i noticed you
for months—

in the hallways,
in the classrooms,
in the soft spaces between bells
where nothing big ever happens
except maybe
you.

you passed me once
and i remember thinking,
he looks nice,
but i didn’t do anything about it—
not yet.

then came may,
and something in the air shifted
or maybe it was just me
finally listening to the way
my heart leaned toward yours
without asking permission.

i told my best friend
about how you might be
a maybe worth chasing.
and it took me
a week
and five almosts
to finally walk in your direction.

monday came
like a dare.
i said, i’m doing it today.
we walked—
me, my courage, and my best friend
who peeled off into the silent library,
behind glass walls,
where she could still watch me
from a distance
like a quiet lifeline.

i said,
“hey, can i talk to you outside?”
and you followed—
no hesitation.

while we were walking
i looked at my best friend for help
through the glass wall,
and
through the reflection
i saw your face.
and god,
you were smiling.
like i wasn’t a stranger
but someone you’d already
been waiting for.

we stood in the courtyard
and i asked if we could be friends
like it wasn’t the scariest thing
i’d said all year.

you said “sure”
and smiled,
and the whole courtyard
felt lighter.

i asked if we could have lunch.
you said you had lessons,
and i nodded
like my heart wasn’t already
writing a story about us.

then i asked,
“what about tomorrow?”
you said, “depends on your timetable.”
you listened as i read it out loud,
as if my voice
mattered to you
even for a moment.

Then you paused—
just a flicker—
like maybe you had time,
or maybe you didn’t,
or maybe you were thinking
about exams,
or maybe
you were just being gentle.

“nah, i’ve got lessons then too,”
you said.
and i nodded,
like that didn’t quietly
deflate something
small and hopeful inside me.

“do you use insta?”
i asked.
and you said “yeah”
and typed your name into my phone
with the calm of someone
who didn’t know
they were the center
of someone else’s courage.

and then—
typical me—
i realised i didn’t know your name.
so i asked.
you said “niy.”
i stuck out my hand,
said “i’m syn*,”
like this was a business deal,
not a soft beginning.

later, i told my best friend about the handshake.
my best friend laughed,
“how formal of you, syn*,”
and we both did.
but what she didn’t see
was how loud my heart was,
how that handshake
held everything
i’d never said out loud.

because i had passed you
so many times before.
but this time,
i stopped.
i spoke.
i tried.
and for once,
you saw me.
not just in passing—
but really,
truly.

and that,
was enough.
for now.