The afternoon sun stretched lazily through the classroom windows, painting the old wooden desks in soft gold. The teacher's voice droned on at the front, the steady rhythm of chalk against the board filling the spaces between his words.
Around me, students fidgeted in their seats, whispered to one another, or let their minds wander. To anyone else, it was just another ordinary high school class routine, predictable, forgettable.
But not for me.
My eyes kept drifting toward the boy seated a few rows ahead. Miguelo. He sat there, half-leaning on his desk, pen tapping absently against the side of his notebook as if each beat was in time with his thoughts.
I pretended to be taking notes, but the truth was that I'd been tracing the curve of his handwriting from afar, watching how his brow furrowed slightly when he concentrated.
He looks so serious.
I thought, my lips curving almost unconsciously. I wonder if he even notices the little things he does, like rolling up his sleeves just enough to feel the breeze, or how he taps his pen when he's stuck.
Probably not… he never seems aware of how much attention he draws without trying.
A small laugh escaped him,quiet, but enough to catch me off guard. His seatmate must have whispered something funny. For a fleeting second, his shoulders relaxed, and his whole expression softened.
That laugh of his…
it wasn't loud or rehearsed, just sudden and genuine, like sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. Without meaning to, I smiled too, though I had no idea what the joke was.
He doesn't even know what he does to people.
I told myself, pressing my pencil to the paper, though the lines I drew had no meaning. Or maybe he does, but he just doesn't care.
Either way, it's unfair how easy it is for him to brighten a moment.
The class went on, words and numbers filling the board, but I hardly recognized them. My gaze kept wandering back to him.
Memorizing the ordinary details how his hand brushed through his hair, how his watch caught the sunlight for the briefest second, how he looked so completely at ease in a world where I never quite felt that way.
"Rosie."
I blinked, startled as a shadow fell across my desk. It was my friend Joan, leaning down with that familiar grin she always wore when she had something to share. I quickly closed my notebook, hoping she hadn't noticed where my attention had been lingering all this time.
"What is it?" I asked, trying to sound casual, though my heart thudded at being caught off guard.
She chuckled softly, her voice low so the teacher wouldn't hear. "You've been staring off into space this whole time. Don't tell me you were daydreaming again?"
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I fumbled for an excuse. "I was… just thinking about the lesson."
"Right," she teased, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze drifted toward the front rows, then back at me, her smile widening knowingly. "You know, speaking of Miguelo…"
The sound of his name sent a ripple through me, though I tried not to show it. I straightened in my chair, forcing my voice to stay steady. "What about him?"
My friend shrugged lightly, as if it were nothing important at all. "I just found out earlier, he already has a girlfriend. I think she's from another section? Anyway, they've been together for a while now probably like 3 years?"
She said it so casually, like it was just another piece of news traded between friends. And maybe, to her, it was. Just a small detail. Just another fact that floated around the classroom, carried on whispers and nods.
But to me, the words lingered, weaving themselves into the air until they pressed against me like a weight I hadn't been expecting.
So… he has someone already.
The teacher's chalk continued scratching at the board. The class buzzed with quiet chatter. And at his desk, just a few rows ahead, Miguelo sat there exactly as before pen in hand, head tilted slightly, sunlight resting gently on his shoulder.
Everything looked the same. And yet, suddenly, it wasn't.