Question

At “The Meridian Institute for Private Studies”, four students — Élodie, Aurelia, Belle, and Kamoni — form a quiet orbit around one another. Élodie, Aurelia, and Belle each develop a crush on Kamoni and, in their own ways, try to win his attention. Kamoni is genuinely clueless. The story tracks how their attempts affect friendships, reveal hidden sides of each character, and force everyone to grow. They are all 15 and in the tenth grade. They have known each other for a while.

(Current scene: Kamoni and Belle are in class and its free time since the teacher isn’t here. Kamoni and Belle are standing up in class at a quiet corner because Belle pulled him there; they talk for a while, Belle’s cheerful personality coming to show in their conversations. Kamoni can’t stop noticing her half buttoned cardigan, and it kind of feels odd it's not fully buttoned, so he asks if he can button it fully. She agrees reluctantly. Then as he buttons, the cardigan from the middle where its already buttoned then as he gets higher from buttoning it, it gets tight around her chest and he can't button it. So, in that instance Belle starts explaining her little insecurity about her chest and how it just can’t stop growing.

Answer 1

The classroom is a small island of hushed voices and rustling paper. The teacher’s empty desk is a buffer at the front; most of the room is scattered with students folding notes or scrolling through their phones. Kamoni and Belle have edged into a quieter corner by the window, where Belle pushed him with one insistent elbow until he stuck out his hands like a willing accomplice.

Her cardigan hangs half-buttoned, the bottom two buttons done but the rest gaping. Kamoni can't stop looking at the line of fabric and the tiny, neat buttons — part practical, part odd, the way it seems unfinished. "Do you—can I button the rest?" he asks before he talks himself out of it.

Belle blinks, a little surprised and a little amused. "If you want," she says, and there's a reluctant tilt to it that makes him think she doesn't ask for help often.

He reaches, careful, fingers clumsy as he works the next button toward its hole. For a breath it slides in, then the next one stalls. He presses, nudges, and the cardigan puckers at the chest as if the fabric is deciding it has nowhere to go. He tries again, and it doesn't close.

Belle watches with a half-smile that dissolves the instant he falters. The room feels suddenly narrower, closer; someone laughs softly somewhere, and both of them flinch. Belle exhales, small and wry. "It never listens," she says, and then, softer, like she's telling something to herself as much as to him, "It keeps getting... bigger. My chest, I mean."

Kamoni freezes for a second — he had expected a shrug, maybe a joke. That confession lands quieter than either of those. He can see the way she keeps her shoulders a little higher, like armor, and he realizes how often she makes jokes to cover things she doesn't want to sit with.

"I'm sorry," he says too quickly. "I didn't mean—"

She waves it off, a practiced flick of cheerfulness returning at the edges. "Don't be. It's not your fault. Clothes are just... traitors, sometimes." She tugs at the fabric like testing a stubborn knot. "My mom keeps telling me to buy different sizes, but there's never any in the color I want. And boys keep making dumb comments every time someone else notices, so I end up trying to hide it and then I look ridiculous."

Kamoni looks at her, at the earnestness that sits under the joke. He finds himself wanting to say something that won't be awkward, something that won't make her feel odd for saying it out loud. "That sounds... frustrating," he says instead. "I mean, everyone should be able to wear what fits without people making it about… stuff."

She laughs, a small, grateful sound. "Thanks, Kam. You're very diplomatic for someone who was buttoning a sweater like it was a bomb."

"Is there—do you want me to try the rest? Or should I—" He trails off, aware how the offer might sound and glad she doesn't look offended. She loosens her shoulders, a little.

"I can get it on if I like pull it down and do the top buttons from the inside," she muses. "Or I could wear a different top. It's just annoying, you know? I liked this one."

There’s a pause where the two of them just look out the window at the courtyard, the sky a pale wash. Kamoni imagines her fighting with a wardrobe mirror, trying to make the lines of clothes obey her. "If you ever want help shopping — like, actual help, not 'you look fine' help — I can come with you. Or I can hold the door while you try on a million things," he offers, surprised at how easy the words are.

Belle's face brightens in a way that isn't obliging anymore. "Deal," she says, smiling genuinely. "But you have to promise not to make that face you make when you see the price tags."

He grins, feeling less clumsy. "No promises."

They stand for a few more minutes, trading small jokes and the kind of easy, ordinary talk that makes things feel less sharp. When someone calls their names from across the room, they turn, tucking the moment away like an extra pencil in a pocket. Belle buttons the cardigan the rest of the way from the inside, carefully, and it sits better than before. She folds up the half-smile into something steadier.

As they walk back to the cluster of friends, Kamoni feels like he's seen a new side of Belle — not just her bright, bouncing surface, but the tired, private edge beneath it. Belle, for her part, walks a little more open, as if the confession took some weight off her shoulders. They fall into the orbit they always have, but the space between them contains something softer now — a small, steady understanding that doesn't need to be said again.