That night, my mind was a battlefield, torn between the confusion of what had happened and the unsettling emotions it stirred within me. Who was he? Why did he confess like that? And that kiss—was it really for me? Or was it her? I shook my head, trying to silence it. "I didn't want him," I told myself firmly.
I paced my room, wrestling with myself. "I didn't want that kiss," I muttered aloud, but "Why am I even thinking about him so much?"
Frustrated, I resolved to get answers. "Tomorrow," I said to myself. "Tomorrow, I'll find out who he really is."
The next day at college, the air was heavy with whispers. I could feel the weight of my classmates' stares. Avoiding their eyes, I sat down and put on my headphones, drowning out their hushed conversations with "Billie Eilish". But even the music couldn't muffle their murmurs.
Someone finally approached me, their voice low and uncertain. I couldn't hear clearly at first, but before I could ask, another one snatched my headphones away. "What happened yesterday?" they asked, their tone dripping with judgment. My stomach churned. What had they seen? But before I could speak, he walked into the room.
The whispers stopped instantly. He looked at me, then at them, and without hesitation, he defended me. His words were calm yet firm, silencing their accusations. Despite the turmoil inside me, there was an odd comfort in his support. But it didn't erase the confusion—or the heaviness in my chest.
I couldn't stay. I needed space to breathe, to cry, to let everything out. I slipped out unnoticed as the rain began to pour, mirroring the chaos in my heart. I wandered aimlessly until I found myself by the water. Alone at last "I want to know who is that guy" I said to myself, blending with the rain completely. But I wasn't alone for long. He appeared again, walking toward me as if he'd known exactly where I'd be.
At first, I thought he was following me, but he didn't say anything right away. Instead, he sat beside me, close but not imposing, and asked softly, "What happened?" Before I could answer, he pulled me into a hug. The warmth of his embrace broke whatever defences I had left, and I cried harder than I thought possible but the think was I didn't cry it was my soul.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently. "Did something happen?" I wanted to ask, but my throat felt tight, my words trapped. My soul was screaming—urging me to speak—but I couldn't coz I don't know what is going on.
And then he leaned in again. Just as his lips were about to meet mine, I stopped him, my hand trembling against his chest. "Who are you?" I demanded, my voice barely audible over the rain. "Why are you here now? Do we know each other? Or... is this some kind of dare? Are you playing with me?"
His confident demeanour faltered. He froze, his eyes searching mine, as if weighing whether to tell me the truth. The pause was unbearable. Before he could answer, I pulled away and stood up, turning my back on him. My steps were hurried, but my heart was pounding.
As I walked away, his voice cut through the rain, calling after me. He said something—A name Where is my girl ?, The rain almost drowned them out, but I heard enough to freeze in my tracks. I could not recognize him.