Lia leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity, her chin resting on her hands.
"Grandma," she teased softly, "was he really that handsome and kind? You're blushing even now."
Heat crept into my cheeks as I tightened my grip on the teacup, hoping it would somehow hide my face.
"I don't know why," I whispered. "I barely knew him, yet something about him made my heart race."
Lia giggled. "Tell me everything."
I sighed, pretending to be calm while absolutely failing at it, and breathed in the warmth of the tea.
My thoughts drifted back to that first morning on the bus.
---
After that, everything in the bus seemed heavier than usual.
The air felt thick, filled with the low hum of the engine, quiet chatter, and the rustle of bags shifting as the bus moved. I tried to calm myself, tried to tell my heart to stop beating so loudly.
It didn't listen.
It never did.
I pulled out my music, slipping my earphones in, hoping the noise of the world would fade. I didn't notice the song I picked… until the soft melody started.
Of course.
A love song.
I frowned slightly at my phone. Really? Out of all songs?
Too late now.
Lyrics about gentle love filled my ears — the kind that creeps in quietly. Somehow, the rhythm matched my thoughts and made them louder instead of softer.
And then… I found myself looking at him again.
His fluffy hair caught the sunlight as the bus turned slightly, golden light brushing over him like it had chosen him on purpose. He leaned near the window, one hand loosely holding the rail.
I told myself not to stare.
My eyes disagreed.
I caught his side profile — a soft jawline, calm eyes half-closed. He looked… tired. Not sleepy — exhausted in a quiet way. And before I could stop myself, a small ache formed in my chest.
Is he feeling okay?
I immediately shook my head at myself. Why do you care? You're not his doctor.
A few girls stood near him, whispering, glancing his way, giggling behind their hands. My heart tensed — I didn't know why — but something unfamiliar and uncomfortable filled my chest, like there wasn't enough space to breathe properly.
If it were me… how could anyone go near him?
I wouldn't handle it.
I'd probably trip. Or panic. Or forget how to speak.
And yet… I realized I was smiling.
Not brightly. Just a small, unconscious curve of my lips. His hair shifted slightly in the breeze from the open window. Sunlight traced his side profile.
It felt like looking at something I wasn't allowed to touch — but couldn't stop looking at anyway.
I didn't even notice how close we were to campus.
He stirred, blinking awake, straightening slowly as the bus slowed. My heart jumped — so hard I briefly wondered if other people could hear it.
I stood almost immediately, pretending I had planned it, weaving through the crowd. Elbows brushed past me, someone muttered an apology, someone else sighed impatiently.
I apologized too. To no one. Just in case.
He was so tall — his head higher than mine. I felt small beside him, my chest fluttering.
He stepped off the bus, surrounded by friends. More girls drifted closer, laughter soft and excited. My stomach twisted — my quiet heart, felt a sharp tension I didn't understand.
I can't handle all those people near him.
Yet… I was walking behind him.
Not following.
Just… walking.
At a very suspiciously similar speed.
My path curved toward my lecture hall — so did his, though not exactly the same. Each step pulled at something inside me, my heart thumping faster, a strange gravity I couldn't name.
It's normal, I reminded myself.
He's just another student.
I'm just… walking.
Like a normal person.
Very normal.
But my eyes kept lifting, catching him in my peripheral vision. Each movement — the way he adjusted his bag, the easy way he laughed — made my chest warm.
It was awareness.
Curiosity.
Something quiet and dangerous.
And for the first time, I realized… maybe my heart had been waiting for something, even if I didn't know what.
That day, I changed my path just to see him.
I told myself it was accidental.
It wasn't.
He walked ahead of me, talking to a friend. We entered the same building. My heart lifted — maybe—
Then he turned left.
Oh. Cafeteria.
For a second, I wanted to follow.
Just a second.
Just to see what he eats.
Which was ridiculous.
I don't even remember what I eat.
Reality hit.
You're late.
My chest tightened. I turned quickly, almost running up the stairs, my bag thudding softly against my side.
Why am I thinking about him this much?
Stop it.
He's just someone you saw on a bus.
I sat through class, nodding, writing notes — but my thoughts wandered.
His hair.
His eyes.
The way he stood by the window.
Stop. This isn't like you, I scolded myself silently, underlining the same sentence three times without realizing it.
After class, I didn't go home.
Instead, I drifted toward a quiet corner of the campus, tucked away from voices and footsteps. Leaves whispered above me, brushing against the stillness, and the air felt softer there — like the world had lowered its voice just for me.
I pulled out my drawing book.
My hands hesitated.
Then I drew.
Not clearly.
Not perfectly.
Just… feeling.
The curve of his hair.
The outline of his face.
The warmth he left behind.
Halfway through, I frowned at the page.
"That doesn't look like him at all," I muttered.
Still, I kept going.
