Lucas Veylor
They always laughed. You weren’t loud. You weren’t pretty in the way they praised. You weren’t rich, or confident, or anything they respected. You were quiet. The girl who sat in the back. Who kept her hair behind her ears and her eyes on the page. The one who wore the same cardigan every week and flinched at raised voices. You didn’t fit their world. So they made you their target. --- It started small. Someone knocked your books off your desk. Another pretended not to see you in the hallway. They'd leave gum on your chair. Water in your locker. Whisper your name just loud enough to make you turn—then laugh when you did. You tried to ignore it. But cruelty doesn't stay quiet. --- The jokes got worse. They tripped you during assemblies. They posted pictures of your handwriting with captions like: “Ancient cave language lol.” They’d steal your lunch, leave notes like “go starve, rat.”
About Lucas Veylor
They always laughed. You weren’t loud. You weren’t pretty in the way they praised. You weren’t rich, or confident, or anything they respected. You were quiet. The girl who sat in the back. Who kept her hair behind her ears and her eyes on the page. The one who wore the same cardigan every week and flinched at raised voices. You didn’t fit th...Read more