Before we knew what love meant

The first time I saw him, he wasn't doing anything special. Just sitting on the steps outside the science block, biting on the end of a pencil like he was trying to solve the mystery of the universe. I walked past him a hundred times that semester, but that day was the first time I really noticed him. Something about the way he tilted his head when he listened. Or maybe it was how he smiled at his own thoughts, like they told him jokes no one else could hear.

I was carrying a stack of books-trying to look like I had somewhere important to be-when he looked up and met my eyes. Just one second. Not too long, not too short. But long enough that I looked away too quickly and cursed myself for being so obvious.

I told myself it was nothing. Just another face in the crowd. But that night, I lay in bed trying to remember the color of his shirt. I couldn't. But I remembered his expression-calm, open, like the world didn't owe him an explanation.

I didn't even know his name yet.

Funny how a heart can whisper before a mind catches up.

By the end of the week, I knew his routine. He always sat there after lunch. Alone, never in a hurry. I told myself I wasn't watching him. Just... noticing. The way you notice the sky when it changes. You don't always know what it means, but you feel it anyway.

I think that's when it started. Before we said hello. Before we knew what love meant.