Chapter One
Title: The Bench Chronicles – Chaos, Crushes, and Classroom Drama
A usual school morning. Class has just started, and my best friend, Amara, and I sit close to each other—or at least, I try to.
I think, today again, she'll be talking to her other friends, just like always. She promises she'll come back in two minutes, but, of course, she doesn't. She disappears into their circle, laughing and chatting, completely absorbed in their world, while I sit there, quietly sighing, my thoughts louder than the classroom noise.
In my life, I've never had a really close friend. I remember the very first days of school—the awkward shuffle into unknown halls, my heart thumping, hoping, maybe today she'll notice me. I wanted her to become my friend, like everyone else seemed to have their inseparable duos, their secret jokes, their shared snacks. But she always rejected me. Always.
Even when life turned against her and bullies targeted her, I couldn't just watch. I tried so hard to reach her, to guide her, to help her see that her so-called best friend wasn't really good for her. She got hurt, yelled at in front of the whole class, her cheeks flaming, and I couldn't just stand by.
Somehow, I gathered the courage to confess—my feelings, my intentions, my awkward attempt at friendship. And, against all odds, she finally let me in. She became my friend—or at least, I named her my best friend.
But sometimes I wonder: what do I really mean to her? Am I just someone who's always there, quietly ignored, or do I matter more than I think?
I sigh again, my forehead lightly bumping against the edge of the table. It's been one of those days—the kind where nothing seems to go right. I try talking to other classmates, but my words fall flat; their chatter is background noise.
All I want is for Amara to talk with me, to glance my way, to just… notice me—but she always neglects me, leaving me feeling invisible by the end of the day.
And then, the homeroom teacher strides in, clipboard in hand.
"Wait," he announces, "this is a form for the upcoming Olympics exam. If anyone is interested, fill it up and submit it to the class president, Lucas."
Immediately, Draven and some of his friends are called to distribute the forms. Naturally, they start causing a ruckus, teasing each other, shoving papers, and making the whole classroom into their personal playground.
From the window, the mid-air breeze flutters the curtains, soft and teasing, as if mocking me, and I feel a tiny pang of… irritation, or maybe just despair.
Draven approaches me with the form. I raise my hand to take it, forcing a small smile onto my face—the kind of fake smile I've perfected over the years. No one has ever really made me genuinely happy, and maybe I've stopped expecting it.
But then, as if on cue, he passes the form to another girl—his "so-called best friend."
What the fuck is wrong with this bastard dog? I think in my head. It's my first curse ever, and it's like a volcano erupting after years of silent frustration.
And he doesn't stop. He strides across the room again, deliberately brushing past my bench, handing forms to yet more girls, as if he's deliberately trying to make my day worse. My mind is a storm of thoughts: I already had a bad day, and now this guy is making it worse. Does he even have a shred of gentlemanly honor, or is he just a brainless buffalo?
Finally, Lyric—handsome, kind, tall, confident—raises his hand and comes toward me. He hands me the form with a bright, genuine smile. My heart does a little jump.
Ahh~ my pretty, handsome brother, you are the best boy, I think, unable to stop my mind from gushing silently. He's like an angel—so different from the disgusting, lunatic Draven.
And there I am—trapped between disgust and admiration, frustration and secret delight. My emotions are a tornado, swirling with every glance, every action, every tiny injustice. I'm laughing inside, crying inside, sighing, cursing, dreaming—all on the same bench.
This is my life: a mix of drama, comedy, and the quiet, aching longing to be seen by the people who matter most. And today, like so many days before, the Bench of Unspoken Feelings is waiting for me—silent, judgmental, yet strangely comforting, as if it understands all the messy, complicated parts of my heart that no one else ever seems to notice.Is it wrong to want a little more attention from someone I call my best friend?
I don't need constant talks — just to feel seen, even once in a while.
Maybe it's selfish, but I wish they'd choose me without me asking.
Sometimes, I just want someone who listens and makes me feel special.
Do you ever crave that kind of friendship too?