It was just past the COVID phase, and going back to school felt like stepping into a world I'd almost forgotten existed. After months of being locked inside, glued to screens and the comfort of my bed, I had grown lazy in ways I didn't even notice until that morning. My legs felt heavy, my eyes half-closed, and my heart unwilling. I had gotten used to silence—the kind of silence where the only voices you hear are the ones in your head or the muffled chatter of the television in another room.
Now, all at once, I was being thrown back into noise.
The walk to school itself felt strange. The gates loomed taller than before, and as I passed through them, my stomach tightened. Everyone around me seemed to move with purpose—laughing, running, greeting old friends—but I walked slowly, each step louder than it should have been. My bag felt heavier, like it carried not just books but the weight of months spent alone.
Inside, the hallways looked the same—polished floors, scratched desks stacked along the walls, the faint smell of chalk dust mixed with sanitizer—but the people were different. Some had grown taller, their voices deeper, their faces sharper. Others looked the same, yet carried themselves differently. It was like the world had shifted forward while I had stayed the same.
Finding my classroom turned into an ordeal. My section had changed, and I kept circling hallways, glancing at doors, double-checking my timetable. Every time I peeked into a room, I felt my heartbeat rise at the sight of unfamiliar faces staring back. By the time I finally found my new classroom, thirty whole minutes had passed. "What would you expect from a 9th STD boy?" Nervous, clumsy, and completely lost.
The moment I stepped in, my eyes instantly scanned for familiar faces. Relief flooded me when I spotted a few of my close friends. But the relief was short-lived, because many others—the ones I had laughed with before the pandemic, the ones who made me feel safe—were gone. A strange heaviness settled in my chest, the kind of heaviness that makes you feel like a stranger in your own place.
Before I could process it, the teacher walked in. The room instantly quieted. There was something odd about the silence; it wasn't the usual restless hush of students—it was heavier, more awkward. We were all adjusting, after all. Some hadn't seen each other in over a year. Some had changed so much, they felt like strangers.
The teacher began with introductions. One by one, we stood up, muttered our names, hobbies, or random facts, then sat back down while the others half-listened. When it was my turn, my voice felt small in the big room, my name falling flat before sinking into the air.
And then came the part I dreaded most—seat arrangements.
One by one, students were placed in benches, pulled apart from their groups, shuffled around like pieces of a puzzle. My friends were scattered across the room, their laughter and whispers already beginning to blend with new ones. When my turn came, I was placed with a boy I didn't know, on the second bench. To make matters worse, the seats around me—front and back—were filled with girls.
For someone like me—socially awkward, easily flustered—it felt like a nightmare. I lowered my head, fiddling with my pen, pretending to arrange my books as if that would make me invisible. My heart sank at the thought of being separated from my comfort zone.
At that moment, I thought it was the worst thing that could've happened.
I didn't know it would lead me to you.
You weren't the first person I noticed that day. But once I did, you became the only one I saw.
You weren't doing anything extraordinary. Just leaning slightly on your desk, flipping through your notebook, adjusting your mask. But for me, time slowed. There was something about the way you carried yourself—the ease, the lightness—that struck me.
Then, you laughed. Soft. Unassuming. A laugh that slipped into the air and reached me before I could stop it. And in that second, the noise of the classroom dimmed, as though the world had lowered its volume just to let me hear you.
Something inside me shifted. I didn't know what it was, but I felt it. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
And deep down, I already knew—this was just the beginning.
Days slipped by in a blur of half-familiar routines. Masks muffled voices, sanitizer bottles lined every desk, and teachers carried a sternness that came from months of online classes where control had been lost. Students were adjusting, groups were reforming, and friendships were being redefined.
The boy beside me adapted quickly. He had that kind of personality—the easygoing charm that pulled people in. Within days, he was chatting comfortably with the four girls around us, laughing, joking, even with you.
I watched him with a mix of admiration and envy. It seemed so effortless for him, like breathing. Meanwhile, I sat there, trapped in my own silence, wishing I could do the same. Why can't I talk like that? Why can't I be that easy to like?
But fate is strange. Slowly, that boy and I became friends too. And through him, I finally got the chance to speak to you.
I'll never forget that moment.
It was ordinary on the surface, but to me, it was everything.
My palms were sweaty, my heartbeat far too loud for a normal conversation. You turned toward me, your eyes meeting mine, and for the first time, you spoke.
"Hye."
Just one word. But it changed everything.
You smiled when you said it. Even though you wore a mask, I could tell. There was warmth in your eyes, a softness that no mask could hide. And in that moment, my chest tightened so much I thought my heart might burst.
I didn't know what was happening to me. I couldn't understand it.
Sure, I had liked people before. But never like this. Never with this much nervousness, this much stuttering, this much helplessness. Something about you was different. Something about this was different.
Still, I told myself not to fall. I remembered too well how the last time had ended. I had been dumped once, and honestly, I wasn't surprised. With my short height and round, football-like body, I never expected anyone to look at me that way. It was easier to laugh at myself before someone else did.
So I promised myself not to fall again. Especially not for you. Because from the very beginning, I knew—you were way out of my league.
But the heart doesn't follow rules.
Days turned into weeks, and somehow, we grew closer. Little conversations became inside jokes. Small smiles became moments I replayed endlessly in my head. With everyone else, I felt comfortable easily. But with you, it was different.
You made my brain freeze. My words stumble. My heart pound in ways I couldn't explain.
And your voice—God, your voice—it was like vanilla ice cream. Smooth, sweet, and impossible not to crave. Your laugh was even worse—it had already become my favorite sound, the kind of sound I wanted to hear every day for the rest of my life.
I couldn't deny it anymore. I was falling. And I was falling hard.
Back then, I didn't even own a phone. Social media was something distant to me, something others used but I had never touched. When I finally got one, I remember the thrill of holding it in my hands, setting it up, downloading apps like they were new worlds waiting to be explored.
Instagram was the first one. I typed my username slowly, my fingers clumsy, my profile empty. The app felt like a maze, full of pictures, filters, and buttons I didn't understand.
And then, it happened.
My very first follower—was you.
I froze, staring at the screen. To anyone else, it might've been nothing. But to me, it felt like the world had stopped just to gift me this moment.
You didn't stop there. You laughed at my cluelessness, gently taught me how to use the app, showed me how to post, how to like, how to follow others. And all the while, I sat there, pretending to listen, while inside, my heart was breaking and healing at the same time.
Those little things—so small, so ordinary—were enough to undo me completely.
After everything I had been through, after being dumped not even a year ago, after promising myself I wouldn't fall again… here I was, falling deeper than I ever had before.
I wanted to deny it. I wanted to fight it. But I couldn't.
I had fallen for you. Completely. Helplessly. Hopelessly.
And as I lay in bed that night, staring at your name glowing softly on my screen, a thought settled into my chest:
What would be waiting ahead in this story?
But somewhere deep inside, I already knew—
This was only the beginning of a love I was never brave enough to confess.
This was just the beginning of a journey I never saw coming. A journey that started with nervous stares, shy hellos, and the quiet realization that I had fallen for someone I thought was far beyond my reach.
But what came next were the little things—moments that seemed ordinary to the world, yet extraordinary to me. The laughter we shared, the casual jokes, the times when your presence made even the dullest day shine brighter.
Chapter 2: When Happiness Found Me in You
Releasing soon...