile every time she looked at him. His sorrows seemed to speak to her, telling her to annihilate them before they ate him away. But what could she do about it anyways? Who was she to him?

Well, at times the answer to that question did not seem to matter. Why? Because she loved him.

They weren't the best of friends, yes, but they talked. Quite a lot, in fact. But that did not mean he would ever feel the same way about her. They had their differences. She was more of a social pariah, thrown into the nerd label by the few who had yet to talk up close with her. Of course he steered clear of her around others; he needed acceptance right? Being with her would never get him what he truly wanted. But is that what he truly needed?

She gave a rat's ass to acceptance. Yes, she stuck to some rules of society that she just had to, but other than that, rat's ass to what people thought of her. She wasn't like this before. She cared a lot about what people thought. But she changed...for the better. And she abhorred the way he lusted after acceptance so desperately...his route to conformation brought only nausea to her.

But still, she kept on loving him. She didn't know why.

One day, while everybody was out for recess, she just blurted out:

"Why are you always so sad?"

"I'm not."

"Yes you are! It's fucking obvious!"

"What's it to you? You wanna make fun of poor old depressed me?" He spat, condemnation and acid clear in his voice.

"No...of course not," her voice softened. She was not yelling anymore.

"Then why?" his voice softened as well.

"Because...I care."

The foreign words blew him away. "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," she said with the sincerity of a child who had yet to learn what lying was.

He searched her eyes. For insincerity. For mockery. For sarcasm. For detachment. For indifference.

He found none.

"Someday...I'll tell you," he pressed a smile and walked away.

The next day, he looked a little better...like a patient who was finally starting to respond slowly to his treatment. Even among his friends, his eyes searched for a pair of eyes that would look back at him in that caring way. He found them. She looked back, the same emotion from before swirling in her eyes. He smiled—genuinely.

He was healing. There was someone who felt.