The Girl in Front of Him
The first morning at his new school in town had already been a blur for Ji-Ho — new faces, bigger classrooms, strange rules, and polished floors that shone like mirrors.
In his previous school his grin alone seemed to light up the dull mornings. within minutes, he was teasing a friend, mimicking the teacher's tone, and turning even boring lesson into laughter.
He wasn't trying to be funny-- he just was. Every move he made had that spark of energy that made had that spark of energy that the room feel alive
Ji-Ho would have been at the center of all that noise.
He was the kind of boy who could turn any game into laughter — the one who led cricket matches with energy and challenged everyone to football during breaks.
His teachers called him restless, but his grandmother always said, smiling, "That boy has too much sun in his heart."
But today was different.
Because of her.
When attendance was called, he heard the name — "Thanu."
He looked up without meaning to. The girl in front of him raised her hand, her bangles chiming faintly.
Her hair was tied in a loose braid that shimmered in the sunlight, and when she turned slightly, he saw the side of her face.
Something in his chest gave a small, wild thump.
He didn't understand why.
He had seen her before — though he didn't realize it yet.
That same curious spark in her eyes, the same soft face that once looked at him over a stolen laddu.
The day went by in a blur of lessons and introductions. The principal, a distant relative of Ji-Ho's father, had stopped by earlier to greet the class.
Ji-Ho had bowed politely — being well-mannered came naturally to him.
His father was strict, rarely showing affection, but discipline was something Ji-Ho had learned deeply.
When the final bell rang for the short break, Ji-Ho leaned back, stretching his arms and laughing with a few boys who were talking about cricket.
He was his normal self again — bright, confident, joking until the thanu arrives the scene.
Then Thanu turned around.
All the words in his mouth vanished like there is nothing to speak.
"Hey," she said with a smile, "You're new, right? Ji-Ho?"
He nodded quickly, his throat suddenly dry. The boy who could talk endlessly about batting averages now couldn't even form a full sentence and not able to give reply to her.
"Yeah… I… yes," he stammered.
She tilted her head, amused. "You sit right behind me. I didn't even notice."
He smiled nervously, his hands fidgeting with his pencil. "I—uh—yeah, just… behind you."
For a moment, she just looked at him — curious, friendly, unaware of the small storm she had caused inside him.
Ji-Ho's heartbeat drummed in his ears. His face, normally sun-brown from playing outside, had turned pink.
"Nice to meet you, Ji-Ho," she said, grinning. "Maybe you can show me how to play cricket sometime?"
He blinked. "Yeah… sure. I play really well," he replied — and instantly regretted sounding too eager.
Thanu laughed, that warm, bright laugh that made even the sunlight feel softer.
Then she turned back to her notebook as the next teacher entered.
Ji-Ho sank into his seat, exhaling quietly.
In that class Nianyu who is also same village as thanu and Ji-Ho who is topper in the class.
Ji-Ho got close with the Nianyu as he was also the same village. Then next classes began.
Ji-Ho's pencil hovered nervously over his notebook, tapping a tiny rhythm on the edge. His eyes kept drifting to Thanu, who was calmly writing, oblivious to the storm inside him.
Ms. Liang leaned over, peering at his page. "Ji-Ho," she said with a sly smile, "are those math problems, or are you secretly designing a comic book?"
"Uh… math," Ji-Ho stammered, trying to sound confident, "definitely math."
A few classmates snickered quietly. Thanu glanced back for a split second, eyebrow raised, lips twitching with suppressed amusement. Ji-Ho felt his face warm like he'd swallowed the sun.
Just as he attempted to scribble a number, his pencil rolled off the desk and clattered to the floor. He flinched. Ms. Liang crouched, picked it up, and handed it back with a teasing look. "Careful, hero. If you keep dropping pencils, I'll start a collection of your chaos."
Ji-Ho swallowed hard, gripping the pencil like it was a cricket bat. His heart thumped louder than the clock ticking on the wall. He glanced at Thanu again. She was scribbling notes, serene, almost impossibly composed.
The second hand inched forward, and Ji-Ho felt the tension stretch, elastic and teasing. Every tiny sound — chalk scratching, a distant cough, a pen click — seemed amplified in his world.
He tried to focus. Really. But the notebook in front of him might as well have been a cricket pitch, and every scribble a swing at a ball he couldn't quite hit.
Thanu's braid swung slightly as she leaned over to pick up a fallen eraser, and Ji-Ho felt his stomach flip like a tiny wave in a pond. He muttered under his breath, "Focus, Ji-Ho… math… not staring at her braid…"
And then… the bell hadn't rung yet. The universe held its breath. Outside, the sunlight spilled across the polished floors, catching on dust motes like tiny stars. In that stillness, Ji-Ho's chaotic heart and the calm of the girl in front of him collided — a moment small, quiet, and completely, deliciously alive.