The new house smelled like newly polished home and a new beginning for Laurent Family. Boxes still scattered in the hallway, stacked in uneven towers that made the place feel less like home and more like a stopover.

Lashy’s bedroom was the only part she’d claimed. She had decorated it with her fairy lights along the wall the very first night, unpacked her pastel heart pillows, and carefully arranged her collection of pink bows on the dresser. Even here, even in a new town, she needed her pink.

Because, who is Lashy without her pink?

Early in the morning, she woke up excited. Who wouldn't be excited for a new beginning? New school, new dreams, and everything's new.

She stood in front of the mirror now, adjusting the satin bow in her hair until she was satisfied. This is her first day on her new school, she wore pale pink sweater, pleated skirt, spotless white sneakers. And her lips shimmered with strawberry gloss that made her stand out the most.

She looked like herself.

“Big day,” her mother said from the doorway, balancing a mug of coffee in one hand. Her eyes softened when she saw her daughter. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart. Just… stay true to who you are, alright?”

Lashy smiled faintly. “Of course, mom. That's why my name is Lashy, right?”

But as she walked through the halls of Moonlight High School an hour later, her promise already felt fragile and unfamiliar to her.

“She’s so… pink.”

“Looks like a doll.”

“Where did she even come from?”

Her cheeks burned, but she kept her chin high. She wasn’t going to let them see her flinch. Just because she wores pink, she doesn't want them to know that she's fragile like the color she favors the most.

Sliding into an empty seat at the back of her first class, she laid her notebook on the desk. Its cover was baby pink filled with glitters at the corner along with some white laces, with little doodles of stars and hearts she’d drawn herself.

She was minding her own business as the teacher kept discussing, and then she hears a low laugh.

It came from the boy two seats away, head bent as he scratched something onto his desk with a pen. He wore a black hoodie, though it wasn’t cold. His dark hair hung over his eyes, and a silver chain hanging at his neck.

He hadn’t looked at her, but she knew. He’d laughed at her if he did so. Her stomach knotted as she felt insicure. She stared straight ahead, gripping her pen tight enough to leave marks on her fingers.

Who was he?

The boy looked like he belonged to the night itself. And she? she was a sunrise dressed as a girl.

By lunch, Lashy already felt the weight of her difference. She stood there with her tray, scanning the room, wishing desperately for a place to sit.

“Over here.”

A voice called her. A blonde girl with glossy lips and a crop top waved her over. Lashy looked relieved, she thought that finally she could eat peacefully while making her first friend. So, Lashy walked to the table.

“You’re the new girl, right?” the blonde said.

“Yeah. I’m Lashy.”

“Cute name. Cute… everything.” The girl’s eyes flicked over her pink outfit. “You’ll definitely stand out here.”

Something in her tone made Lashy’s chest tighten. She felt like, something in her words aren't compliment, but a insult to begin with. The others at the table smirked into their food.

She forced a smile, picking at her salad.

She was eating peacefully when she saw him again, the boy in the black hoodie. He was at a corner table with a small group, laughing easily, his arm draped over the back of his chair.

Although she didn’t know his name yet, her pen would write it into her notebook that night anyway, circled in pink glitters hearts.

After a night of thinking of that boy in black hoodie, She didn't realize that she fell into a deep sleep that didn't last long. It was her second day, she was walking down the hallway carrying books, when she caught him looking at her.

Not for so long, but just a flicker of his eyes when she dropped her books in the hallway. But he didn’t help her. He just watched, smirk forming his lips, before walking passed her.

Her cheeks burned.

“Who’s that?” she whispered to a girl from class. The girl followed her gaze and raised her brows. “Oh. That’s Matthew. You don’t want to mess with him.”

“Why not?” Lashy asked.

The girl lowered her voice. “He’s trouble. Cuts class, hangs out with, you know.. Always out at night. Teachers hate him while parents warn their kids about him. He’s… not the type you’re looking for, especially if you're that soft.”

Lashy nodded, pretending to agree. But inside, her curiosity only grows stronger.

Trouble.

Maybe that was exactly what fascinated her..

It happened on a Wednesday. Her third day of school.

Lashy was sitting in the library while her pink notebook is open in front of her. She pretended to be working on an essay, but in reality, she was just doodling little hearts in the margins, flowers curling along the lines of her paper.

