Kring… The sharp, familiar ring of the school bell jolted me from my thoughts, filling the room with a wave of excitement that could only mean one thing—freedom. It was the end of another school day, and everyone seemed to erupt with that restless energy of wanting to bolt out the door and into the open air. My classmates packed up quickly, a mix of laughter and conversation bouncing around as they prepared to leave.
But my friends and I had a little more work to do before we could join them. It was our turn to clean up the classroom, what we liked to call "picket duty." While others were leaving, we moved around the room, picking up stray paper scraps, straightening out desks, and dusting off the chalkboard. Usually, I didn't mind. There was something satisfying in the rhythm of tidying up, of leaving everything in perfect order. Today, though, my mind was elsewhere, too occupied to focus on anything but a feeling I couldn't shake.
When we finally finished our duty, my friends grabbed their bags and made their way out the door. I realized I'd left mine at home that morning, which seemed to sum up how scattered I'd been feeling lately. With a shrug, I followed them out into the hall, my steps light with the thought of being done for the day.
And then I saw her.
There she was, walking right past my classroom, as if the universe had decided to reward me for my patience. Karen. Her hair was pulled back into two neat braids, framing her face in a way that made her look almost ethereal, like someone from another world. She walked with a quiet confidence, not seeming to notice the people around her. In that instant, everything else faded—the hallway, my friends, the noise. I just watched her, feeling my heart stumble over itself. It was as if heaven itself had brushed by me, and I felt myself freeze, unable to do anything but stare. I felt the weight of that moment deep in my chest, like an invisible pull.
That brief second might've been less than a blink, but it felt like an eternity, like the world had slowed down just for me. I could barely breathe as she disappeared down the hallway, her figure vanishing into the crowd of students. My friends called out to me, but their voices were distant, muffled, barely breaking through the fog she'd left in my mind. My pulse was racing as I walked home, my mind still replaying her face, her walk, her whole presence. Every detail of her was like a carefully painted memory, and for the first time in my life, I felt something close to happiness over something so small.
When I got home that evening, my heart still hadn't calmed down. The excitement, the nervousness—it was all wrapped up in a longing I couldn't quite put into words. That night, as I lay in bed, I closed my eyes and whispered a quiet prayer. I prayed that maybe, somehow, I'd find a way to be closer to her. "Please, God, let me have a chance to know her," I murmured, my voice barely audible even to myself. It felt like a small, fragile hope, something too delicate to say out loud to anyone else.
But then, sleep brought something far darker. In my dream, I saw Karen with someone else. A faceless figure, tall and confident, who had already confessed his feelings to her. I watched them from a distance, my heart aching as I saw her smile in a way she'd never smiled at me. She looked happy, carefree, like she'd found everything she'd been looking for in this other person. It felt so real, so painfully vivid, as if I was standing there, watching her slip further and further away, helpless to stop it. My stomach twisted, and I could feel my chest tightening as she and that faceless boy walked away together, leaving me behind, alone.
I woke with a start, my heart pounding as if I'd just run a mile. The memory of that dream clung to me, and I felt a sickening dread settle in the pit of my stomach. What if that actually happened? What if someone else told her how they felt before I even had the chance? The thought made my chest feel hollow, and my mind spiraled with anxiety and frustration. I hated the thought of losing her, of her choosing someone else, but most of all, I hated myself for not being brave enough to do anything about it.
On the way to school the next day, my mind wouldn't stop replaying the dream, and I couldn't shake the mixture of fear and bitterness that had settled there. When I finally reached the school gates, I felt a mix of dread and anger, but I didn't know what to do with any of it. I pushed through the day, feeling tense and restless, my thoughts still circling back to that dream over and over again.
After school, I knew I couldn't keep it bottled up any longer. That evening, I decided to confide in Henry. We'd been friends for a long time, and if anyone could give me some perspective, it would be him. I told him everything—the way I felt about Karen, the awful dream, the way I felt like I was on the edge of losing her to someone else.
"Should I just give up?" I asked him, my voice low and tense, feeling as if the words themselves were like knives. Saying them out loud felt like admitting defeat, like I was already giving up on something that I hadn't even tried to fight for.
Henry looked at me, his expression a mix of sympathy and hesitation. He seemed to be struggling with what to say, his face uncertain as he considered his words carefully. Finally, he replied, his tone gentle but firm. "Maybe," he said quietly, "maybe that's an option if it doesn't work out. But… I don't know, Joan. Maybe you should just see what happens?"
The way he phrased it, so carefully and so diplomatically, made something snap inside me. I could feel the anger building up, a frustration that had been simmering all day. "So, that's it? Just 'see what happens'? You don't think I should even try?" I felt my fists clench, a surge of raw emotion bubbling up.
Henry held his hands up, trying to calm me down. "No, no, that's not what I meant! I just mean… maybe don't be too hard on yourself if things don't work out."
But his words felt like a rejection, as if even he didn't believe I had a chance. The anger and bitterness I'd been carrying all day seemed to explode in that moment, and before I realized it, I'd punched him, my fist connecting with his arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He looked at me, shocked and hurt, his hand instinctively going to where I'd hit him.
A silence fell between us, heavy and uncomfortable. I could see the mark forming on his arm, a dark blue and purple bruise, evidence of my own frustration and anger. But more than that, I could see the hurt in his eyes, the way he looked at me as if he was seeing someone else entirely. Shame and regret washed over me as the reality of what I'd just done hit me.
"I… I didn't mean to…" I stammered, my voice shaking as I realized the weight of my actions. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything else. My mind felt torn, my emotions raw and exposed, as if they'd been ripped open by some invisible hand.
Henry looked away, his face tight with a mixture of pain and disappointment. "Maybe you should think about why you're so angry, Joan," he said softly, his tone distant. And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, alone and filled with a mess of emotions I didn't know how to deal with.
The walk home felt like an eternity, every step heavy with guilt and regret. I replayed our conversation over and over in my mind, the image of Henry's hurt face haunting me. All of it felt too big, too complicated, and I didn't know how to make sense of it. But deep down, I knew one thing—I couldn't keep holding back. If I wanted to know Karen, if I wanted a chance to be close to her, I had to find the courage to act, to tell her how I felt before it was too late. The thought filled me with a mixture of fear and determination, and as I lay in bed that night, I made a silent promise to myself.
No more holding back, I told myself. No more waiting.