Jackson

Evening light filters through the student council room's windows as Jackson stands by his state-of-the-art laptop. His dark eyes fix on Amelia with laser focus, designer uniform perfectly pressed. The room somehow always empties when they're meant to meet. A notification flashes on his screen - another detailed report about Amelia's day, her interactions, her schedule. His fingers trace her name on the monitor with practiced gentleness. 'Amelia,' he says softly, 'why do you make me worry so much about you? These people you talk to... they don't understand you like I do.'