They say time changes things.
But sometimes, things change while time just watches—quietly, without warning, without asking for permission.
It had been days since I confessed. Days since she rejected me with words so clean, they left no space for confusion, no corners for hope to hide in. I thought that was the end of the story—that I'd become just another classmate she'd forget by the next exam cycle.
But I was wrong.
It started small.
One afternoon, I stood at the notice board, pretending to read the holiday list that hadn't changed in weeks, when her voice came from behind me.
"You always read things upside down?" she asked, her tone teasing, as if nothing had ever happened between us.
I turned, surprised. She stood there, hair slightly messy, that usual mischief in her smile. The same girl who had once told me she didn't feel the same... now speaking to me like we were in on some secret only we understood.
"I like to challenge myself," I replied, trying to keep it light.
She chuckled.
That moment should've been awkward. Uncomfortable. But it wasn't. Instead, it felt like something fragile had been carefully put back in my hands.
And from then on, things began to shift.
She talked. A lot. About the weather, about her cat, about how her favorite pen always disappeared during exams. She spoke in half-thoughts and unfinished sentences, like her mind moved faster than her mouth. And even though her words often drifted from one topic to another, I listened—because somehow, everything she said felt like it mattered.
There were days when she'd sit beside me during breaks, sipping juice through a straw while ranting about how unfair school competitions were. And in those tiny, normal moments, I found myself smiling without reason.
She wasn't trying to impress me.
She wasn't even trying to be kind.
She was just being… her.
And me? I didn't care what we were. I didn't ask for labels, or answers, or promises.
Because sitting beside her, even in silence, felt louder than any "yes" she could've given me that day.
One afternoon, she looked at me with that casual seriousness she always wore and said,
"You know... you feel like a resting place."