The first day of our high school felt ordinary—new timetables, unfamiliar classrooms, and that quiet nervousness everyone carries but pretends not to have. I walked in as an ambivert, neither too loud nor too quiet—I observed first, spoke when I felt comfortable, and stayed somewhere in between. My backpack felt heavier than usual, maybe because of the unknown that filled the hallways.
We didn't sit close that day. Everyone chose seats carefully, unsure of who would become important and who would remain just a familiar face. At that moment, we were only classmates sharing the same room, nothing more.
I spoke to Kiara briefly—just a small, simple conversation. Nothing deep, nothing special. She seemed friendly, easy to talk to, but at first sight, I never imagined she would become someone close to me. The other two felt even more distant—just names, faces, and quiet presences in the background. If someone had told me that day that all four of us would one day share memories, laughter, and a bond that would matter deeply, I wouldn't have believed them.
Even so, a small flutter of curiosity made me glance around, wondering who might be interesting or friendly. A tiny question lingered in my chest, whispering that something about today might matter more than I could see. There was a faint unease I didn't understand yet, like a shadow at the edge of sunlight. I tapped my pen nervously on the desk, watching shadows move across the classroom walls.
As the day moved on, conversations floated around us—about subjects we feared, teachers we had heard about, and how different high school already felt. Our uniforms were the same, our backgrounds similar, yet our lives felt separate, like parallel lines that hadn't crossed. A soft breeze drifted through the window, carrying the distant chatter of students outside, and I felt strangely aware of every small sound.
And so the day ended softly, without meaning or memory—or at least that's how it felt then. I didn't know that this quiet beginning would carry emotions I wasn't ready for, or that some beginnings don't show their endings right away. We walked out as four separate lives, unaware that we had just stepped into each other's stories. What began as a simple, quiet day would one day become a memory we'd return to, wondering how something so small could grow into something that mattered so deeply.