Life in school continued like that.
Classes, dining hall, prep, hostel.
And in the middle of everything… Nancy was always there.
Still neat.
Still organized.
Still calm.
I was still the opposite.
One day, I fell sick.
It started with a headache. At first, I ignored it, thinking it would go away. But as the day went on, my body became weak, and I couldn't focus in class.
I rested my head on the desk.
Nancy noticed.
"Light, what's wrong?" she asked.
"I'm fine," I said, even though I wasn't.
She looked at me for a moment, like she didn't believe me.
During break, she didn't go out immediately like others. She stayed back, opened her bag, and brought out some pills.
"Take this," she said.
I looked at her.
"What is it?"
"Just take it," she replied.
I didn't argue. I took it and swallowed.
After some time, I started feeling a bit better.
That day, she kept asking me small questions.
"Are you okay now?"
"Do you still feel pain?"
I would just nod or say yes.
It was simple… but different.
No one had ever really cared like that in school before.
Days passed, and I noticed something.
Whenever I had a problem—whether it was my missing cutlery, my scattered books, or even when I wasn't feeling fine—Nancy was always there in her own quiet way.
She didn't talk too much.
She didn't act dramatic.
She just… helped.
At that age, I didn't understand it.
I didn't know what to call it.
But it felt like she was more than just a seat mate.
Sometimes, it felt like she cared for me like a mother.
Other times… it felt like something else.
Something I couldn't explain.
We were just kids.
I was 10.
She was 9.
But somehow, in that small classroom…
I started feeling something for her.
Even though I didn't understand what love was…
I knew one thing.
I liked being around her.