The hallway was bustling as usual, a sea of students rushing to their next classes, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls. I tried to weave through the crowd, clutching my sketchbook close to my chest, praying that no one would bump into me. I wasn't in a hurry, but the universe seemed determined to make my life chaotic that morning.
Of course, I should have known better.
"Watch where you're going!" I muttered under my breath, sidestepping a tall boy who seemed to appear out of nowhere. My hands shook slightly as I tried to steady the stack of papers and pens I was balancing. Everything was in motion, yet the world felt suspended for a moment when I noticed him.
He was leaning against a locker, his dark hair falling just slightly over his eyes, which were sharp and observant. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he watched me—no, studied me. I froze for a second, unsure why my stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with nerves about being late. There was something about him, something magnetic, though I couldn't place it.
And then it happened.
In the chaos of my thoughts, my coffee cup—filled just minutes ago from the café near the school gate—tipped from my grip. It was slow motion in my mind: the dark liquid arcing through the air, my sketchbook flaring open, the papers fluttering like frightened birds.
And before I could react, he stepped forward—though not in a helping way. He bumped into me, colliding just hard enough that the coffee landed squarely on his pristine white shirt instead of mine. My mouth opened, then closed. I stared. He stared.
"Are you kidding me?" I exclaimed, my voice higher than intended. My hands were frozen midair, my sketchbook drenched, my day instantly ruined.
He looked down at the spreading stain, then at me, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second. "Uh…sorry?" His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was a hint of genuine surprise there.
"I spilled it on you! Not the other way around!" I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear, but I couldn't move. The coffee had ruined one of his favorite shirts, I was sure of it.
He let out a short, amused laugh. "Well, that's…unfortunate. But hey, accidents happen, right?"
I groaned, dropping my gaze to the ruined sketchbook in my hands. The pages were warped and smudged; all the drawings I had worked on for weeks were slowly turning into brown-stained memories. "This…this is a disaster," I muttered, mostly to myself.
"Your art?" He glanced at the mess, his expression softening slightly. "That's…a lot of effort for a messy sketchbook."
I lifted my head, surprised by the genuine interest in his tone. "Yeah…well, it's kind of my life. I spend a lot of time here." I gestured weakly to the papers. "And now, it's ruined."
He crouched down, eye level with the destroyed drawings. "Hey, don't be too dramatic. I'm sure you can redo some of it. Or…maybe this is a good excuse to make it even better?" His eyes flicked up to mine, and for a moment, the teasing was gone. Just…someone noticing the effort I put into something I loved.
I blinked. "Maybe…maybe. But it still sucks."
A pause hung between us, heavy with something I couldn't name. There was a strange electricity in the air, like the kind you feel before a storm, and I couldn't help noticing how tall he was, how his dark eyes seemed to see more than he should, and how…smiling at me like this shouldn't feel like an invitation but it did.
Then, as if realizing he needed to move on, he stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. "Okay, I should probably get to class before I become even later. But hey…don't worry too much about the coffee. It's just a shirt."
I wanted to say something clever, something to make him understand that this wasn't "just a shirt" to me—or that he wasn't "just some boy who bumped into me." But all I could manage was, "…thanks?"
He nodded, giving me that smirk again, one that made my chest tighten in a way that was utterly unfair. Then he turned, weaving through the crowd effortlessly, leaving me standing there with my soaked sketchbook and a pounding heart.
I let out a shaky laugh, half frustration, half disbelief. Who was that boy? And why did my mind refuse to let go of the way he looked back at me, even as he disappeared down the hallway?
I sighed and tried to salvage what I could from the sketchbook, flipping through the pages. Most of them were ruined. Most—but not all. A small smile crept onto my lips. Maybe I could fix some. Maybe I could make them better.
But just as I was gathering my things, I felt a presence beside me. I froze. Turning slightly, I realized he was back. My stomach did a weird flip.
"I forgot something," he said casually, holding out a small piece of paper. "You dropped this…your library card?"
I blinked at him, taking it, my fingers brushing against his. It was a brief contact, but enough to make a little spark of electricity shoot through me. "Thanks," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Anytime," he said with a grin, and then he was gone again.
I stood there for a moment, clutching the card, staring after him. My heart raced, my mind refused to stop replaying the collision, the smirk, the way he had looked at me like I wasn't invisible.
And then, a thought hit me.
I'm going to see him again.
It wasn't hope exactly, not yet. It was certainty, the kind that makes your chest ache and your stomach twist. Something told me that this boy—this stranger who somehow seemed too important too soon—was going to be a part of my life in ways I couldn't possibly imagine.
I looked down at my ruined sketchbook, at the coffee-stained pages, and let out a small, determined sigh. "Alright," I muttered to myself, "maybe some disasters aren't entirely bad."
And somewhere in the crowded hallway, I had no idea that the day that started with spilled coffee was only the beginning of something far more complicated…