The days at school started slipping by faster than Andrew expected. The hallways that once felt foreign now seemed familiar, the constant chatter of students no longer as overwhelming. Even that heavy feeling of being "the new guy" was beginning to fade. A lot of that had to do with Grace.
It had only been a few weeks since she first walked into class, sitting near him, quietly asking for notes. Since then, their interactions had grown—not dramatically, but steadily. Like a seed breaking through the soil: small, slow, but alive.
Now, a new kind of buzz filled the school. Posters were plastered on every wall, messy and colorful, shouting in bold:
"ANNUAL SCHOOL FESTIVAL – THIS MONTH!"
Everywhere Andrew went, people were talking about it. It was the event of the year, with stalls, performances, competitions, and games. For most, it wasn't just fun—it was about showing off, about pride.
One afternoon at lunch, Andrew found Grace under the old banyan tree, sketching something in her notebook. He watched for a moment before asking, "You draw?"
Grace quickly snapped the notebook shut, hugging it to her chest. "Just… sometimes. It's nothing."
Andrew smirked. "If you're hiding it, that probably means it's good. People only hide what actually matters to them."
She tilted her head, giving him a look. "You make everything sound deeper than it is."
"I don't mean to," he said with a shrug. "But hey, with the festival coming up, maybe you should show your drawings. There's bound to be an art thing."
Grace brushed some hair out of her face, hesitating. "I don't know. I don't like being noticed."
"Then let your art do the noticing," Andrew said quietly.
Their eyes met for a second before Grace looked away, poking at her lunch. Andrew didn't push, but he felt something shift—a thin thread pulling them a little closer.
Preparations for the festival took over the week. Teachers were practically begging students to join activities, the courtyard was full of shouts and laughter, and the air smelled like paint and sweat.
Andrew got roped into basketball by Sophia, his childhood best friend and the school's resident fireball.
"You're tall enough, you're fast enough," she said, dragging him toward the court. "Don't waste it."
"I barely know the rules," Andrew groaned.
"You'll figure it out. Oh, and by the way—Grace signed up to help at the basketball stall." She smirked, spinning the ball on her finger. "Didn't think I'd let you miss that."
Andrew tried to roll his eyes, but the smile slipped out anyway.
Meanwhile, Grace got pulled into badminton doubles after a P.E. teacher noticed her steady hands. At first, she looked terrified holding the racket, but Andrew—passing by—cheered her on.
"You're already better than me!" he shouted.
She almost missed the shuttle because she was laughing. "Stop distracting me!"
By the end of the rally, she was smiling in a way Andrew hadn't seen before—nervous, yes, but freer too.
Their shared hobbies came up naturally. In the library one afternoon, Andrew spotted her sketching again. This time, she didn't shut the notebook. The pages were filled with small, detailed scenes: the basketball court under orange skies, Sophia dribbling mid-game, faceless crowds in hallways.
"You're really good," Andrew whispered.
Grace's lips pressed together, but she didn't deny it. "Drawing helps me make sense of things. When it feels messy up here—" she tapped her head—"sketching makes it clearer."
Andrew nodded. "That's what writing does for me. Not stories, just random notes. Feels like putting thoughts in order."
Grace's eyes softened. "So we both use paper when it gets heavy."
He grinned. "Guess we're the same kind of weird."
They laughed quietly, and though no one else noticed, it meant something to both of them.
Sophia was everywhere—loud, blunt, teasing. Sometimes, Andrew thought she knew something was happening between him and Grace, because she never wasted a chance to stir it up.
During one practice, she threw the ball at Andrew and shouted, "Careful, lover boy, Grace is watching!"
Andrew tripped over himself, turning red, while Grace tried and failed to hide her giggles.
Later, when he walked Grace home, he muttered, "Don't mind her. She lives to make me look stupid."
Grace smiled. "You didn't look stupid. Just a little red."
Andrew groaned, but the warmth in her smile made it worth it.
As the festival drew closer, things went into overdrive. Corridors smelled of glue and paint, sports teams drilled harder, and Grace was sketching booth designs while Andrew juggled basketball practice with odd jobs for teachers.
One evening, after practice, he and Grace sat on the bleachers, the sky painted purple and orange. Sophia was still shooting hoops in the background.
"You seem happier these days," Grace said suddenly.
Andrew blinked. "Do I?"
She nodded. "When I first met you, you seemed weighed down. Like you were somewhere else in your head. But now… you smile more."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. She was right. Back at his old school, he'd carried that constant ache of being misunderstood. But here, with Grace, things felt lighter.
"Maybe it's because of new friends," he admitted. "Because of you."
Grace looked at him for a long moment, unreadable. Before he could say more, Sophia yelled from across the court, "Hey, lovebirds! Stop whispering and help me pack up!"
Both of them jumped, flustered. As they walked over, their hands brushed. Neither pulled away right away.
The night before the festival, the school felt magical. Strings of lights, half-finished stalls, the buzz of excitement in the air. Andrew stayed late with Grace and Sophia, painting signs and carrying boxes.
At one point, Grace accidentally smudged paint on her cheek, and Andrew laughed, handing her a tissue. She rolled her eyes, but her laughter followed his.
Moments like these—simple, fleeting—made Andrew forget the heaviness of the past.
Finally, the day of the festival came.
The school was unrecognizable—crowds, food stalls, music, cheers. The gym echoed with basketball matches, and the courtyard was alive with noise.
Andrew's team played, the crowd roaring every time Sophia scored. Grace clapped shyly from the sidelines, and when Andrew looked at her after a decent shot, her small proud smile meant more than the win itself.
Later, Grace played her badminton match. She was nervous, but Andrew cheered so obnoxiously from the front row that she laughed between serves. She didn't win, but the glow on her face after made it worth it.
Together, they wandered through the stalls, eating snacks, joking around, even stopping at a fortune-telling booth where Sophia declared Andrew's "love line" way too obvious. For the first time in ages, Andrew felt like he belonged.
But as the sun started dipping low, painting the festival in gold, someone new appeared.
A tall boy stepped into their path. Sharp features, confident smile, uniform worn perfectly. His voice carried a charm that turned heads.
"Grace, right?" he said smoothly, not even glancing at Andrew. "I've seen you around. You're… different. Beautiful, actually. I was wondering—" He leaned closer, lowering his voice—"if you'd like to go out with me sometime."
Grace froze, eyes wide. Andrew's chest tightened, his jaw locking. The boy's gaze was steady, bold, as if Andrew wasn't even there.
The festival noise seemed to fade, leaving just that sharp tension hanging in the air. Grace opened her mouth, but no words came out.