Chapter 2 The boy with a shy smile

The first time I saw him, it wasn't in some grand, cinematic way. No slow-motion moment, no magical breeze that lifted his shirt collar, no inexplicable tug in my chest like the books always say. It was just a glance. A passing flicker of recognition I didn't yet understand.

He was leaning against the side wall of the school library, head buried in a book so thick it looked like it could crush a squirrel. The sleeves of his grey hoodie were fraying at the ends, and his shoelaces were uneven. His hair-unruly and too long for someone who clearly didn't care about appearances-fell over his forehead like it had a mind of its own. He didn't look up once. Not even when the bell rang and students started filing out around him like waves avoiding a rock.

There was nothing obviously special about him. And yet-I noticed him. In that quiet way you notice something only because it doesn't try to be noticed.

I didn't know his name then. Just that he always sat two rows behind me in Chemistry, never spoke unless asked, and always had ink smudged on his left hand. Left-handed. That was the first detail I stored about him without meaning to.

A week passed before I heard his voice.

It was raining-one of those chaotic downpours that made everyone forget how to use umbrellas. I'd left my notebook in the science lab, and while the hallway emptied in a blur of wet shoes and squeaky lockers, I doubled back alone.