It had happened before - I spotted him again. Clearly. Four years passed since we met, yet here we were.
I recognized his face just like I did the chipped walls at school or that noisy window on the top floor.
Familiar stuff. Always the same thing. Just fades into the scene.
But that morning? Nope.
The universe rolled in with a plot twist I did not approve of.
Summer wasn't even over yet when he walked into class, but right away my eyes locked onto him - no warning, zero control. Like they'd decided without me.
Something about him had shifted. He looked sharper somehow, like someone hit the "upgrade character" button over vacation. And the easy smile he tossed at his friends? That made my heartbeat pull a full gymnastics routine: hiccup, flip, land terribly.
When his gaze met mine, I legitimately forgot how lungs worked.
Air? Never heard of it.
Everything else disappeared, as if a switch flipped - suddenly quiet, leaving only the roar inside my head.
He plopped down, smirking while sharing summer tales - his crew listened, half-annoyed by how laid-back he seemed.
Meanwhile, inside me?
A full-on street festival. With fireworks. And one of those loud drums no one really likes but still keeps beating anyway.
That was the moment I realized something dangerous.
This classroom hadn't changed—but I had. Quietly. Slowly.
And worst of all?
He'd somehow moved into my mind without paying rent.
I used to tease him.
If someone said he was good-looking, I'd laugh like: Please, the hallway has at least ten cuter guys before lunch.
I joked around him like his looks didn't matter.
And maybe they didn't.
Until that morning—when he walked in and suddenly the air felt too tight just because he stood there.
That terrified me.
All my past words? My jokes? My "he's not even my type"?
Yeah. My heart tossed those into the nearest trash can.
I kept quiet about the whole mess brewing in me. If gossip broke out? I'd have to transfer schools, possibly countries, maybe change my name.
But my silence was so intense that even the teachers noticed.
My homeroom teacher, stuck with our crew since freshman year and totally worn out from my endless messes, yanked me off to the side.
"Are you sick today?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine."
"Then why are you so quiet? You haven't caused a single disturbance. Not even a tiny one."
He actually looked worried.
Which says a lot about my usual behavior.
I didn't answer.
He sighed the sigh of a man who suddenly missed summer vacation and sent me back to my seat.
I tried focusing on the lesson. I really did.
But my eyes didn't care about trigonometry or historical events.
They had their own mission: stare at him, again and again, like some broken compass pointing north.
A knot formed in my chest. Then frustration kicked in.
Why. Couldn't. I. Stop. Looking.
And then it happened.
He caught me.
Our eyes locked, and I froze like someone yanked my batteries out.
I expected him to look away.
He didn't.
Instead—he smiled.
That dumb, relaxed grin - like he'd spotted me sneaking looks, yet thought it funny rather than awkward.
Once the lesson finished, I felt completely drained.
I guess I just happened to catch the same ride he was on, got out at his spot as well.
My eyes looked for him once more when my best mate yelled my name so sharply it could've woken the dead.
I broke free from that daze, rushing toward home without looking his way again - nope, not even once.
That morning wiped me out way worse than tests, gym class, or waiting in lunch line - altogether it felt like a heavyweight punch.
I couldn't name it - exactly - but it seemed exciting, yet kinda scary at the same time.
Safe and risky. Soft and sharp.
When night fell, I still couldn't sleep.
Every quiet moment between breaths pulled me deeper into thoughts I didn't recognize.
I wondered how tomorrow would go.
When did everything shift?
At what point did I lose the version of myself who laughed when people said he was nice?
Somehow, one single glance had changed something between us—quietly, invisibly—but undeniably.
And just when I thought I could survive the next day…
…it all began again.