The boy noticed her before he realized he was looking.
It happened every morning—somewhere between walking into class and sitting down, his eyes would flick toward the doorway without permission. And almost every time, she would be there. Adjusting her glasses. Talking softly to a friend. Laughing at something he couldn't hear.
He would look away immediately.
"Dude," his friend whispered from the seat beside him, "you're doing it again."
"Doing what?" the boy muttered, opening his notebook a little too aggressively.
"Looking at her like she's about to disappear."
The boy stiffened. "I wasn't."
His friend snorted. "You didn't even blink."
"I was just… zoning out."
"Sure. Toward the same direction every single day."
The boy pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed. "Drop it."
His friend leaned back in his chair, lowering his voice. "You know, if you like her so much, you could just—"
"I don't," the boy cut in quickly.
That earned him a look.
"…You don't?"
"No," he said, too fast. "I mean—she's nice. That's all."
"Uh-huh."
"She's my junior," the boy added, as if that settled everything. "And she probably already likes someone else."
His friend raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
The boy glanced at the girl again—just for half a second. She was laughing now, her head tilted back slightly, her sharp jawline catching the light. Her glasses slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up without thinking.
Something warm twisted in his chest.
"She wouldn't like me," he said quietly. "There's no way."
Across the corridor, the girl was having a very similar conversation.
"Stop staring," one of her friends whispered, nudging her elbow.
"I'm not staring," the girl whispered back, immediately turning her head in the opposite direction.
Her friend grinned. "You almost broke your neck doing that."
The girl adjusted her glasses, cheeks heating up. "I was just… checking the board."
"The board is behind you."
"…Oh."
Her friend leaned closer. "You like him."
"No, I don't."
"You smile every time he walks past."
"I smile at everyone."
"You trip over air when he talks to you."
"That's not true."
"You haven't made eye contact with him in three days."
The girl went quiet.
Her friend softened her tone. "You know he's a year older, right? Seniors don't usually—"
"I know," the girl interrupted quickly. "I know."
She stole a glance at the boy before she could stop herself.
He was tall. Taller than most people in the room. His glasses made him look serious, but when he smiled—really smiled—something about him felt gentle. Safe.
She looked away immediately when she realized she'd been caught.
Her heart thudded.
"He doesn't feel that way about me," she said, more to herself than anyone else. "He's just… kind."
Her friend sighed. "You don't know that."
"I do," the girl said softly. "There's no way."
They passed each other in the hallway that afternoon.
The boy was walking with his friends, laughing at something stupid. The girl was walking in the opposite direction, clutching her books to her chest.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
The boy felt his smile falter. He nodded instinctively. "Hey."
The girl froze.
"Oh—hi," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
They stood there. Too close. Too aware.
"So, um," the boy said, scratching the back of his head. "How was… class?"
"Good," she replied quickly. "Yours?"
"Yeah. Fine."
Silence.
Someone behind the boy coughed pointedly.
"Well," the girl said, taking a step back, "I should—"
"Yeah," the boy said at the same time. "Me too."
They moved past each other, shoulders almost brushing.
Almost.
The boy exhaled only when he was sure she was out of sight.
"Smooth," his friend said. "Real smooth."
"Shut up."
Later that day, the girl sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
Her phone buzzed.
Friend:You talked to him today.
She groaned and buried her face in her pillow.
Girl:Barely.
Friend:You said 'hi.' That's progress.
Girl:I sounded weird.
Friend:You always sound weird when you're nervous.
Girl:I wasn't nervous.
Three dots appeared.
Then:
Friend:Liar.
The girl sighed and rolled onto her side.
Girl:He was just being polite. He's like that with everyone.
Friend:You don't look at everyone the way you look at him.
The girl typed… deleted… typed again.
Girl:It doesn't matter.
Friend:Why not?
She stared at the screen for a long moment.
Girl:Because he doesn't like me like that.
She locked her phone and pressed it against her chest.
"There's no way," she whispered into the quiet room.
The boy was doing the exact same thing.
Lying on his bed. Phone in hand. Staring at messages he hadn't replied to.
Friend:You talked to her today.
He groaned.
Boy:For five seconds.
Friend:Five seconds longer than yesterday.
Boy:She was just being nice.
Friend:You keep saying that.
Boy:Because it's true.
He turned onto his side, staring at the wall.
Boy:She's out of my league.
A pause.
Friend:You're literally taller than everyone in school.
"That's not what I meant," the boy muttered.
He typed again.
Boy:She probably likes someone else.
He tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling.
"There's no way," he said quietly.
The next morning, they arrived at school at almost the same time.
The girl noticed him first.
He was standing near the stairs, talking to someone, sunlight catching on his glasses. He laughed, tilting his head back slightly, and for a moment she forgot how to breathe.
She looked away quickly.
Don't stare. Don't stare.
The boy noticed her second.
She was adjusting her bag strap, hair falling into her face, her jawline sharp and soft all at once. He swallowed and forced his gaze elsewhere.
Don't make it obvious.
They walked up the stairs together without speaking.
Step. Step. Step.
"So," the boy said suddenly, surprising both of them. "There's… outdoor games today."
"Oh," the girl replied. "Yeah. I heard."
"You going?"
She hesitated. "Maybe."
"Same."
Another pause.
"I mean—if I have to," he added quickly.
She smiled. Just a little.
"I don't really like sports," she admitted.
"Me neither."
They shared a look.
A small, quiet understanding passed between them.
Then the bell rang.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
By the end of the day, nothing had changed.
They still liked each other.
They still avoided eye contact.
They still believed their feelings were unreturned.
The boy watched the girl walk away, her friends surrounding her, laughter floating back toward him.
She deserves someone better, he thought.
The girl glanced back once, just once, and saw him standing there, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
He'll never see me that way, she thought.
Two hearts.
One truth.
Neither brave enough to say it.
And in the quiet space between almost and never, they both believed the same thing:
There's no way they feel the same.