The glaring sunlight slanted through the mesh window, stabbing the overheated desks like needles. Gym class had just ended, and the classroom was thick with sweat and the sweltering heat of summer. Students wiped their faces as they gasped for breath, slowly returning to their seats.
Ethan kept his head down, idly fanning himself, when his eyes were drawn to the girl sitting in front of him—Claire.
She sat with her head slightly lowered, her damp hair clinging to her neck. Her back looked unusually quiet. Through her soaked blouse, the strap of her bra faintly showed. He didn't know why, but something tugged at him—and suddenly, he reached out and gently tugged the strap on her shoulder.
Just once. Lightly. Like a prank.
Claire spun around, shock, anger, and embarrassment flashing across her eyes. Ethan immediately pulled his hand back, a flustered panic spreading over his face—one even he couldn't explain. He pretended to look out the window, but his heartbeat stumbled out of rhythm.
She blushed deeply and said nothing, only shooting him a fierce glare before turning away.
In that moment, the air grew unbearably heavy.
Ethan dropped his gaze, his fingers aimlessly rubbing the surface of his desk. His heart was pounding—not from excitement, but from unease. He didn't know why he'd done it. He didn't even know why he was drawn to Claire's silhouette—she always sat quietly, like a piece of scenery no one dared to disturb.
The teacher hadn't noticed, and none of the other students said anything. But from that day on, Claire kept her head down and stopped talking to anyone. She had never been very talkative, but now it was like she had locked herself inside an invisible box no one could open.
A few days later, the school counseling room posted a notice:"Students are welcome to anonymously write letters and drop them in the worry box. Professional counselors will respond."
Ethan hesitated for a whole night before finally writing a letter.
"I did something bad. I didn't mean to… but maybe I did. I don't understand why I did it.Does it mean I'm a freak? She doesn't talk anymore—is it because of me?I always felt invisible. And after I did that, it was like someone finally noticed me.But now… I regret it."
He didn't sign his name, only drew a tiny ear at the bottom of the letter.
Two days later, he received a reply in the box:
"Thank you for writing. Doing something wrong doesn't mean you're a bad person,but you do need to take responsibility for your actions.Sometimes we think we're joking, but what the other person feels is pain.
It's human to want to be seen, especially when we feel invisible.But we can choose ways that don't hurt others.
Would you consider apologizing to that classmate?Not to be forgiven—but to honestly face yourself."
Ethan read the letter and stayed sitting in the back of the classroom long after everyone else had gone. The reply felt like a voice softly speaking by his ear—a kind of understanding no one had ever given him before.
He didn't know if Claire would forgive him, or if she would ever speak again. But after that day, he started joining group activities in class. He even signed up for an emotional management course in the counseling room.
Sometimes, from a quiet corner of the classroom, he would glance at Claire sitting silently and remember the words from the letter:"You can choose not to hurt."
And maybe, for the first time, he was learning what it truly meant to care about someone.