Lina didn't like walking into places where everyone already expected her.
So when she stepped into the student council room after class, heart pacing faster than her feet, she kept her eyes on the floor. A few council officers were moving around — checking drafts, whispering notes, flipping through colored layouts.
At the far end of the room, sitting with a pen in hand and a ruler aligned perfectly against a draft board, was Tyron.
He looked up the moment she walked in.
"You came," he said.
"You asked me to."
"I didn't think you would," he admitted.
She walked closer. "I said I would."
He gave a faint nod. "Right. You're good at doing what you say."
That simple compliment made her chest flutter in the strangest way.
She sat across from him, careful not to knock over any of the campaign materials. He slid one toward her — a printed poster layout with blank spaces where a student's face and quote would go.
"What is this for exactly?" she asked, tracing the edges of the paper.
"Awareness Week," he replied. "The council's trying something new this year. Instead of the usual generic posters about kindness or bullying, we want to feature real students. Their words. Their image. Something raw."
She frowned. "Why me?"
"Because people already know your name," he said simply. "And not because you asked them to."
Lina's fingers tightened on the edge of the paper. "That doesn't mean I want to be a face of something."
"It doesn't have to be your face," Tyron said, leaning back in his chair. "It can just be your words. Something you believe in. Something you learned."
She looked at him, uncertain. "I don't have anything inspiring to say."
"Maybe not yet," he said. "But I think you're getting there."
Lina stayed silent. Then quietly, "What would I even write?"
Tyron leaned forward, tapping the paper in front of her. "Start with this: What's something you wish someone told you when you were still invisible?"
The question hit harder than she expected.
She didn't answer right away.
He waited.
Lina's eyes wandered to the bulletin board beside them, where past campaign posters hung. All neatly done. All polished. But all too… perfect.
She exhaled. "I'd probably say… you don't need to be loud to matter."
Tyron nodded. "Good start."
"I'm not a speaker," she added.
"I'm not asking you to speak," he said. "Just… be."
There was a pause — a quiet one, not awkward, but full.
Then he added, "You have this way of making people think twice. Even when you're quiet."
"Is that a compliment?" she asked.
"It's dangerous," he replied.
She blinked. "Dangerous?"
"People pay attention to quiet power," he said. "It makes them curious. Makes them nervous. Makes them look closer."
Lina felt her pulse rise. "I don't want to be a symbol."
"You're not," he said. "But that's the thing, Lina — people don't get to choose when others start looking."
She lowered her eyes. "Then what do I do?"
He handed her a pen. "You write anyway."
————
Later That Night – Lina's Room
She stared at the campaign form in front of her.
It had one prompt at the top:
"Say something they'll remember."
She tapped the pen against her notebook. Ciel's words floated back.
"Can you not smile at me like I might be the one?"
Renzo's voice echoed after.
"I never used to care who you talked to. But now? I hate it."
And Tyron's question — still stuck in her chest.
"Who do you look at when no one's watching, Lina?"
She closed her eyes.
Then wrote:
"I used to think being invisible was safer.
But maybe being seen isn't the same as being exposed.
Maybe being seen… just means someone finally noticed you stopped hiding."
She didn't even read it again.
She folded the paper, sealed it in the envelope Tyron gave her, and slipped it into her bag.
Tomorrow, she'd hand it in.
Tomorrow, her words would be printed for the whole school to read.
And for once, she wasn't terrified.
Just… curious who would recognize themselves in her silence.