New grade, new books, new notes—new everything. But the same old me, as expected.
The first day of the new grade started like any other catastrophe in my life. I woke up late, groggy and disoriented, only to hear my mom yelling in my ear like a personal alarm clock on steroids. "You're going to be late on the first day of your new grade!" she wailed, her voice bouncing off the walls of my skull.
I scrambled out of bed and rushed through my morning routine. Brushing my teeth felt like a military operation, and breakfast was a blur of chewing and gulping. Somehow, I made it to school.
And then—like always—I found myself in the classroom, as if teleported there by some cosmic joke. I sat in my usual spot, minding my own business, trying to blend into the background like an NPC in a video game.
That's when he showed up. The kid. The chatterbox.
"Long time no see! How've you been?" he exclaimed, as if we hadn't just seen each other a week ago after final exams.
I blinked at him. What the heck? Was he serious? But then I remembered my new mission: to make a good relationship with him so he could be my bridge to her. So, for once, I decided to actually talk back.
I nodded and said, "Yeah, been good. You?"
Big mistake. He launched into one of his endless stories, a stream of words I couldn't keep up with. At some point, my brain tuned him out entirely, and I started wondering about the only person who mattered that day: her.
Where was she? When would she show up?
The day dragged on like a silent movie. Sure, things were happening around me, but it all felt muted and irrelevant. When the final bell rang, I realized she hadn't shown up at all. My mind spiraled into ridiculous theories.
Was she kidnapped by my enemies, who'd use her to blackmail me? Or worse—was she dead?
Yeah, I know. Dramatic. But that day, I felt genuinely sad. Not because she rejected me or anything reasonable. No, I was sad because a girl I barely knew hadn't come to class. What the heck was wrong with me?
On the way home, as I sat on the bus lost in my spiraling thoughts, I spotted her. My heart did a double take. She was on a bike with a middle-aged guy.
"Who the heck is he?" I muttered to myself. "Her secret boyfriend? Her...dad?" My brain was doing cartwheels, piecing together increasingly ridiculous scenarios.
I pressed my forehead against the bus window, trying to shut it all out, but my mind wouldn't stop. By the time I got home, I was a mess.
My mom was there to pick me up, which wasn't necessary, by the way. My house was just a few meters away from the road. Hulk could take one step and land in my living room.
But even with all the chaos, I realized something: I was happy to have seen her. Even if it was just for a moment.
I freshened up, ate dinner, and spent the evening with my little brother. Oh, yeah—did I mention I have a little brother? You wouldn't believe a kid like me, who's still basically a kid himself, has a sibling. But it's true. I have a little bro.
And that night, as I lay in bed, my thoughts kept drifting back to her. What was her story? And why did it matter so much to me?