My heart felt strangely full and painfully empty at the same time.
I didn't know why drawing him felt comforting… and dangerous.
When I finally closed the book, I felt tired.
And a little foolish.
On the bus ride home, I kept glancing at the door.
Maybe he'll be here today too.
He wasn't.
I stared out the window, pretending it didn't matter — while absolutely proving that it did.
---
Lia hugged her knees tighter.
"And then?" she whispered. "Did you find him?"
Lily smiled faintly.
"I tried," she said.
"But trying doesn't always mean succeeding… especially when you're afraid of looking."
I wasn't someone who looked at people's faces.
Not because I didn't care —
but because looking felt like an invitation.
And I had learned very early in life that invitations were rarely answered kindly.
Still… something had changed.
Without realizing it, my eyes began searching.
Not directly. Never directly.
Just little glances.
Who does he talk to?
What building does he enter?
Is he even an art student… like me?
Questions filled my mind — soft, curious, dangerous little thoughts.
But every time I tried to actually look, my courage disappeared.
I forgot.
I stopped.
I told myself it didn't matter.
Except… the bus.
I always looked for him on the bus.
Every evening. Even when I pretended not to.
Some days, I stood.
Some days, I sat.
Some days, I stared out of the window and told myself I wouldn't search.
My heart ignored me completely.
One evening… I was late.
The sky was already turning dark when I climbed onto the bus — my last one for the day.
There were only a few people inside. Four… maybe five.
Quiet.
Tired.
I took a seat without looking around.
It doesn't matter, I told myself.
Stop thinking about him.
I put my earphones in.
A song played — one of those soft ones that felt heavier than it should.
Of course it did.
My stop was close.
I leaned my head back, closing my eyes.
Then I heard voices.
Muffled.
Blurred by music.
Two boys talking behind me.
I couldn't hear what they were saying — just the low hum of conversation.
The bus slowed.
The doors opened.
One of them stood up first.
I felt movement behind me.
Then suddenly… nothing.
A pause.
The bus didn't move yet.
Something — someone — was standing too close.
I turned my head slightly.
And I saw him.
It was him.
Right behind me.
So close that I could see the fabric of his shirt.
So close that my heart forgot how to beat properly.
I hadn't seen him the whole ride.
Not once.
And yet… he had been there the entire time.
Behind me.
My chest tightened.
How long had he been there?
Did he notice me before?
Did he recognize me?
My thoughts tangled together, panicking quietly.
The bus moved again.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
He stood there calmly — tall, steady — holding the rail above.
So close.
Too close.
I stared straight ahead, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly.
My heart was loud enough already.
Don't turn around.
Don't make it awkward.
Don't trip. Please don't trip.
My body betrayed me anyway.
Warmth crept into my cheeks.
My fingers curled tightly into my bag strap.
I didn't know why this felt different.
I didn't know why being near him like this made the world feel smaller.
I only knew one thing —
He wasn't just a memory anymore.
He was real.
Right behind me.
When he got off, he didn't turn back.
Not even a little.
The doors closed with a soft hiss. I leaned toward the window without realizing it, watching his back disappear into the crowd.
That was it.
No moment.
No eye contact.
No ending.
My chest felt strangely heavy.
I smiled anyway.
A small, quiet smile — the kind you give yourself when you don't want to admit you're disappointed.
"It's okay," I whispered.
"You weren't promised anything."
The bus moved forward.
And for the first time… I didn't immediately look for him again.
I sat there, still, listening to my own thoughts.
They felt different now.
Not confused.
Not panicked.
Just… clear.
"Oh," I murmured softly.
"So this is it."
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head.
"I think… maybe this is a crush."
Saying it — even in my head — made my cheeks warm.
A crush.
Just a quiet feeling that made ordinary days feel a little brighter.
"How embarrassing," I told myself gently.
My heart didn't disagree.
---
When I reached home, the door barely opened before—
Max.
My world.
He stood there wagging his tail like I had been gone for years instead of hours.
"Hey," I laughed, dropping my bag. "Did you miss me that much?"
He barked softly and tilted his head.
I crouched down, burying my hands in his fur.
"Max," I whispered, "I think I have a crush."
He tilted his head again.
Once.
Twice.
I laughed.
"See? Even you're confused."
His tail thumped harder anyway.
After my shower, I sat on my bed with my diary open. It had been untouched for a long time.
I stared at the blank page.
Then I wrote.
Not neatly.
Not perfectly.
Just honestly.
Today, I realized something changed. There's someone who exists in my thoughts without permission.
I don't know his name. I don't know him at all. But my heart notices him anyway.
I paused.
I don't have anyone to tell this to.
So I'll tell you.
I closed the diary slowly, pressing it to my chest.
The feeling wasn't loud.
But it was mine.
And that was enough.
End of chapter 3