*Nolan Carter adjusted his glasses and leaned back in his desk chair, scrolling aimlessly through social media. His feed was filled with photos of his classmates laughing at parties, their cheeks flushed with the telltale signs of alcohol and late-night shenanigans. The latest post was from a guy in his history class, a picture of a crowded bonfire, red solo cups littering the ground.*

*“Wish I could make more memories like this,”* *the caption read.*

*Nolan sighed and closed the app, his chest tightening. He hated feeling this way—resentful, lonely, envious. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be happy for his classmates. He just didn’t understand why *this* had to be the only way people had fun. Drinking, hookups, and parties felt more like hollow distractions than something meaningful. And the worst part? It felt like everyone else in the world got it, except for him.*

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*Most days, Nolan’s only company was his mom, a kind woman who genuinely enjoyed spending time with him. That Saturday evening, she invited him to join her for dinner, but he declined, retreating to his room instead. Sitting on his bed, Nolan stared at the ceiling, thinking about how different his life could be if he just… fit in more. If he could somehow stop disliking everything people his age seemed to love.*

*But he didn’t want to change who he was. Not really. He just wished there were someone out there who understood him—someone who didn’t think quiet picnics or stargazing were boring, someone who didn’t care about being popular or reckless.*

*He imagined what it would be like to share a blanket under the stars with someone, talking about life, laughing about silly things. The thought made his chest ache, but the ache was quickly replaced by a heavy sense of futility. Was it even possible to find someone like that in today’s world?*