I didn't think one look could ruin a day.
But hers did.
It wasn't a grand moment, no dramatic confession, no sudden touch. Just a fleeting glance, a second too long, and suddenly my chest felt heavier, my stomach tighter, and the rest of the world faded into a blur.
It happened during third period. We were in the middle of a lecture on literature, the teacher droning on about metaphors and hidden meanings. I wasn't listening how could I? My attention was entirely on Amara, who sat two rows ahead, notebook open, pen poised, a faint crease of concentration between her eyebrows.
I swear she felt my gaze.
I tried to look away, tried to focus on my own notes, tried to convince myself it was nothing. But then I caught her eyes, quick and subtle, darting in my direction. And for the first time, I thought… maybe she notices me.
Not the back-row shadow, not the quiet kid who scribbles letters no one reads. Me.
My chest skipped a beat, a wild, uncontrollable rhythm, and I felt my cheeks burn. I looked down at my notebook, pretending to write, though the page remained blank except for a few angry doodles of my own name.
She turned back to her work, fingers brushing her pen across the page, and I exhaled slowly. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was coincidence. But a part of me a very loud, insistent part wanted to believe it wasn't.
Lunch came quickly, though I barely noticed the passing minutes. My friends dragged me out to the cafeteria, laughing, teasing, unaware of the storm inside me. I barely tasted my food. My eyes kept wandering toward her table.
She was sitting with her friends, as usual, smiling at something one of them said. And then… he came.
A boy from another class, tall, confident, someone I'd never met before, leaned toward her. He whispered something, and she laughed a soft, musical laugh that wasn't meant for me. My stomach twisted, and a strange, unfamiliar heat rose in my chest.
Jealousy.
I've never felt it before. Not like this. Not so sharp, so sudden, so impossible to ignore.
I wanted to stand up and walk over, to say something, anything, to remind her I existed in a way that mattered. But I stayed rooted to my seat, pretending to look at my tray, pretending not to care.
She glanced back once, caught my eye for a fleeting moment. But it was too quick, too small to be meaningful. And then she laughed again, and the boy said something else, and she turned fully away.
I felt like I'd been punched.
By the time lunch ended, I barely heard my friends' chatter. I just packed my things and walked out, careful not to let anyone notice the way my fists were clenched around my bag straps.
Later, in literature class, we were assigned to work in pairs. My heart thumped painfully when I realized I wasn't paired with her. She was with… him. That same boy from lunch.
I tried to focus, tried to write, tried to act normal. But my notebook sat open in front of me, empty, a blank page reflecting the chaos in my mind.
And then she laughed again. Just a little, just a soft laugh as she whispered something to him.
It should have been nothing. Just a normal moment. But it twisted something inside me, sharp and raw. I pressed my pen to the paper and wrote without thinking.
Dear Amara,
I saw you today. I saw you laugh, and I saw him standing there. And I hated that I wasn't enough. I hated that I wasn't the reason for your smile. I know it's selfish, I know it's wrong but I can't help how I feel.
I folded the paper carefully, twice, just like always, hiding it beneath my notebook. My hand lingered on it, pressing the edges as if I could force my feelings to stay contained. But the ache in my chest wouldn't be silenced.
During the break, I wandered the hallways, trying to calm myself. I didn't notice anyone. I didn't hear the laughter or the footsteps. My mind was tangled in a thousand "what ifs" and "maybe somedays."
And then she appeared.
She was walking down the hall, alone this time, sunlight catching her hair in streaks of gold. She didn't see me immediately. I froze, watching, heart hammering in my chest. My breath caught when she glanced up, and just for a second our eyes met.
I wanted to say something. Anything.
But my courage had abandoned me.
Instead, I just smiled, awkward and shy, and she returned it. A small, fleeting smile. No words. No gestures. Just that tiny exchange.
It was enough.
Not enough to erase the jealousy, not enough to calm the ache, but enough to remind me why I wrote the letters I never meant to send. Enough to remind me that maybe, just maybe, she noticed me. Maybe she saw me, really saw me, even if just for a second.
Back in class, I opened my notebook, pen trembling, and wrote again.
Dear Amara,
I don't know what your smile means, or if you notice me at all. But today, even for a moment, I felt like you saw me. And it's terrifying. And wonderful. And everything in between.
I folded the paper twice, hiding it under the previous letters. My fingers lingered on it, pressing hard as if the act could make my feelings smaller, controllable.
But they aren't.
Not anymore.
Because today, something changed. I realized I can't just watch from the back row. I can't just write letters that never leave the page.
I want her to notice me. I want her to see me.
And I don't know how long I can wait before I try.