Siya POV:
Vacations again. Everyone thinks it's the same old chill — sleep, snacks, cribbing about studies. But secretly? I was actually a little happy. Happy because soon I'd go back to the place I'd started to love again.
It's been five days. Not bored enough to die, but bored enough to binge useless stuff. Then the message came: new school uniform — coded style. My brain did a little happy dance because, duh, skirt and shirt. Obviously. I can already imagine the mirror selfies.
And… I missed everyone. Even him.
Yes — Ayyan.
This vacation did me a favor: I finally named what I feel. He's handsome. Chocolate-boy handsome. Soft and tough in the exact wrong-great way. Famous-friends, teachers-like-him, juniors-and-seniors-notice-him — he literally checks all the boxes. So why would I not be attracted? It hit me: I don't have to force a "move on." Move on from what? We never had anything to begin with. There's nothing to move on from.
So I call it what it really is — admiration.
Not the kind that ruins you. The kind that quietly sits in your chest and makes you smile when you see him laugh. He's attractive not just by face, but by something in the way he carries himself. It's okay to admire that. It's okay to keep it secret. I've spent so long telling myself this that if anyone found out, they'd get it wrong — Ayesha, Ayyan, maybe even Anisha.
Whenever my brain tried to spiral, I switched to K-drama mode. K-dramas always have tidy conclusions: unspoken feelings, dramatic reveals, perfect soundtracks. If life were a K-drama, I'd have an OST playing right now and mood lighting whenever he looked my way.
The thing is, idols and fans don't sit together in the same class. They don't exchange notes or borrow pens. That's the whole difference. I'm the fan; he's the idol — except the idol sits three rows away and sometimes takes my notes. So yeah, the line between fantasy and reality gets blurry. But that's fine. I like myself. I am the best — I tell myself this out loud like a spell.
"Siya! Are you practicing stage fright or what?"
My brother's hand lands on my head like a wet towel, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
"Be quiet!" he grumbles. "Have some manners. Why are you shouting like a duck? And stop claiming you're the best — you're the worst."
"WHAT?!" I shoot back, dramatically offended. For a second — okay, for many seconds — I consider attacking him with a pillow. Then I remember he's bigger, faster, and famously unfair.
"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean—" I blurt, hand up like a white flag.
He huffs. "Apologize properly. Don't run away."
I run anyway.
"Then say sorry properly!" he calls after me, half-annoyed, half-laughing. I can't help it — the house is full of noise and warmth and terrible teasing, and somehow I'm grateful. My little chaos is home.
When I collapse onto the sofa, heart still thumping, I grin at myself in the window reflection. I am ridiculous, messy, loud, and a little dramatic. But I'm also me — and that's enough.
For now, I'll keep admiring from the safe side of the line. I'll pretend it's harmless. I'll binge another K-drama. I'll practice my "I'm totally over him" smile in the mirror. And I'll tell myself, again and again: You are the best.
The house echoed with laughter, shouts, and my mother's frustrated voice threatening to switch off the WiFi if we didn't calm down.
But deep down, even in the middle of this chaos, a small smile played on my lips.
Because sometimes, no matter how tangled my thoughts about Ayyan got, home was still the loud, messy, annoying place that made me… me.
And honestly? I wouldn't trade this madness for anything.
And now in upcoming days school will start , new school uniform new things I am excited but right now I have to deal with them ...ahh this time I will try to be new siya or i should stay same?
(Spoiler: I'll still be the same silly, stubborn Siya — only with better socks.)