It began the way good days usually do… without a plan.
Luka had decided we should all meet, and somehow that was enough. Late August still felt generous back then, stretching the evenings like it had nothing to lose. The air was warm, the kind that made you walk slower just to stay in it longer.
There were four of us.
Me (Dary), Steph, Ionique, Luka.
We laughed easily, the kind of laughter that comes from not knowing each other well yet. Everything felt new and uncomplicated. Conversations jumped from one person to another, stories half-finished because something funnier always interrupted.
Ionique was glowing. Luka noticed first. Then me. We exchanged looks, smiles, the unspoken agreement that we were absolutely going to push her into confessing. It felt harmless, almost exciting, like we were part of something playful and brave.
"Just tell him", we kept saying.
"What's the worst that could happen?"
I didn't mean anything by it. I really didn't.
We ended up in a small park nearby, sitting on a bench that had probably seen a thousand conversations just like ours. The sky was still bright, even though the day was ending. Everything felt open.
We were sitting on a bench, waiting and waiting, and finally, Ionique took a breath and said it.
For a moment, the world held still.
Steph smiled gently. He didn't rush his answer. When he spoke, his voice was calm, honest. He said no, but kindly, carefully, like he didn't want to hurt her.
Ionique nodded, pretending it didn't sting as much as it probably did. She put on her headphones and stood up to go for a walk. I stood up as well and hugged her right in front of everyone. I knew how it felt being rejected and I didn't want a friend of mine to be going through that too. I thought their feelings were mutual, at least it looked like it. Luka stood up beside her, saying something soft that made her smile again. They walked a little way off, giving her space, giving the moment room to pass.
And suddently, without warning, it was just me and Steph.
The quiet felt different, not awkward, just… new. I shifted on the bench and said the first thing that came to mind, something small and unimportant. He answered. Then he asked me something back.
We talked.
About nothing. About everything. About the things that didn't matter and things that somehow did. We found out that we were from the same class. Class 9B. Ionique was in class 9C and Luka was a year older than us, in class 10B. The minutes slipped by without asking for permission. I didn't notice the park emptying, or the sky growing darker. I only noticed how easy it felt.
When Ionique finally came back from her walk, we started walking towards the park's parking lot where her parents were waiting. After Ionique and Luke got in the car, her parents were asking Steph and I if they could drop us off at our houses. I politely declined. I wasn't living very far from the park, only a few minutes walk, but Steph declined as well and I got very confused. He was living at about a 30 minute bus drive from the park, yet he still didn't want to get in the car.
After they left, I asked Steph:
"Didn't you say you live far away? Why are you not going with them?"
"I feel awkward going in the same car with her parents after I just rejected her."
I agreed.
A few minutes later, we were at the bus stop where he should be getting his bus from.
"Well, we're here, what bus are you taking?"
"I will take bus number 17B, but not from here, from the next station, I want to see you off first."
For a moment, everything stopped. I thought I didn't hear that well. He wanted to walk me to my home.
The walk to my street was shorter than I wanted it to be.
Usually, the five-minute walk from the park is a mindless blur of cracked pavement and familiar streetlights, but with Steph walking beside me, every meter felt measured. We didn't talk as much as we had on the bench. The easy flow of conversation had shifted into something more self-conscious, a quiet tension that hummed between us like a live wire.
I found myself tracing the silhouette of his shoulder in the periphery of my vision. He walked with a casual gait, hands shoved deep into his pokets, looking at the houses we passed as if they were suddently the most interesting architecture in the world.
"It's this one," I said, stopping in front of my gate. The porch light was a dull orange glow, casting long, dancing shadows across the driveway.
Steph stopped too, turning to face me. "Right. Well. You're home."
"I'm home," I echoed, feeling a strange, hollow weight in my chest. "You really didn't have to walk me. Now you have to walk all the way back to the other station."
He shrugged, a small, lopsided smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "It's a nice night. Besides, I didn't mind the company."
The silence returned, but this time it was heavy. We stood there for a beat too long—that agonizing, uncertain window of time where the "goodbye" is supposed to happen, but neither person knows the choreography.
He shifted his weight, taking one hand out of his pocket. For a second, he leaned in, his body tilting toward mine as if he were going to wrap his arms around me. I felt my breath hitch. My hands instinctively twitched, ready to reach back.
Then, he stopped.
It was a physical hesitation, a glitch in the movement. He seemed to catch himself, perhaps remembering the earlier events of the evening, or perhaps just losing his nerve. The half-motion turned into a clumsy pat on my upper arm—a gesture that was halfway between a hug and a handshake and failed at being either.
"Anyway," he said, his voice a fraction higher than before. "I should... the bus. I don't want to miss the 17B."
"Right. The bus," I said, trying to mask the flicker of disappointment with a nod. "Get home safe, Steph."
"Yeah. You too. See you in class? 9B?"
"9B," I confirmed.
He gave a final, stiff wave and turned around, heading back toward the main road. I stayed by the gate, watching him go. He walked quickly, his head down, the confident stride from earlier replaced by the hurried pace of someone who knew the last thirty seconds had been profoundly awkward.
I waited until he disappeared around the corner before I finally turned the key in my lock. The house was quiet, but my head was loud. As I climbed the stairs, I kept thinking about that half-second where he leaned in—the space between what almost happened and what actually did.
It was just a walk. It was just a bus.
But as I lay in bed later, listening to the distant hum of the city, I realized that for the first time in a long time, I was actually looking forward to Monday morning.