The study room smelled faintly of chalk and old books, mingling with the faint aroma of coffee from a small vending machine in the corner. The soft buzz of chatter filled the air as students settled in, chairs scraping lightly across the wooden floor. Anna adjusted her bag on the chair, scanning the room for familiar faces, her fingers nervously tapping against her notebook.
Then Amos walked in, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder. Beside him was George—quieter, more observant—hesitating by the doorway as if still figuring out where he belonged. George's eyes flicked from one group to another, taking in the room's bustling activity.
Anna was already seated with Jeffrey, arranging her books, when Jeffrey suddenly straightened, recognition lighting up his face.
"Anna," he said, pointing toward the entrance, "do you remember Amos from senior high school?"
Anna looked up, surprise and a smile spreading across her face. "Amos? Yes, of course I remember him," she replied, glancing briefly toward George, who lingered near the doorway.
Amos laughed softly, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Good. I was hoping I hadn't been forgotten already."
George stepped in quietly, almost trying not to draw attention, but Jeffrey's mischievous grin gave him away.
"So… do you also remember me from senior high school?" George asked, his tone half joking, half nervous, leaning slightly against the table.
Anna blinked at him, recognition dawning slowly. She laughed softly. "Wait… George? From senior high? No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't think so."
George let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's nice meeting you, Anna," he said, trying to sound casual.
Her smile felt warm, and for a moment, George's usual insecurities—the quiet doubt about whether he belonged here—melted a little.
He took a seat at the far end of the room and opened his notebook, pretending to focus. His pen hovered above the page, though he barely noticed the words. Every laugh, every glance, every subtle movement of Anna's hands drew his attention.
Jeffrey, still teasing, clapped George lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, don't be shy! Sit with us."
George forced a laugh and leaned back. "Yeah… I guess I'll stay a bit."
From that day on, George kept returning to the study area. Sometimes he came with books; sometimes he simply wandered in with no excuse at all. Slowly, numbers were exchanged. Conversations stretched beyond the study room—messages late at night, laughter during the day, a growing familiarity that neither of them could ignore.
One evening, after studying, George offered to walk Anna back. They talked as they strolled down the corridor, unaware of how close they were getting to the hostel blocks.
Anna stopped suddenly. "This is my room," she said, pointing. "Room 121."
George froze slightly, his eyes drifting down the hallway. Room 121. Just a few doors away. Too close.
He forced a small smile. "Oh… okay."
As he walked away, his thoughts tangled. He knew those rooms too well. He knew who stayed nearby. And he understood, with a quiet sinking feeling, what this closeness could mean.
That night, lying on his bed, George stared at the ceiling.
Should he tell her?
Was it too early?
Or was staying silent the bigger mistake?
Room 119.
Room 121.
So close. And suddenly, nothing felt simple anymore.