The days after our first meeting didn't arrive with anything dramatic. They came quietly, one after another, carrying small moments that slowly began to feel familiar. High school no longer felt like a place filled only with strangers. Faces started to mean something, even if I didn't yet know why.
I grew closer to Kiara first. There was a quiet relief in that connection, as if I had found something familiar in a place that still felt new. Around her, I felt less careful about my words, less afraid of being misunderstood, and that comfort lingered gently, longer than I expected. Sometimes, she would smile at a joke I hadn't even made, and I felt a warmth bloom quietly in my chest.
It was awkward, and a little funny, but also honest. I remember feeling both curious and unsure, wanting to know Eliora yet not knowing how to step closer. Sometimes I replayed those small conversations in my head, wondering if I had said too little or too much. I would twist my bracelet nervously while glancing at her from across the room.
Things changed when I became the class representative. Responsibility pushed me to be braver than I was used to, and for the first time, I felt a little pulse of nervous excitement. I needed to create a group for class updates, so I texted Eliora to confirm whether the number I had was really hers. My fingers hovered over the keyboard longer than necessary; I worried I might say something awkward or sound too formal. When she replied, her message was simple, but somehow it felt like destiny had quietly nudged us closer. A tiny bridge had formed, delicate and unexpected, and I felt a warmth that made my chest flutter gently. I wondered, quietly, if some unseen thread was guiding us toward each other.
From that moment, we began talking more—slowly, comfortably, sharing small details about our days that conversations in class never allowed. With every message, a small wall I hadn't known existed seemed to soften. I started looking forward to those notifications more than I admitted, feeling a strange and tender happiness each time my phone lit up, as if the universe had conspired to place us together. I sometimes found myself smiling at nothing, thinking of a word she had used or the tiny laugh in her message.
I started feeling close and comfortable with all of them. They shared their problems with me, and I was truly happy because no one had ever treated me the way they did. I was deeply, quietly grateful to meet them. Perhaps it was destiny that brought us together, because I had never planned to join the school where we currently studied. For the first time, I didn't need to share my own problems—I could forget my sadness when I was with them, and that felt like a small miracle, because I had never shared anything like that before.
I didn't realize when we grew closer—I only knew that one day, being with them felt natural and comforting, like something I had always belonged to. There was a soft, gentle happiness in that realization, even if I didn't name it then. Belonging had found me quietly, tenderly, without asking permission.
Nothing about those days suggested how important they would become. We were simply students sharing time and space. Still, those ordinary moments were weaving something together—threads of connection that felt like destiny, something I wouldn't fully understand until much later.
Yet, deep down, there was a tiny flutter of unease, a whisper I couldn't answer. A part of me wondered if this closeness was fragile, if some small misunderstanding or hidden truth might one day pull us apart. I tried to push it away, but it lingered quietly, like a shadow at the edge of sunlight, leaving me with a gentle tension I didn't fully understand.