8 a.m., struggling as a teenager in high school, I find myself waiting alone, sitting alone, and talking to no one. It's the usual—no good mornings for me, no hellos, not even a glance. They simply pretend I'm not here, and it works because, day by day, I've become more and more invisible.

I don't understand what's wrong with me. If I crave attention, why don't I go and seek it? It's not difficult; even children know how to make friends.

My social skills seem to be lacking; maybe I was born without them, or perhaps I lost them along the way. I feel more akin to a sociopath, with no intention to harm anyone but rather driven by a fear of being hurt by others.

One day, I tied my hair differently, so I received a compliment from a guy who suggested I should do it more often. However, days later, he asked me for my homework, wanting to copy it. It dawned on me that I didn't look pretty; I just looked less intimidating, so he took advantage of the situation.

I excel in my studies, so some try to take advantage of me, but because I'm difficult to deal with, they lose interest.

If someone befriends you only for personal gain, it's not a true friendship; it's merely a transaction—you rid yourself of loneliness, and in return, they get what they want. They are all selfish and stupid, and they only think about themselves.

As an intelligent person, I envy those with wealth and beauty. If asked about my future aspirations, I would say I want to become someone like Mariana, a pretty, wealthy, and popular girl who happens to be a classmate of mine and my complete opposite.

Every time she enters the class, I fix my eyes on her, hoping to learn some of her techniques for winning the hearts of both girls and boys.

She doesn't offer them anything; they just like her, and who wouldn't? She's an angel. She helps them without them asking, and she doesn't mind if they use her. In fact, her authority is based on that. Perhaps this is how kings gain power too—by earning people's love through small, kind gestures, causing them to be willing to die for them.

However, the "bad girls" hate her out of jealousy, thinking she's pretending and doesn't deserve all that love. But that's another thing I admire about her.

I wish I had enemies like she does—girls who are jealous of me and hate me simply because I am all that they cannot be. Having haters means you're successful in something. However, all people feel toward me is indifference.

Suddenly, the teacher approached me and pulled me out of my thoughts, asking, ''Nermin, I looked for participants in the public speaking competition, and I didn't find your name. Aren't you going to participate?''

I respond, 'No, I'm not.'

The teacher questioned, 'But didn't you get a full mark on the English test last time?'

I replied, 'Yes, I did.'

English literature wasn't my favorite subject, so I struggled to achieve high marks, but last time, I tried harder, surprising the teacher with my paper.

The teacher suggests, 'If you're not interested, why don't you help your classmate who is participating?'

I inquired, 'Classmate? Who?'

The teacher responded, 'Mariana. She also excelled in the last exam, so I asked her to participate.'

Even the teacher favors her more. I bet he wishes for her to be the top student, but I'm standing in the way of his wishful thinking. However, to have the audacity to ask me to help her surpass me is too much for me not to feel angry and resentful.

I replied, 'Of course I will help my classmate. I didn't know she was interested in such a competition. Why didn't she tell me?'

The teacher suggested, 'Maybe you should change your attitude a little and try to get along with the others.'

I forced a smile, feeling foolish. What is he trying to say? Is it my fault? Anyway, it's nice of you to help her. I look forward to your final work, you two.' he said, leaving me with great anger and a deep sense of injustice.

I lost myself. I feel sad when I walk down the street and think about how I used to have a friend who walked with me for years. But after she left, I became this lonely, boring soul.

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My mom works a lot, and my dad doesn't understand me; I don't have any siblings or cousins, and I'm used to being alone, but I never like it. I don't have any money to enter any kind of institution or sports club, and I don't have anyone to share a movie night with. If loneliness was a person, it would be me.

I entered the house and tried to find something to eat. I usually have milk after school to help get rid of my headache, but I didn't find any today. So, I went out again to buy some.

On my way back from the store, I saw a very nice sports car parked next to the house. It was the first time I'd seen a car like this, and it looked expensive. Typically, I only see those cars on TV during a world sportscar championship.

Anyway, I walked next to the car and couldn't see if there was someone inside because I couldn't see through the windows. I took my keys out of my pocket to open the door. This is when someone got out of the car and said, "Nermin." I got confused. It was Mariana's voice. I turned my face and saw her; she was standing next to the car, looking at me, and smiling.

What the hell is she doing here? I hope she doesn't invite herself to my house. I have nothing to offer, and my room needs some cleaning too. I panicked more when she started to walk and got closer to me. She stops in front of my face, grabs my hand, and walks me to the car.

She opened the car's door and told me to enter.

I sat in the backseat, shocked and trying to process what was happening.

Surprisingly, a young man appeared from the driver's seat and said to me with his handsome face, "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Mellor, but you can call me Melo." I forgot to breathe for a second; time stopped when he spoke, and I couldn't say anything; I only stared at his incredibly handsome face. It's not a crush; he's too good for me. All I can say is that I thank God for creating such a face.

Mariana entered the car slowly, and once she sat, her perfume smell filled the place.

Melo started driving, and when we reached the highway, Mariana said, looking at me in the mirror, "Nermin, we're going to my house. I need your help for the competition. Why didn't you wait for me at school? I thought the teacher told you about it."

"Yes, he did, but I forgot. Sorry about that," I replied.

I couldn't see her face, but I bet she was upset. She always gets special treatment from everyone at school, but not this time; she needs me if she wants to win.

She took me by force to her house, so I couldn't say no. She even came in this car with her rich friend to intimidate me and make me feel less than her. She was trying to convey that it's my honor to help her, not the other way around.

Her house is located on the other side of the town, in the area where rich people live. Their neighborhood looks so fancy that they have a security guard at the entrance. I gave him my ID so he could write my name on the record. There were cameras all over the place, so not even a fly could be here without their knowledge.

I was in another world, a world filled with bullsh*t.

We finally arrived at her house. It's the most beautiful and fancy of all the houses I've seen here. I attempted to hide whatever was going on inside my head because I didn't want to appear astonished.

I come from a middle-class family, am not impoverished, and have had all that I needed. However, to her, I may appear frugal or, worse, envious.

We entered the house, the three of us, but after the door was closed, the two of them disappeared. I simply took off my shoes and set them aside, but when I looked up, they were nowhere to be found.

I called her name many times, raising my voice each time, but she didn't respond. I considered heading back home, but I suspected there might not be a bus station in this area. Given that everyone seems to have their own car, and because I didn't have money to take a taxi at that moment, I decided to enter the house and take a look around. To my surprise, I found no maids or housekeepers—no one to talk to, just opulent decorations that gave the impression of being in a celebrity's home. Every corner was meticulously adorned, including the stairs. Persian rugs adorned the floor; there were wall moldings, dark hardwood floors, vintage tableware, and all the trappings commonly found in homes of old money and generational wealth. Such homes often showcase specific interior design styles reflecting historical significance, personal preferences, and, of course, tradition.