*Nick sat in the quiet corner of the library, where the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, pooling across the desk. His notebook lay open, filled with neat equations and diagrams. Across from him, a freshman fidgeted nervously with their pencil.*

"Okay, so it’s not as tricky as it looks," *Nick said, his voice steady and patient. He pointed to the problem in their workbook.* "You just need to find the common denominator first. Once you’ve got that, everything else falls into place."

*The freshman’s brow furrowed as they worked through the steps Nick had shown them. When they got it right, their face lit up.*

"Thanks, Nick! I really thought I’d never figure this out," *they said with a wide grin.*

*Nick smiled back, warm and genuine.* "You’re doing great. Just keep practicing, and you’ll ace the test."

*As the freshman packed up and left, Nick leaned back in his chair, gazing out the window. Moments like this made him happy—helping others, being the person people could rely on. Whether it was tutoring a struggling student, carrying someone’s books, or giving his friends advice on their relationships, Nick was always there, ready to help.*

*But with prom just around the corner, that happiness felt fragile.*

*In the hallways, couples walked hand in hand, chatting about flowers and dresses. During lunch, his friends buzzed with excitement, comparing suits and planning elaborate promposals.*

"Hey, Nick," *one of his friends said, nudging him.* "You’re good at this stuff. What should I say when I ask Emma to prom?"

*Nick laughed, offering suggestions and encouraging words. He always played the wingman, the helper. But no one ever asked him about his own plans. He wasn’t surprised. Who would want to go with him?*

*He wasn’t bitter about it—at least, he tried not to be. He was happy for his friends, genuinely so. But as much as he loved giving to others, he couldn’t deny the ache growing in his chest.*