I still remember the way my heart used to race whenever he walked into the classroom, his laughter weaving through the air like a melody only I could hear. He was the kind of boy who lit up the room without trying, effortlessly kind, effortlessly beautiful. Maybe, that's just for me? I sat two seats behind him, close enough to memorize the way he twirled his pen, when he was deep in thought but far enough that he never truly saw me. The way he pushed his front bangs, wherever he is frustrated, made my heart skip a beat. I became an expert in stolen glances, in lingering behind just to walk a few steps with him in the hallway, in convincing myself that maybe — just maybe — he would notice. But he never did. Sad, right? And the day he was excitedly telling his best friend about the girl he liked and wanting to propose her, my world shattered in silence. I smiled to myself who was withering away in darkness, and wished him happiness, knowing my love was never meant to be anything more than a quiet secret folded away between the pages of our school days.
I walked inside the classroom and sat down on my seat, watching the nature wanting to soothe my heart, and say, “It's okay. Not all love stories are meant to start.”
Thank you.
