Part 1 — The Seat

The classroom buzzed with chatter and chaos during the free period. The benches were merged, and her friends were sitting in a circle. She had always been the quiet one — listening more than speaking, smiling at jokes, laughing softly at stories bouncing from one friend to another.

Then he arrived.

The chairs were already full, every space taken — except the one right beside her. He hesitated, and she noticed — noticed the way his eyes flicked toward the empty chair beside her, then back to the group.

“Come on, sit down!” one of the boys called.
“Yeah, don’t just stand there,” another added.

He gave a lopsided smile, scratched the back of his neck, and finally lowered himself onto the chair — but not before dragging it just a little to the side, leaving her the space she preferred.

She blinked.

They were friends in the same circle, yet she rarely talked to boys — not because she disliked them, but because their presence unsettled her. The thought of someone sitting too close made her shift uncomfortably. Most people didn’t notice, or didn’t care, but somehow, he did. That small gesture — the way he respected her space — made her heart feel a little lighter.

Part 2 — Small Things

It wasn’t just once.

On a warm afternoon during PE, everyone was sitting on the ground, waiting for the teacher. He came over and sat beside her. Again, he sat quietly, maintaining a respectful distance — not too close, not too far. It was such a small thing, but it touched her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Another time, he borrowed a book from her. She knew he already had a copy of the same one, but she didn’t ask why. He held it carefully, as if it were something precious because it came from her. But during a scuffle with his friend, the book got torn. She felt a little sad — books meant a lot to her, and he knew — but she wasn’t too upset. Accidents happened. Yet when she saw the guilt etched on his face, she realized it mattered more to him than it did to her.

“Sorry,” he said, holding the ruined book out to her. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

“It’s fine,” she said softly.

“No, really. I’ll give you mine,” he offered immediately.

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t need it. I prefer mine only.”

He didn’t push, but she saw the way his jaw tightened, the guilt lingering in his eyes long after the moment had passed.

Part 3 —Whispers

Time passed, and their friendship deepened. They were never alone together, always in the comfort of their group, but somehow their conversations began to include little moments that belonged only to them.

Whispers began too. Classmates started teasing, asking if they were a couple.

One afternoon, he leaned over to her and told her about it, maybe testing her reaction. He was clearly hesitant and nervous.
“Today someone asked me if we’re in a relationship.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing.
“Don’t listen to them. They clearly have no work.”

Later that evening, on the way to her home, her best friend asked her,
“Be honest with me. Is there something between you two?”

“What? No!” She laughed it off immediately. “Why would you think something like that?”

“I don’t know, but I think he likes you.”

“That’s impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “We’re just friends.”

And she meant it. Or at least, she told herself she did. After all, he was the most handsome boy in the class — too handsome. She had even heard he once liked another girl, someone beautiful, someone everyone admired. Why would someone like him ever look her way? That thought was enough for her to bury away any foolish ideas.

Part 4 — The Sports Day

The air was alive with shouts and whistles. It was the annual Sports Day, and the field was buzzing with energy.

She was good at sports — everyone knew it. And so was he. They didn’t compete in the same events, but whenever one of them was on the ground, the other was in the stands, watching.

When his team came onto the ground, she cupped her hands around her mouth and cheered louder than she thought she would.
“Come on! You can do it!”

He glanced at her every time he made a goal. For the briefest second, his eyes found hers in the crowd, and he smiled. She was with their other friends, but even then, he still caught himself looking toward where she sat, clapping for him.

Their exchanged looks made everything disappear in the crowd — they were the only two.

That day felt different. Not because of medals or scores, but because they had spent it cheering for each other, their eyes meeting more times than either of them could count.

Part 5 — The Handshake

Evening came, the sun softening into gold. The events were over, and everyone was going back toward the classrooms. Laughter echoed in the corridors as classmates went around shaking hands, bidding goodbye before the winter vacation began.

She stayed by her desk, arms folded. Everyone knew she never shook hands with boys — it had become almost a rule.

Then he walked over. That day, he didn’t want to hesitate.

He stood in front of her, his hand outstretched. His eyes held something different that day, something she couldn’t quite name.

She laughed nervously.
“What are you doing? It’s not like we won’t meet after this. Don’t be so dramatic.”

But he didn’t put his hand down. He just waited, eyes steady, quietly urging her.

Her friends glanced over, curious. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

For a moment, she wanted to refuse, the old habit rising inside her. But she saw the quiet insistence in his expression — not forceful, just… hopeful.

Not wanting to embarrass him, she slowly reached out. Their hands met.

It was just a handshake, brief and ordinary to anyone else. But to her, it was the first time she had ever shaken hands with a boy. And to him, it seemed like something more, because when their palms touched, he smiled — not his usual smile, but one softer, as if the moment mattered.

And maybe, just maybe, it did.

Part 6 — Pandemic Era

The pandemic came like a sudden storm. The corridors of school were replaced by glowing screens and online classes.

At first, she thought distance would fade their friendship. But then, her phone buzzed.

Him: Hey. How are you doing?
Her: Fine. You?
Him: Not much. Bored. Online classes are torture.

The chats grew — sometimes about homework, sometimes about random jokes. It felt easy, familiar. Yet slowly, his questions began to change.

Him: So… what’s your type?
Her: Type? What do you mean?
Him: Like… in guys. Who do you like?
Her: I don’t.
Him: You don’t like anyone? Not even a crush?

She stared at the screen, unsure how to reply. For someone who always avoided such talk, it felt too direct. She typed something short, something dismissive. But he asked again, days later, almost casually.

Him: Do you have a boyfriend?
Her: No. Why would I?
Him: Just asking. You seriously don’t have a crush on anyone. You know you can always tell me.
Her: I don’t think about these things.

The more he asked, the shorter her replies became. She didn’t want to lose the friendship, but she didn’t want to go where his questions were leading either.