The days that followed felt both longer and shorter at the same time. I saw him in snippets—in the hallway, in the library, in quiet corners of the schoolyard—and each sighting sent my heart racing. Yet, the more I wanted to speak, the heavier words became.
I had learned his name—finally. It rolled off my tongue easily in my head, but saying it aloud still felt like exposing a secret I wasn't ready to share.
One afternoon, the sky gray and low with clouds, I found him sitting alone on a bench near the old fountain. A sketchbook rested on his knees, and he looked lost in thought. I approached slowly, unsure if I should interrupt or retreat.
"Hey," I said finally. My voice cracked slightly.
He looked up, and his face brightened. "Hey. You came."
I nodded, sitting down beside him. Silence fell, heavy but comforting. The fountain gurgled softly, filling in the spaces between our unspoken thoughts.
"I… I saw your sketches yesterday," I admitted after a while. "You're… really talented."
He shrugged, cheeks tinged pink. "Thanks. It's just… what I see."
"No," I insisted, my voice firmer now. "It's more than that. You make everything… feel alive. Like I'm seeing the world differently."
He looked at me then, really looked, and for a moment I thought he might speak—but he didn't. Instead, he smiled that small, uneven smile, the one that made my chest tighten.
"I like that you notice," he said quietly. "Not everyone does."
I swallowed, feeling the weight of my own words. I wanted to say more—I wanted to tell him how much he mattered, how much I'd been thinking of him—but the fear of breaking the delicate balance kept me silent.
The bell rang, pulling us back into the rush of school life. We stood, sketchbook in hand, and for a brief moment, our hands brushed again. I wanted to linger in that touch, but we let go.
As I walked away, my heart whispered what I could not:
"I want to tell you everything. But for now… just stay near me."
And somehow, in that simple wish, the world felt full. Full of unsaid words, fleeting touches, and the quiet promise that some connections were meant to grow slowly—one heartbeat at a time.