Break ended sadly, but we still had to continue classes, and here i am, oh ops, let's continue with the story!
— Mei
It was one of those afternoons that felt like it would never end. The air in class was thick and warm, the sun hitting straight through the dusty window beside me. My desk was half covered in doodles — flowers, skulls, random lyrics — all carved in with the corner of my pen. I didn't even realize how much I'd done until I looked down and saw the entire surface covered in chaos. Looked kinda cool, though. Like art made out of boredom.
The teacher was going on and on about something — probably math again. I wasn't listening. I never really did. My mind was somewhere else, drifting between the faint throb in my chest and the sound of the ceiling fan that clicked every time it spun. My heartbeat felt off again, a little uneven, but I ignored it. It always passed.
Then, out of nowhere, the door slid open — loud enough to make everyone shut up. Even the teacher stopped mid-sentence, chalk still in his hand.
I didn't look up. Not right away. I was too busy shading a flame I'd drawn at the edge of my desk. Transfers always came and went — new faces, same fake introductions. None of them ever mattered.
"Class," the teacher said, sounding like he'd just swallowed sunshine, "we have a new student joining us today."
Someone in the front whispered, "Another one?"
I rolled my eyes. Fantastic. Another try-hard.
The teacher stepped aside, and a boy walked in. His uniform was actually ironed — like, who even does that? His bag was slung over one shoulder, his shoes clean, hair neat, posture straight. Everything about him screamed "I follow the rules." The kind of kid teachers love and people like me piss off just by breathing.
"I'm Jin Wei," he said simply. His voice was calm, deeper than I expected, but not cold. Just… steady.
The room went quiet for a second. Then came the whispers — the same recycled chatter you always hear when someone new walks in. "He's from Beijing?" "He looks smart." "Bet he's rich."
"Jin Wei, you can sit at the back," the teacher said, pointing in my direction.
I froze mid-doodle. Of course.
There were empty seats all over the damn room, but no — he had to be put next to me. The "problem student."
As he walked toward the back, I pretended not to care, twirling my pen between my fingers. But when he passed by my desk, I glanced up — just once.
His eyes caught mine. Brown, steady, too calm for this place. He didn't flinch or look away like most people did. He just looked. And that — that tiny, quiet look — annoyed the hell out of me.
I dropped my pen, muttering under my breath, "Great. Another model student. Just what I needed."
He sat down beside me, sliding his bag under the desk without a sound. No introduction, no forced smile. Just silence. Weirdly calm silence.
I went back to doodling, pretending I didn't notice. But I did. I noticed how still he was, how every move he made was deliberate — controlled, like he didn't belong in the same world as my noise.
My desk was a mess of doodles — wings, flames, a tiny stick figure falling off a cliff. I tapped my pen against the wood, trying to ignore the quiet presence next to me.
"You always draw on the desks?" His voice was calm, like he wasn't trying to be rude but somehow sounded…judgmental.
I shot him a sideways glance. Blue eyes, steady, not laughing, not rolling with me like everyone else usually did. He wasn't impressed. That annoyed me more than anything.
"Depends," I said, smirking. "You always point out other people's business, or is this special?"
He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just tilted his head, studying my pen strokes like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. "I just…don't get it. Why ruin something everyone else has to use?"
I snorted. "Because it's boring otherwise. You think life's perfect little lines and rules, huh? Newsflash, genius — it's not. Some of us gotta make our own fun."
He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but didn't. "You make fun?"
I leaned back, balancing on the edge of my chair. "I survive."
"Survive," he repeated, testing the word like it was foreign. "That's…different."
"Yeah," I muttered, tapping my pen against the desk again. "Different's my middle name. Well, not really, but you get the idea."
He was quiet again, just staring at my doodles. Not judging, not laughing, just…watching. And for some reason, that made my chest tighten — not because of him, not yet. Just because someone had actually noticed me without yelling or whispering or making nasty comments.
The teacher started talking again, but I wasn't listening anymore. My heartbeat had steadied, but something else had started up — a strange itch in the air. And as stupid as it sounds… I kinda hated how curious I suddenly felt.
MY STUPID HEART ❤️ 💙 —
Mei