The second year of high school was supposed to be another steady step toward graduation—a familiar rhythm of classes, uniforms, and academic responsibilities. But for me, it carried a weight I couldn't ignore. It was the year my greatest fear returned—not in the form of exams or overwhelming projects, but in the soft footsteps of someone from a past I was trying not to repeat.
Before classes officially began, enrollment took place. It was the usual scene: bustling lines of students, parents clutching forms, teachers trying to manage the chaos. I had already enrolled and picked up my textbooks—books that, let's be honest, were rarely used during lessons but remained a burden to carry and keep pristine until year's end. Covering them with plastic and returning them without a wrinkle was part of our quiet student responsibilities.
Since I had spare time and a reputation for being dependable, the teachers asked me—along with a few other students—to help during the enrollment process. I didn't mind. I liked being useful, and it gave me something to do while watching the student body assemble for another academic year.
Once the school year began, the rules kicked in immediately. As second-year students, we were expected to be role models—neat, orderly, and properly dressed in our assigned uniforms.
* **Monday:** A white dress with black shoes and white socks.
* **Tuesday and Friday:** A tucked-in T-shirt with a knee-length skirt, same shoes and socks.
* **Thursday:** A polo blouse paired with the same skirt.
* **Wednesday:** Our one day of freedom, where we could wear casual clothes—within reason.
Our "freedom" still came with a list of do's and don'ts. Skirts couldn't be too short. Pants weren't allowed for girls, and if boys wore them, they had to be plain and neat. No sleeveless tops, flashy accessories, or overly styled haircuts. And certainly no earrings or headbands for the boys.
The uniforms didn't exactly scream fashion-forward. But I learned to make the most of it—adding tasteful accessories, subtle touches of personality. Wednesdays were my favorite; they gave me a rare opportunity to express myself, even if just a little.
We all looked so neat, so put-together. We were the very image of students from a private Catholic school. And honestly, that wasn't such a bad thing.
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**Chapter: The Newcomer's Shadow**
The first day of school came with its usual ceremonies and changes. The old fourth-year students were gone—off to begin their journeys beyond high school. In their place, new Grade 7 students had entered the halls, wide-eyed and full of energy. And right away, I noticed something.
The new batch of students was stunning—especially the girls. They were pretty, bright, and energetic. They captured attention easily, and soon the whispers about their talents spread throughout the school. They could dance, sing, and even hold their own in sports. Unlike our class, where only a few students—mostly the boys—enjoyed physical activities, these girls were multi-talented and quick to charm everyone they met.
And among them… was *her*. Samantha.
The name might've been new to many, but not to me. Samantha had once been Treize's girlfriend in my past life. Their bond had been hard to shake—rooted not just in emotion but in shared circles. This time around, the connection hadn't disappeared. If anything, it had simply waited for its moment.
Treize had a cousin in the Grade 7 batch—Elizabeth. And wouldn't you know it? Elizabeth became Samantha's new best friend. That was all it took. A bridge was formed. A path was cleared.
From then on, I often found myself watching from the sidelines. During breaks or after class, I'd see them sitting on the benches scattered around campus, laughing. Samantha always managed to be nearby whenever Treize and Elizabeth talked. Sometimes it seemed coincidental… other times, not so much.
But what could I do? I wasn't Treize's girlfriend. Not officially. I had no right to ask him to distance himself from his cousin, even if that cousin was unknowingly building a bridge straight to the girl who once broke my heart just by existing.
I refused to become the villain of someone else's story. If fate decided to draw them back together, I would not stand in the way. Instead, I'd walk away and write my own story—somewhere I was meant to be, with someone who truly chose me.
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**Chapter: Between Two Worlds**
While that emotional storm brewed quietly in the background, life didn't slow down for me. I was selected to join the school's editorial team, a position that kept me busy with writing assignments and features for our school paper. I was also chosen to represent the school at workshops and training events beyond the campus. These opportunities opened doors to friendships with students from other schools and gave me new perspectives I hadn't expected to find so soon.
During those events, I felt free. I wasn't just "Carmela—the girl watching from afar." I was someone with potential, someone trusted with responsibility, someone growing into herself.
But once the events ended, the routine of school returned. I'd catch up on missed lessons, juggle deadlines, and still… still I tried to make time for Treize.
Only now, he seemed to be changing.
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**Chapter: The Question That Lingers**
It began subtly. A question asked once, then again. Then again.
"Carmela," Treize would say, eyes searching mine, "when can we finally be a real couple?"
At first, I teased him with answers. "Four years from now," I'd laugh. "Just wait, Treize. Time will fly."
Usually, he'd laugh too, brushing off my response like he always did. But one day, he didn't.
"Four years is too long, Carmela," he said seriously. "Can it not be sooner?"
I sighed. "You know I've made a promise—not to have a boyfriend until I graduate. And besides, it's against school rules. We could get into serious trouble."
He looked down. "That's too long. But I can willingly suffer… if you give me a prize every now and then."
I frowned and pushed him away playfully. "Don't even think about it—not until we're official. Do you hear me?"
He didn't smile this time. Instead, he looked at me with something deeper in his eyes—something sad, maybe even frustrated.
"I fully understand, Carmela," he said quietly. "I just hope *you* understand what you're asking from me."
His tone was different—like he was carrying a weight I hadn't seen before.
"What do you mean by that, Treize?" I asked, stepping toward him.
But he didn't answer.
He just walked away, leaving me standing alone, my heart beating in a rhythm I couldn't name.
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