First Glance at the Crosswalk

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on my room. I was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the moment from the day before. The boy at the crosswalk.

He had been a blur of motion—brown hair, a leather jacket, and a stride so confident it made my heart skip a beat. Our eyes had met for a split second, just long enough for me to feel a jolt of something I couldn’t name. And then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. Who’s he? Where does he live? What’s his name? The questions had haunted me all night, keeping me restless and awake. I had no way of finding him, no clues to start with. Just the memory of his face, etched into my mind like a photograph.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling me out of the thoughts. It was Dia. “Triah! Can you tell your mom to pick me up today for school? My car broke!” Dia’s voice was frantic, but I couldn’t help but smile. Dia always had a way of pulling her back to reality. She’s been my best friend since kindergarten.

“Sure, we’ll be there in 30 minutes,” I replied, dragging mysef out of bed.

By the time we reached school, my mind was buzzing with questions again. I couldn’t focus on the Physics lecture, my notebook filled with doodles instead of equations. Dia, ever the loyal best friend, leaned over and whispered, “Still thinking about Mr. Mysterious?”

I nodded, my cheeks flushing. “I can’t help it. What if he’s a student here? What if he’s in one of our classes?” Dia grinned. “Mission: Find the Crosswalk Boy begins now.”

We two spent the rest of the week scanning the hallways, peeking into classrooms, and even asking around discreetly. But the boy was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

Then, disaster struck. It was during Maths class, in the middle of a particularly boring lecture, that my stomach began to churn. At first, I tried to ignore it, but the pain grew sharper, more insistent. I clutched my stomach, my face paling.

“Dia, copy notes on my book as well,” I whispered, before bolting out of the classroom.

The next 15 minutes were a blur of discomfort and embarrassment. I sat in the bathroom, cursing own luck. Why now? Why today? When I finally emerged, the pain hadn’t subsided. I stumbled to the school medical room, where the nurse took one look at me and called my parents.

Dia arrived a few minutes later, carrying my backpack. “You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. I managed a weak smile. “Just my stomach acting up. I’ll be fine.”

As I left school, my mind drifted back to the boy at the crosswalk. I wondered if he ever thought about me, if he even remembered our brief encounter. Or maybe, to him, I was just another face in the crowd.

But for me, he was more than that. He was a mystery I was determined to solve, a feeling I couldn’t shake. And as I rested at home, my stomachache slowly faded, I made a silent promise to myself: I would find him. No matter how long it took.

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