On Valentine's Day, a sophomore boy was arrested—not for committing a crime, but by a pair of romantic handcuffs meant only for lovers.
Locked wrist to wrist with a lovely girl, they walked through the campus together, their hands bound as if love itself had claimed them.
Students watched, some amused, some envious.
Laughter and whispers followed them down the hallway decorated with red ribbons and paper hearts.
It was supposed to be a celebration of love.
But not all hearts were celebrating.
From a quiet corner stood his secret admirer, frozen in place.
Watching.
Pretending not to care.
In the blink of an eye, her chest tightened, and she whispered to herself,
"Seriously… on Hearts' Day, a broken heart was tortured even more."
A love story always starts with friendship.
But my life… it always seemed to move beyond myself, beyond what I thought I could control.
And then there was him.
Zin.
He smelled like a subtle bottle of perfume—inviting, unforgettable.
His face could have been carved for the perfect campus crush: fair-skinned, effortlessly handsome, dressed like a starboy.
Extroverted, playful, flirty, and charming, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew he was admired.
A campus heartthrob, a little of a playboy, he smiled easily at everyone, joked with friends, and somehow made it look effortless.
Perhaps a muse, he was impossible to ignore.
He was the one everyone admired—like hundreds, maybe thousands of girls in the corridor or during lunch would steal glances at him.
The way he smiled, the way he interacted with others, there was a romantic chemistry about him, subtle but undeniable, the kind that could make anyone fall in love.
And for me… he was my last and only high school crush.
.
.
.
.
An academic year always starts with its first day of classes.
On my first day of high school, after being—well, you know—"the life of being homeschooled for a very long time," I stepped onto the campus.
For my classmates, it was a moment of excitement:
meeting new friends,
new teachers,
and exploring a new environment.
But for me—an introverted, shy type—it was a never-ending wave of nervousness.
Every year, every first day, as someone who always transferred from one school to another,
I felt like a shadow following myself.
Unseen and unnoticed.
Drifting quietly through halls full of confident strangers.
My dad drove me to school in our air-conditioned car.
His presence was a mix of comfort and pressure as I clutched the sweaty palms of my nervous hands.
The moment I saw the school, my social anxiety spiked—hundreds of students milling around, talking, laughing.
I stepped out of my comfort zone.
I braced myself for a reality completely different from my quiet, sheltered world.
Little did I know, my cousin was there.
I panicked.
I froze.
I struggled to find my classroom.
She helped me navigate the crowded halls.
Finally, I entered my classroom.
Three months later, I saw new faces.
Unrevealed attitudes—friends or foes?
I sat in my chair, my heartbeat racing.
A spotlight of attention seemed to linger on my face.
The bell rang.
"It's time," I whispered to myself.
The teacher stepped in, smiling.
"Good morning, everyone! Since it's the first day of class—the most awaited and anticipated part—you'll introduce yourselves.
Your name, and anything you've learned if you were homeschooled."
I froze.
I'm doomed.
"I will choose random students," the teacher announced.
Definitely cooked, I thought, my stomach twisting into knots.
This was a school tradition—every first day, a random student would introduce themselves to the class.
It was supposed to be fun… for everyone else.
For me, it was a nightmare.
"You, sweetie, please stand and introduce yourself to your classmates."
"Me?" I squeaked.
"Yes, you."
In my mind: The moment struck like lightning.
My legs trembled.
My knees weak.
As if the ground beneath me had shattered.
Every heartbeat pounded like thunder in my ears.
Could I stand, speak, and leave an impression… or would I crumble, lost and embarrassed before everyone?
"Good afternoon, everyone."
In my mind: Shit! I mean… good morning.
My name is… uh—heartbeat shredded.
"My name is Ric. I'm a transferee.
The things… uh… that I learned in the past two years… uhh…"
Nothing.
Completely blank.
Seriously, readers, you'd think my brain just went on vacation.
"Since I am a writer, I guess I learned how to read books," I finally mumbled.
"Great job! Okay class, let's give Ric a round of applause."
Phew… finally done.
Omg, what an embarrassing moment.
Don't judge me, okay?
After my introduction…
A cute guy was called next.
A majestic first glimpse—like a facecard of a prince charming.
When he started speaking—his voice…
I blushed.
Tweak.
He caught my eye.
The shy little me quickly looked away like nothing happened.
After class, the bell rang.
We stepped outside the school campus.
"Whahahahahah!" my cousin laughed.
"Lol, what do you mean you learned how to write and read? Are you really sure?"
I was mortified.
I wanted to go home.
My dad picked us up.
I tried to flatter myself into calmness.
In my mind: Wait… he looks familiar.
Oh my god, Lord, he was the handsome guy from earlier…
Wait… where is he going?
To a house?
His house… near the school.
Ohhh, I see.
The moment we arrived at my house…
Wait, is that a camera pointing at me?
I'm not a superstar!
Wait… it's my mother.
Another embarrassing moment.
She's definitely posting this on social media.
---
Six months later…
By the start of my second year, my quiet admiration had grown into something more—a crush that followed him everywhere.
The shy little me now had more courage.
But the nervousness still lurked in the back of my mind whenever he walked past.
And that… was just the beginning.