They say we should move on—that clinging to the past only chains us to pain. But it’s easier said than done. Especially when the past doesn’t stay quiet. When she doesn’t stop. Her nagging has become a part of my daily soundtrack, like background noise I’ve learned to live with, but never really tune out. It’s there when I wake up. It’s there when I come home, exhausted. A voice that follows me, criticizes me, reminds me that nothing I do is ever enough.
I wish I could escape it.
That day started like any other—another seemingly ordinary day at school. But even before I stepped inside, I could feel the pressure mounting. The weight of assignments, the endless stream of classes, the chaos of trying to stay on top of everything. Lately, life has been moving fast, like I’m running on a treadmill with the speed turned up too high. I keep trying to cover my daily lessons on the same day they're taught, but no matter how much I try, the words blur, the meanings slip, and the new terms refuse to stick. They swim around in my head like strangers I’m supposed to recognize.
It’s overwhelming. The constant race. The feeling of being just a few steps behind everyone else.
But amidst all this, something has shifted. School doesn’t feel quite as lonely as it used to. I’ve started lowering the walls I built around myself, the ones that were supposed to protect me but ended up keeping me isolated. And slowly, people have started walking through the cracks.
I’ve been learning to see beyond first impressions—something I never used to be good at. I used to make up my mind too quickly, label people, box them in, and move on. But recently, I’ve realized people are rarely who they seem to be at first glance. Everyone’s carrying something. And if you look long enough, you’ll find that even the quietest people have stories louder than most.
Take Celine, for example. We’ve become friends. Real friends. She’s the kind of person I never thought I’d connect with. But here we are—talking, laughing, slowly opening up. I’ve started interacting with more people in class too. It’s scary sometimes, but freeing. Like I’m finally remembering what it feels like to be seen.
Then came that one day—when everything felt a little off.
I noticed Celine was quieter than usual. Her usual spark dimmed, her smile replaced with something heavy, unreadable. Hoping to lift her spirits, I walked over and asked, “What happened? Why are you sulking like this?”
Her response came sharp. “This is not your business.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. Maybe I was annoying her. Maybe I’d overstepped. But the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable, and despite her harsh tone, I could see she was hurting. I figured the best thing to do was to give her space.
Later, I saw her slip out of class, tears in her eyes. Concerned, I followed her, gently asking again what was wrong. But she only said, “Nothing,” her voice hollow, distant. I stayed, hoping to offer some kind of comfort, but everything I said seemed to push her further away. I didn’t know how to help. I just knew I couldn’t walk away.
By the time the school day ended, I was drained—emotionally, mentally, physically. I dragged myself onto the bus, the kind that’s always packed to the brim with students from both our school and Jacobs, the boys’ school next door. The ones from Jacobs could be obnoxious—loud, immature, always trying too hard to get attention, especially from girls. I’d seen them be a menace before, following girls around, trying to impress them with jokes that weren’t funny. Luckily, I hadn’t had any run-ins with them.
The bus was crowded, and I couldn’t find a seat, so I stood, swaying gently with each bump in the road. My body was tired, but my mind refused to rest.
It was a beautiful evening—the kind that made everything look just a little more magical. The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over everything. The breeze was soft, brushing against my skin like a whisper. It should’ve been a peaceful moment.
That’s when I saw him.
A guy—standing at the bus stop, arms folded across his chest, glasses catching the golden light. There was something about him that made time slow just a little. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t part of the chaos. He stood calmly, quietly, as if he didn’t belong to the noise that surrounded him. The sunlight wrapped around him, tracing the contours of his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw. His presence was magnetic, grounded, and oddly comforting.
Something stirred in me.
An unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest, settling quietly like a secret. I found myself drawn to him, to the stillness he carried. But then, just as quickly, a voice inside me flared up—No. I can’t fall for anyone. She’d be mad. She’d kill me.
As I got off at my stop, I noticed he was still there—standing just a few steps ahead, on the same side of the street, waiting to cross the road. I stole a few more glances. He had hazel eyes—sharp, thoughtful. He stood tall, maybe 5’10 or 5’11, his curly hair slightly tousled but still neat, like every strand fell exactly where it was supposed to. There was elegance in his side profile, the kind that didn’t beg for attention but quietly commanded it. He wasn’t doing anything. He was just... him. And somehow, that was more than enough.
Then, I noticed the detail that snapped me back into reality
He was wearing the Jacobs uniform.
No, no. I told myself. The guys from Jacobs are bad news.
Still, we crossed the road together—side by side, yet worlds apart. I told myself he’s just a pretty face. Just a fleeting thought. Nothing more.
But that night… he wouldn’t leave my mind. That image of him standing in the golden sunlight haunted me in the gentlest way. I tried to push the thoughts down, to build walls around them. He’s just a boy with good looks. Nothing else. Nothing that should occupy my thoughts the way he did.
The next morning, I found myself walking toward the bus stop, my mind still cluttered with unfinished homework, half-slept dreams, and that one image from yesterday that refused to fade—him, standing still with the sun wrapped around him like a spotlight. I shook the thought off. It didn’t matter.
But then... there he was again.
Right there. Standing exactly where he stood the day before. The same folded arms. The same glasses. The same unshakable calm that made everything around him blur out of focus.
The universe really is something. Out of all the people I chose to ignore, it keeps showing me him. As if it's nudging me. As if it’s asking—Are you sure you don’t want to look again?
I let out a soft sigh and took my place at the bus stop. I pretended not to notice him, but my eyes—traitors that they are—kept drifting back. And just like yesterday, the sun played favorites. It lit up his skin like gold, tracing the edges of his face, making his glasses glint and his silhouette impossibly cinematic. He didn’t just exist in that space—he owned it.
There was something about the way he stood. Still. Composed. Like he wasn’t just waiting for a bus, but guarding the silence around him. Everyone else fidgeted with phones or chatted or leaned into conversations. But not him. His focus was absolute—eyes fixed on the road ahead, arms folded tightly, like he had a world of thoughts locked inside, and no intention of letting anyone in.
I studied him quietly. His posture was confident, but not arrogant. His physique—lean but strong—was wrapped neatly in that Jacobs uniform. But even the uniform couldn’t box him in. It looked too small for his presence. Too generic. He wore it well, but you could tell… he didn’t belong there. Like a polished stone accidentally tossed into a pile of gravel.
That’s what made him different. The other Jacobians? Loud. Messy. Unbothered by how they looked or acted. But him? He was deliberate. He was put together, like someone who cared. And the strangest part was that he wasn’t trying to be noticed. In fact, he was doing everything not to be. And yet, there I was, noticing everything.
His quietness wasn’t emptiness—it was full. A heavy kind of silence, the kind that makes you wonder what thoughts he's carrying, what secrets he’s tucked behind that calm exterior.
How can someone be this quiet? I found myself wondering again.
Not awkward-quiet. Not unsure or nervous. But intentional. Like he didn’t need noise to feel present. Like he had made peace with silence in a way most people couldn’t. And I couldn’t help but think—What’s going on inside that head of yours? What are you thinking about as you stand there, arms folded, waiting?
And why—why do I want to know so badly?
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