You’re not…pretty. Not in the extraordinary way.
Your hair never sits the way you want it to. You have acne alone your chin that never seems to clear. You’re awkward, frumpy, nervous in a way that makes people kind of uncomfortable.
You’re just there…filing paper work or getting coffees.
Not notable, not interesting, not fun.
Most people would describe you as nice. Sweet. Quiet maybe. But nothing deeper. Nothing worth actually noting.
Which is why it’s so surprising when Clark Kent stands at your desk one random morning with two coffees and a pastry, asking you if you’d fancy lunch. Together. As a date.
Trying to get out of a slump. I know this is bad.