Almost Conversations

I lingered in the classroom after the performance.

Most of my group had already left, their voices trailing down the hallway. I pretended to fix my bag, even though it was already zipped. Pretended to wait for someone, even though no one was coming.

But really, I was just hoping he’d say something.

Michael.

He was still there, talking to one of the boys, laughing softly. He looked lighter than usual. Like something had lifted off his shoulders.

I watched from the corner of my eye, trying not to make it obvious.

The string on my finger glowed faintly. Like it was proud of me. I didn’t know strings could do that.

He walked past me, and for a second, I thought he’d keep going.

But then—

“You were really good,” he said.

I looked up. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t look nervous at all.”

I shrugged. “I was. I just forgot to panic.”

He laughed. Not loud. Just a soft chuckle, like he understood.

Then he said, “You made the teacher laugh. That’s rare.”

I smiled. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“I know. That’s why it worked.”

I didn’t know what to say after that. So I just nodded.

He didn’t leave right away. Just stood there, like he was waiting for something.

Then he said, “You’re new, right?”

I nodded. “Transferred last month.”

“Do you like it here?”

I looked around the classroom. The chairs were crooked. The windows were dusty. The air smelled like chalk and sweat.

But I said, “It’s okay.”

He tilted his head. “Just okay?”

I looked at him. “I don’t know yet.”

He smiled again. “Fair.”

Then he left.

And I stood there, staring at the door he walked through.

The string pulsed once.

Like it was saying, “That was something.”

Later that night, I opened my notebook again.

I drew another cat. This one was curled up, eyes closed, with a red string tied to its paw. I stared at it for a while, then wrote beside it:

“Almost conversations feel like almost confessions.”

I don’t know why I wrote that.

Maybe because I wanted to say more. Maybe because I wanted him to say more.

But we didn’t.

And that’s okay.

I think.

The next day, I saw him in the hallway. He didn’t see me. Or maybe he did and didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t say anything either.

But the string tugged gently.

Like it was reminding me.

We’re tied.

Even if he doesn’t know it yet.

-I really hope someone's going to read this.

I'll delete this app after since I just really like publishing and then vanishing.

I've deleted so many stories because no one was viewing it.

So I'm not going to expect for this one, I don't like that.

Btw, STILL A BIG THANKS IF YOU'RE READING THIS!

I really appreciate it.

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