Better Days

They're both so invisible. I don't mean in the sense that no one notices them—it's the exact opposite. They get noticed, and they get punished for it. She's too polished; he's too rough. She's too pure, as he says; he's too destroyed. She was too hesitant to defend her classmate, but when it mattered, she stepped up in front of everyone and covered her face. Her classmate wouldn't want to be seen like that.
 She's not a damsel in distress. She's not scared. She knows what she wants. She's smart, resourceful, and fierce. But she has to look over her shoulder every day. "Be a bully or get bullied," they say. She has to be more than just a daughter, more than just an ordinary student. She has to be better. How exhausting is it to look over your shoulder every day? And how relieving is it to know you don't have to anymore? There's someone behind you. Don't worry. "You protect the world, and I'll protect you," he says. "You're the first person to ask me if it hurts," he confesses. I have nothing to offer, but I have you. Someone I love. Someone who sees me. I have someone who looks back because they wonder if I'm still there. I have someone who wants me to stay, to follow. There are only two kisses in the movie: one to save him, another to save her. Yet the most romantic moment to me is when they see each other through the prison glass, and they can't stop looking at each other. Breathing each other in. They cry, smile, laugh, and cry again. Because they thought they couldn't love each other openly. But now they do, regardless of the consequences. And when it's all over, for better or for worse, he still follows her. And she doesn't have to look over her shoulder because she knows he's there. And he'll protect her while she protects the world.