After that exam, she didn't expect to see him again. But a quiet part of her heart held onto a flicker of hope.
Every morning, she came to school early, her bag packed neatly, her uniform perfect, and her eyes invariably drifted toward the last bench, where he used to sit.
Most days, the seat was empty, as his attendance was sporadic.
Weeks passed without a single glimpse of him, and when he did come, it was unpredictable—like a sudden breeze on a still day.
But whenever he did, she noticed everything: how he walked in with quiet steps, how he adjusted his sleeves, and how he looked serious, lost in thought.
They had never spoken; not even a proper glance had been exchanged.
Still, her heart found ways to carry his presence in silence.
Each morning, when she entered the classroom, her eyes would instantly move toward the back row, searching for him.
She arrived at school early, sitting up straight in class with unwavering dedication – never missing a day, even when she felt low, tired, or simply not in the mood.
Her secret motivation? Him.
One morning, she arrived even earlier than usual.
The school was quiet, the classroom completely empty.
She took her usual seat, opened her bag slowly, and rested her hands on the desk.
It was one of those calm mornings where the world seemed to breathe softer.
Then, she heard footsteps. She turned slightly, and it was him.
He entered the classroom and walked to the last bench.
She quickly looked away, pretending to scribble something in her notebook.
He paused, noticing dust on his desk, and looked around.
Their eyes met for a brief second. "You must have a bad page?" he asked, his voice calm but clear.
The request wasn't unusual, as he wanted a blank page.
She froze, her heartbeat quickening.
Nervously, she nodded and flipped through her rough copy, her hands trembling slightly.
She tore out a clean page and handed it to him without saying a word.
Their fingers didn't touch, but the air between them felt charged.
"Thank you," he said. She nodded again, still unable to speak.
He returned to his bench, cleaned it with the paper, and sat down as if it were nothing.
But to her, it meant everything.
She clutched her notebook tighter, replaying the moment in her mind.
She had heard his voice, spoken to him, even if it was only a few words.
And now, more than ever, it was harder to forget him.
She still told no one—not even when the girls joked about crushes.
They wouldn't understand; they never would.
She had tried to stop thinking about him, promised herself she would, but feelings like these—unexpected and fragile—have a way of staying, lingering, and growing in silence.