She hadn’t meant to stare, but there he was again. Matthew. Slouched at a table in the back, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing with restless energy. He wasn’t reading. He wasn’t studying. He was just.. there. Enjoying the peace that is happening in the library.

When she put her pink notebook in her bag, she didn't expect that her lip gloss will slip out of her bag. It rolled across the floor, a shiny tube of strawberry lip gloss. She immediately went to grab it, but a hand reached it first.

“Yours?”

She stared at him.

Matthew stood over her, holding the gloss between two fingers. His smirk was lazy, almost mocking, but his eyes.. It was dark and sharp.

“Uh.. yeah.” Her voice cracked. She immediately snatched it from him, clutching it like it was treasure.

“Figures.” He leaned back, putting his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Matches your whole… Barbie pinky pink vibe.”

Her cheeks burned. She wanted to defend herself. But instead, all she managed to say was, “Thanks.”

'Ugh! What is happening to you, Lashy! You should have defended yourself!' She screamed at herself internally.

He gave her one last smirk before walking out, the silver chain at his throat glinting in the dim light.

Later that night, Lashy opened her notebook, flipping past doodles of flowers and clouds until she found a blank page.

Matthew.

She wrote it once, then again. Her pen curved hearts around the letters before she realized what she was doing. She scribbled them out, embarrassed even though no one could see.

She shouldn’t like him. He wasn’t her type. And yet, her mind kept replaying the way he’d said “Barbie pinky pink vibe.” Like he’d noticed her when everyone else misjudged her.

She sighed, dropping her pen. Her fairy lights glowed softly around her room, pink pillows scattered across her bed. Everything about her world was delicate, soft, controlled.

And then there was him. Smoke and midnight. She wondered what it would feel like to step into his world.

The next day, she caught herself staring at him in class. Too long. Long enough that when he turned his head suddenly, their eyes met.

Her stomach knotted. She quickly looked away, scribbling nonsense into her notebook. But she could feel it.. his gaze, still on her, even when she pretended to ignore it.

When the bell rang, she shoved her books into her bag, keeping her head down. But as she walked past his desk, he muttered low enough for only her to hear:

“Careful, Pinky. Staring’s dangerous.”

She suddenly stopped walking in shock. She wanted to say something back, but her throat is like filled with cement that is fully dried.

 After her first five classes, it was already lunch. Lashy sat alone at the corner. The blonde girl from before had made it clear she wasn’t really welcome at their table. Her “compliments” laced with venom. She knew it.

So she chose the corner, pushing lettuce leaves around her tray, wishing for invisibility. And then Matthew walked past her. His friends laughed, shoving each other, a annoying energy that made the teachers makes them shut up from across the room.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t speak. But he glanced at her, just for a second. By that small glance, it was enough to make her pulse skip.

When he sat down at his table, A girl slid into the seat next to him. Black eyeliner, ripped tights, hair painted in blue. She leaned close, whispering something in his ear that made him grin.

Lashy’s stomach knotted. She didn’t know why. She doesn't even know what's happening between them. But she couldn’t look away.

“Who’s Sunday?” Lashy asked a girl in her math class the next day. It was the same girl she asked about Matthew. She tried to sound casual, like she wasn’t desperate for the answer.

She raised her brow. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“She’s Sunday. Everyone knows her. She’s a total punk. Total badass. People say she and Matthew are, like, on and off.”

“Oh.” Lashy’s chest sank. But she kept her tone casual. She tried to focus on her notes, but the words blurred. On and off. That means sometimes they were like lovers.

And here she was, sitting in pastel pink, doodling flowers in her notebook, daring to think she had a chance.

Her mom noticed at dinner.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said, spooning peas onto Lashy’s plate. “Just tired,” Lashy murmured.

Her father glanced at her. “Is everything in school's okay? Are you like.. Making friends?” Lashy nodded quickly, shoving food into her mouth to avoid answering.

But upstairs, in the glow of her fairy lights, she pulled out her bow. For the first time, she wondered if it made her look childish.

She tucked it back into the drawer. Just for tonight.

Friday afternoon, time moves fast in her world. She wonders if she's hard to be friends with or what. But this time, Matthew’s voice stopped her in the hallway.

“Hey, Pinky.”

She froze. He was leaning against the lockers, his smirk lazy as ever.

“You free tonight?” He asked.

Her throat went dry. “Why?” A small answer, that was the only thing that escaped through her mouth.

“Party at Aylao. You should come. Might toughen up your Barbie pinky pink vibe.”

