Quasimodo

He wore thick glasses, and combed his hair to the right to hide the scars, deep and shallow, beneath it.

His left hand was always covered by a black glove, because it was fake. On the right, there was only an empty sleeve.

He limped as he walked, and when the weather was bad, he leaned on a crutch. No one had ever seen him wear shorts.

The writing in his books was much larger than everyone else's. In the computer lab, he would press his face close to the screen, silently reading the tiny words that flickered there.

He wrote slowly. When he had to take notes in a hurry, he would hold the pen in his mouth and write, and somehow that was faster.

He walked slowly, too. When class ended, he was always the last to stand, then ambled out of the classroom without a care.

Just like Quasimodo.

That ugly bell-ringer, so unlike everyone else.

He was as quiet as Quasimodo.

As kind.

As good to others.

Like sending out a web of answers to help everyone during exams, for instance.

So even though he almost never stayed in the dorms, ate in the cafeteria, or took part in any cultural or athletic activities, he was still fairly popular.

He didn't care that he was different from everyone else. At least, that's how it seemed.

Though he always walked with his head down,

though he liked to hide in the shadows,

though whenever he secretly looked at her, he never dared let her catch him.

His name was Mo Duo.

Her name was Bing Mei Da.