I had a friend…
A real one. Not the kind you forget after a year, not the kind that fades into background noise. She had been beside me since primary school. Our mothers were close, and because of that, we grew close too. Maybe too close sometimes.
Our group had six people—every one of them someone I'd known since childhood. And she was one of them.
Katy.
A simple name, but somehow soft and pretty. It fit her. She wasn't just beautiful on the outside—she had that quiet, gentle sort of beauty inside too. The kind that made you trust her without trying.
One day, we decided we needed a new maths class. Something better. Something fun. So Katy and I searched, found a class, and agreed to go together.
And somehow… that tiny decision changed everything.
It was our first day.
The teacher seemed kind, and the atmosphere felt fresh and welcoming. The only problem was that the only seats left were at the back. We didn't mind. It was just another class. Nothing special.
At least, that's what I thought.
Because the moment I stepped inside, I saw him again.
The boy in the black t-shirt.
Except this time, he wasn't wearing black, and I finally saw him properly—not just his back, not just a glimpse.
He was sitting at a bench right beside ours.
And in that class, boys and girls sat separately, so his bench was just close enough to notice him, but far enough that we couldn't pretend it was a coincidence.
And then… that smile.
The same one I had seen before.
The one I didn't realize I remembered until that moment.
The class was actually fun. Even on the first day, the questions felt easy, like everything just clicked. Katy and I enjoyed it. We laughed, whispered, solved problems quickly—it felt like a good beginning.
But him…
He seemed like a different person entirely.
I mean, I already knew he laughed a lot. But that day, he laughed *hard*. The kind of laugh that makes the whole room turn for half a second. The way he acted—alive, energetic, dramatic—it pulled your attention in without permission.
He kept turning backward to talk to his friends, cracking jokes, moving so much that your eyes naturally found him even when you tried not to.
And me?
I felt nothing—just the usual emptiness inside. I was bored… yet somehow, watching him was oddly interesting. Not a spark. Not a pull. Just a quiet awareness I couldn't explain.
Bonus - his pov
I didn't think I'd see her again.
After that first day, I told myself she was just another girl in another class — someone I noticed for no reason, the same way I notice odd things sometimes. A laugh. A sentence. A tiny moment.
Nothing important.
Life went on. School. Friends. The same routine.
But then I saw her again.
It was after school. My friends and I were walking to tuition class, laughing and pushing each other around like idiots. The road was wet from the rain earlier, and the air smelled like damp notebooks and exhaust fumes.
We were crossing the street when a group of girls ended up walking right beside us. I didn't think much of it — we always ended up in the same areas after school.
But then I saw her.
The same girl from the maths class.
She didn't look at me.
She didn't even slow down or acknowledge anything. She walked normally, talking with a friend who looked familiar. But it was her.
And for some stupid reason, my chest tightened — a small, strange reaction I pretended not to notice.
My friends were messing around as usual.
"Biel! Your mom's here — you're going the wrong way!"
They shouted it loud enough for the whole road to hear.
I laughed, shoved one of them back.
But when they said my name, I noticed something.
She looked up.
Just a tiny shift, like her ears caught it.
I don't think she knew if it was really my name.
But she heard it.
And suddenly I wondered if she'd remember it.
We split paths, the girls walking ahead while we turned off toward a side road. I didn't look back. But the thought stayed with me longer than it should've.
She had no idea what my face looked like.
I could tell.
She didn't even look at me properly that day.
And honestly?
That made her different.
Most people stare.
Most people pretend not to stare but do it anyway.
But her?
She didn't seem to care.
Not even a little.
And for some reason, that made me want to look again.
I don't know why.
Maybe it was boredom.
Maybe curiosity.
Or maybe something else — something I didn't have the courage to name at the time.
All I know is…
that day was the first time I actually remembered her.
Not her face.
Not her name.
But the way she didn't notice me at all.
And that should've been the end of it.
Except it wasn't.
Because a few weeks later,
It wasn't my first day in that class.
I'd been sitting in the same spot for weeks — second row from the back, same bench.
Then one afternoon, she walked in.
I didn't expect her there. She wasn't part of that class before. I wasn't waiting for anyone new. I was just sitting in my usual seat, tapping my pen, zoning out like always.
But the moment she stepped through the doorway, something in me flicked on.
Recognition.
Surprise.
A tightening in my chest I pretended not to feel.
She didn't look at me.
She didn't look for me.
She was searching for a seat, following that girl and ended up at the last row.
Right beside my row.
I didn't move. Didn't react. I just sat there, acting like nothing happened. But inside, something shifted.
Her presence changed the room.
The teacher started talking, writing something on the board. I wasn't paying attention. Not really. I kept hearing small sounds — the scrape of her chair, the soft thud of her bag, her laugh when she talked to her friend.
I turned around more often than usual that day.
Pretended to look at my friends.
Pretended to stretch.
Pretended to check the clock.
I wasn't looking at the clock.
I caught her in my peripheral vision, solving problems quickly, her face calm, focused. Not excited, not nervous — just present.
Then there was a moment — a stupid, tiny moment — when I laughed too hard at something my friend said. My whole body turned with the motion. When my eyes shifted forward again… she was looking in my direction.
Not at me.
Just in the general direction.
But for a split second, I wondered if she noticed me laughing. If she found it annoying. Or loud. Or funny. Or nothing at all.
She didn't react.
She just looked away like nothing happened.
I didn't understand why I kept watching her.
Why I kept noticing every small thing.
Why I suddenly cared about something as meaningless as who walked into a maths class.
But the truth is simple:
That wasn't my first day.
I'd been in that room a hundred times.
Yet the moment she walked in,
the room didn't feel the same anymore.
.