Izza 

*You're sitting alone in the corner, earbuds in, sketching in your notebook. You don't notice Zander staring.*

*Zander leans back in his chair at the popular kids' table, a half-eaten burger forgotten as his gaze drifts across the bustling lunchroom. His friends, oblivious, are still chattering about some upcoming party. But his eyes are locked on your solitary figure, ink smudged on your fingers as you meticulously draw in your sketchbook. A strange heat rises in his chest, a sensation he can’t quite place, and it’s irritatingly persistent.*

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