IMPERFECTLY PERFECT PERSON
"In a life of regrets and missed opportunities, I, an introverted soul merely existing, found unexpected salvation in a girl battling anxiety—a twist that rewrote my entire story."
Opening:
It was the start of 2019, and the sun was scorching hot. The humid air clung to my skin as I walked through the school gates, the familiar sense of dread washing over me. The start of my 10th-grade year was here, and I wasn't excited about the reopening of school. I'm Ashan, 17 years old. I hate interacting with people and am bored with life. I play games not because they're fun but as a way to escape this boring world.
As I trudged through the crowded hallways, the smell of freshly polished floors mingled with the faint scent of chalk. I was running late for my first class but somehow managed to reach school on time. Luckily, I got the last bench. I prefer sitting in the back as I'm tall and don't like to disturb others. Plus, I don't like to interact with people since I'm very introverted.
While I was sitting alone at my bench, pretending to be busy, I saw a girl enter the class with her friends. as she walked in, and she sat across the opposite row of the first bench, preparing for class. As soon as I got a glimpse of her, I had a strange feeling, like I had seen her before, but I had no memory of her. Considering my bad memory and lack of childhood memories, I doubted I could remember where I saw her, so I ignored the feeling.
The class began, and as usual, I was just killing time, waiting for the classes to end. I could feel my mind drifting, my eyes glazing over as the teacher droned on. The soft hum of the ceiling fan did little to alleviate the oppressive heat. After two classes, it was break time. I was about to go out when my only best friend in the whole school, Apong, called out to me.
"Ashan, where are you going? Wait for me."
"Oh, I'm just going out for a walk," I replied, trying to mask my disinterest.
"Wait up, let me join too," Apong said, hurrying to catch up.
As we went out, the sounds of laughter and chatter filled the hallway. I asked, "Do you know the name of the girl who was sitting at the first bench today?"
"Uh, which girl?" Apong looked puzzled.
"You know, the one at the first row, first bench," I clarified, my curiosity getting the better of me.
"I don't know which girl you're talking about, but why are you asking?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No reason," I mumbled, not wanting to admit the truth.
"That's definitely suspicious. You rarely care about anyone, let alone ask about a girl you just saw today. And you even know where she sits," Apong teased.
"Uh, shut up. I said it's nothing," I snapped, feeling my cheeks flush.
"Haha, as you say, bro," Apong laughed, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
Just as we were having this conversation, the girl I saw passed by with a group of friends.
"Yo, Apong, that girl who just walked by us, what's her name?" I asked, my curiosity now impossible to hide.
"Oh, which one?" Apong looked around, trying to spot her.
"The cute girl who just walked by," I said, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.
"The hell, Ashan, since when did you start finding girls cute?" Apong said, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Ahh, shut up, Apong!" I retorted, my face burning.
"Haha, I'm just kidding with you. You mean the first girl, right? Her name is Tsula. I haven't talked to her much, but I do know her," Apong explained, finally giving me the answer I was desperate for.
"Oh, is that so…" I muttered, her name echoing in my mind.
"Although I'm really curious why you were asking about her," Apong probed, clearly intrigued.
"I don't really know, man. I just had a feeling that I've seen her somewhere," I said, trying to make sense of my own thoughts.
"Well, this is the first time you guys are in the same section, but maybe it's because you're from the same school, so you recognize her," Apong suggested.
"Nah, bro. I don't really recognize anyone's face, plus I keep forgetting them, so I doubt I'd be curious like this," I replied, my mind still racing.
"Oh, okay, then maybe it's just your childhood crush…" Apong teased again, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Shut up!" I said, trying to hide my embarrassment.
As Apong kept pestering me with questions, we went back to class. I couldn't help but glance at Tsula one more time before the day ended. There was something about her that I couldn't shake off, something that made me feel a spark in my otherwise dull existence.
Why do I feel this way? I wondered as I walked home.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the events of the day.
As sleep finally claimed me.
It had been a week since classes settled, and different friend groups had formed. Everyone seemed to know each other better except me. I maintained my air of mystery not because I couldn't talk to others—mind you, I just didn't like interacting with a lot of people. Apong was my anchor, and that felt enough. Oh, and I still kept seeing Tsula around, but my curiosity had died down. Maybe it was just the initial intrigue of recognizing her face.
