The day after Rayan's ridiculous "fight" behind the workshop building, Class 10-B felt unusually calm.
Liana sat quietly, arranging her books and trying to focus as always.
Behind her, Rayan was slouched in his seat, chewing bread he absolutely wasn't supposed to eat in class.
Nate and Soren played a hidden phone game under the desk like seasoned criminals.
Their homeroom teacher, Ms. Kareen, walked in carrying a thick folder.
"Class, today we have a new transfer student."
Everyone immediately perked up.
Rayan rolled his eyes.
"Bet he's some nerdy guy," he whispered to Nate.
"Bet he's bald," Nate replied.
"Bet he's from a strict school that checks your fingernails," Soren added.
The three snickered quietly.
Then the classroom door opened.
And a tall, composed young man stepped inside with the kind of presence that made the whole room silently straighten up.
Neatly styled black hair.
Calm, steady eyes.
Perfectly pressed uniform.
And a quiet elegance in the way he walked.
The name written on the folder:
"Evan Callister."
Evan bowed politely.
"Hello. I'm Evan. I'm glad to be here."
Silence.
Then—
Every girl in class:
…wow.
Liana, who was closing her notebook, froze a moment.
She felt like she'd seen his face before…
but didn't know where.
And Rayan?
Rayan immediately sat up like someone yanked a string on his back.
"What is THIS…" he muttered.
Something in his chest twisted—an unpleasant, unfamiliar feeling.
The Teacher Assigns His Seat
Ms. Kareen scanned the room and pointed to the empty seat behind Liana.
"Evan, take that seat behind Liana Everlyn."
Rayan choked on his bread.
"HUH?!"
Nate and Soren turned in perfect synchronization.
"Ohooooo…"
"Oh boy."
Liana turned slightly as Evan walked toward her desk.
He smiled gently.
"Hi, Liana, right? I hope we can be friends."
Liana nodded shyly.
"H-hi… welcome."
Meanwhile, three rows behind—
Rayan stared like he was watching someone break into his house.
"Why is he sitting there?! There are other seats!" he hissed.
Nate patted his shoulder.
"Relax. Strong hearts don't fear competition."
Soren added,
"Unless he's more handsome than you. Then it's game over."
Rayan paused.
"He's more handsome than me."
"True."
"Yup."
Rayan dropped his face onto his desk.
"I HATE TODAY."
Class began.
Rayan didn't hear a single word.
His eyes kept flicking between Liana and Evan as they talked quietly during a discussion task.
Evan was explaining something in a soft, calm voice.
Liana smiled.
And that was the first moment…
Rayan felt a sharp, unfamiliar sting inside his chest.
Not the heart condition—
a different kind of ache.
Annoyance.
Protectiveness.
And something he refused to name.
Nate caught his expression.
"Oho. Jealous, are we?"
"SHUT UP."
Soren leaned in.
"Evan's already a threat, dude."
Rayan snapped his pencil.
"I'm NOT jealous. I just— just— he's sitting TOO CLOSE."
Nate shrugged.
"You're not even dating her."
Rayan flushed instantly.
"T-THAT'S WHY IT'S HARD TO TELL HIM TO MOVE!"
Liana glanced back and saw Rayan glaring at them like a wild animal guarding territory.
She blinked.
"…What's wrong with him?"
Evan chuckled softly.
"It seems your friend is… sensitive."
Liana gave an awkward smile.
That day, Rayan didn't know one thing:
That the polite, composed transfer student sitting behind Liana…
would one day marry her.
Become her husband.
And eventually… grow apart from her.
A quiet thread of fate had entered the room.
Invisible, gentle, but powerful.
And in Class 10-B that afternoon,
Rayan experienced jealousy for the very first time.
That night, the house was unusually quiet. Rayan sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor. His motorcycle helmet lay tossed in the corner, still covered in dust from earlier. He didn't even bother turning on the lights.
From the hallway, his mother called out gently,
"Rayan, dinner's ready."
No response.
She knocked once, then pushed the door open. "Rayan? What's wrong with you tonight?"
Rayan let out a dramatic sigh before flopping backward onto his bed.
"Mom… do you think my handsomeness isn't enough?"
His mother blinked. "What?"
"I mean—girls keep noticing me, but she…" He groaned, covering his face with a pillow. "Does she think I'm lame? Is it the hair? Is it the motorbike? Am I not mysterious enough? Do I look too childish?"
His mother couldn't hold back a smile. She sat beside him and patted his shoulder.
"Oh, sweetheart. First of all—your hair. Please, for the love of everything good, cut it. Just a little. Make it neat. But keep the 'storm vibe,' that suits you."
Rayan lifted the pillow just enough to peek at her.
"Storm vibe?"
"Yes. You already look mysterious enough without trying—believe me."
Rayan frowned. "Then why doesn't it work on her?"
His mom playfully flicked his forehead.
"Because you act like a giant six-year-old. Stop picking fights like a toddler. Stop sulking like one. Girls don't fall for that—they fall for confidence."
Rayan groaned again. "So you're saying I should act cooler?"
"No," she said firmly. "I'm saying… grow up a little. Just enough."
After a moment, his mom added with a teasing smirk,
"And maybe stop riding that rattling motorbike like it's about to explode."
"HEY! It's vintage!" Rayan protested.
"It's a disaster," she corrected.
For the first time that night, Rayan laughed—just a little. His heart still ached with unspoken worry, but hearing his mother's voice always softened the heaviness.
"Come downstairs," she said as she stood up. "Dinner's getting cold."
Rayan sighed, sat up slowly, and followed her—still wondering if cutting his hair would somehow make her see him differently.