Timi wasn't the loudest or the most confident boy in school, but he had something rarer—
a heart that loved in full color.
He noticed things people ignored.
The way someone's smile faded when they were tired,
the way a person's eyes softened when they felt safe,
the way kindness could change a whole day.
So when he met Amara, he noticed everything.
From the first morning she walked into class, with her hair tied lazily like she didn't even try to be beautiful, Timi felt something shift in him. She wasn't perfect—she laughed too loud sometimes, she lost her pen every single day, she talked with her hands like she was painting her words in the air—but all of it made her real.
And Timi loved real.
They became close slowly, like sunrise creeping over a quiet town.
At first it was small things—sharing notes, exchanging jokes, walking home together whenever their roads matched. But soon, their conversations turned into confessions about dreams and fears and memories they never shared with anyone else.
Timi felt himself falling.
Not crashing, not drowning—just sinking gently into something warm and familiar.
And he didn't hide it.
He didn't know how to.
Every time he looked at her, his eyes told a story he hadn't spoken yet.
He thought she saw it too.