Months went by in the same monotonous routine. Classes were getting hectic, and I remained the same old me, never making an effort to interact with others.
But there was something else that caught my attention—Tsula had become the vice-captain of our class. Our captain, Tsamong, wasn't very reliable, so I knew it might be tough for her. But why should I care? Although, deep down, I hoped she would succeed.
As days turned into weeks, I found myself observing Tsula more closely. She wasn't just the vice-captain with a serious demeanor—she was also compassionate. I noticed how she patiently listened to her friends' problems during breaks and offered heartfelt advice. There was a warmth in her gestures that I hadn't noticed before.
Days passed, and I often saw Tsula throwing pieces of paper into the dustbin. Later, I found out those were the names of students who talked during class. I'm not stalking her or tailing her or anything, I reminded myself. I just notice these things because I'm perceptive.
However, the number of times she threw papers didn't match the number of times our names were called out by the teacher. Was she forgiving those who talked only once or twice? It seemed like a kind gesture, but I couldn't help feeling unlucky that my name ended up on that list.
Weeks turned into months, and Tsula continued to carry out her duties as vice-captain with dedication, even though she received little recognition. Despite this, some students nicknamed her "Lady Hitler," which infuriated me. I couldn't stand those jerks, but at the same time, I began to respect Tsula more and more.
I also noticed that our paths seemed to cross frequently on my way to class. It became almost a daily occurrence. I wondered why she stayed in the classroom for so long after breaks. Not that I cared about what she did—I was fine living in my own world.
As summer approached, my classmates created a WhatsApp group where they chatted after class every day. I couldn't understand the appeal. Isn't it better to just watch anime and play games? I wondered. Why do they enjoy texting so much?
Weeks had passed since the creation of our class WhatsApp group, inundating me daily with a deluge of messages. Initially annoying, I found myself drawn to their banter, even if I never contributed. Then one day, I stumbled upon a conversation that changed everything.
The afternoon sun filtered through my bedroom window as I idly scrolled through the group chat, the blue light of my phone casting a faint glow across the darkened room. Amidst the flurry of texts, I overheard some classmates criticizing Tsula, our vice captain, for being too strict and bossy. Their words pricked at my conscience, stirring a sense of indignation.
"Yo, idiots," I typed out with newfound conviction. "Isn't she just doing what she's supposed to? The teacher gave her the responsibility to keep our class quiet. If you have a problem, take it up with the teacher."
A barrage of responses followed, some defensive, others mocking. Amid the chaos, Tsula herself chimed in, thanking me for defending her. Her words appeared on my screen, each message accompanied by a notification sound that echoed in the quiet of my room.
Then, to my surprise, she messaged me privately. "Hey," her message popped up in my inbox, catching me off guard.
"Hey," I replied nervously, my heart racing at the unexpected interaction.
"I'm sorry for texting you personally," she continued. "I wanted to talk about something without others hearing."
"It's fine," I replied quickly, trying to hide my excitement. "What did you want to say?"
Tsula hesitated before confiding in me, her doubts and insecurities about her role as vice captain. As her messages appeared on my screen, I could almost hear the uncertainty in her voice, feel the weight of responsibility she carried.
"I... I just don't know if I'm doing the right thing," she typed out hesitantly. "I get hate from behind my back, and people say I'm too bossy."
I reassured her earnestly, fingers tapping out words of support and admiration for how she handled her responsibilities despite the challenges.
"Thank you," she typed back gratefully. "I feel a bit better now."
As our conversation continued, I found myself enjoying the opportunity to connect with her on a deeper level than I ever imagined. The late-night hours slipped by unnoticed as we exchanged thoughts and shared moments of vulnerability.
Eventually, she realized the late hour and bid me goodnight. "Dream the sweetest," she added before signing off.
"Goodnight," I replied softly, feeling a warmth spread through me that I hadn't expected from a simple exchange of messages.
As I lay in bed that night, replaying our conversation in my mind, I couldn't help but smile. Texting suddenly seemed more than just a chore—it was a way to bridge the gap between us, opening doors to possibilities I hadn't considered before.
And so began our daily texting, a small but significant thread that wove through our lives, bringing unexpected twists and turns that would shape our futures in ways we never anticipated.