She should’ve said no. She should’ve smiled politely and walked away. But instead, she said, “Yeah. Sure.”

After hearing her answer, his smirk grew as if he was waiting for this moment.

She watches him leave, and suddenly- "You agreed!?" Blaire, the girl shehadbeen asking questions. She said that in disbelief as her jaw dropped the floor.

"Why? Is it a bad thing?"

"A terrible thing a girl could even do!"

"Why are you exaggerating..?"

"Whatever. Live in your own will, we aren't friends anyways." She said as she left but deep inside, she is worried.

"Rude." Lashy muttered as she walks toward outside.

That evening, she asked her mom for permission and when her mom asked what she was doing, she lied.

“Studying at a friend’s.” The words rolled off her tongue easily that shocked her with how natural it felt when in fact it was her first lie.

'So.. That's what lying felt like..'

The first pink crack in her perfect world.

She's in Aylao now, she's alone, she doesn't know anyone, she felt left out. The bass thumped through the walls before Lashy even reached the door. She hesitated, holding her phone tightly. She wasn’t supposed to be here.

Her pastel cardigan looked wrong against the sea of black figures. Laughter spilled into the night, thick with cigarette smoke and the sharp sting of alcohol.

And then he appeared.

Matthew pushed the door open, stepping onto the porch like he owned the night. His hoodie was gone, replaced by a black t-shirt that clung to him in ways that made Lashy’s stomach felt like there's a butterfly shattered inside it.

“Thought you’d chicken out,” he drawled, eyes eyeing over her outfit.

“I—I said I’d come.”

His smirk widened. “Brave little Barbie.” He leaned closer, voice low. “C’mon. Let’s see if you survive this.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her inside.

 The living room was packed, bodies pressed close as music vibrated through the floor. Neon lights painted everyone in shifting shades of red and black.

Matthew shoved a red cup into her hand. “Drink.”

“What is it?” she asked, peeking at the liquid. “Does it matter?” His grin dared her.

Her fingers tightened around the cup. She’d never tasted alcohol before, but under his gaze, saying no felt impossible to say.

She took a sip. The burn clawed down her throat, making her cough. Matthew laughed, steadying her with a hand on her back. “Relax. You’ll get used to it.”

And she wanted to. She wanted to prove she wasn’t just soft pink satin. She lifted the cup again.

Matthew wanted to have some fresh air so they ended up outside, the nights cool air against her flushed cheeks. Matthew lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face.

“You ever tried smoking?” he asked, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke. Lashy shook her head. He held it out. “Now’s your chance.”

Her heart will blast anytime. Everything inside her screamed no, but her hand moved anyway. She lifted it to her lips, inhaled. The smoke went straight to her lungs, making her gag and cough until her eyes watered.

Matthew chuckled, taking it back. “Not bad, Pinky. Not bad at all.” Her chest burned, but when he smiled at her like that, it almost felt worth it.

“See? You’re not as boring as you look,” Matthew said, leaning against the porch railing. She blinked. “Boring?”

“Come on. Look at you. Pink sweater, bows, strawberry gloss. I thought you were the kind of girl who goes home at nine to watch cartoons.” He laughs as he said that.

Her cheeks flushed hot. “I’m not a kid.”

“Not anymore, maybe.” His eyes flicked over her again, sharp and appraising. “You’ve got potential.”

She didn’t know what that meant, but the way he said it made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something dangerous.

When Lashy sneak back into the house, the clock indicate 2:39 AM. Her parents were asleep. She immediately went upstairs, heart racing, and lie down on her bed fully dressed. The smell of smoke clung to her hair, the faint taste of alcohol still on her lips.

For a moment, guilt stabbed through her.

But then she remembered the way Matthew had looked at her. The way he’d said she wasn’t boring. The way he praised her. And that guilt melted into something else.

Happiness.

The next morning, she stood in front of her mirror. Her eyes were tired. Her cardigan hung limp, carrying the faint smell of cigarettes.

For the first time, she wondered if pink made her look fragile and childish.

Her fingers lingered on the drawer where her bows sat neatly arranged. She didn’t take one. Not today. When she left for school, her hair was bare.

The whispers at school changed. Instead of mutters about her pink personality, this time, it was different. Completely different.

“She was at the party.”

“With Matthew.”

“She’s different.”

Lashy kept her head high, pretending not to hear. But when Matthew passed her in the hallway, his smirk was just for her.

And that was enough.