The sun was warm on their backs as they crouched in the grass, chasing after beetles and laughing at nothing in particular. April’s small fingers clutched a yellow flower, its petals crumpled from her grip. Daze sat beside her, his knees muddied and his dark hair wild from running. They couldn’t have been older than seven.

“Don’t worry, April,” Daze said suddenly, shielding her from a buzzing bee. “I’ll always protect you. Forever.”

April blinked at him, the promise echoing in her tiny heart like a sacred vow.

Fast forward ten years.

April stood in the hallway of Crescent High, her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. Around her, students laughed and chatted, the air buzzing with morning energy. Somewhere ahead, she spotted him—Daze, now tall, handsome, and magnetic. He leaned casually against a locker, surrounded by his usual crowd: the “Daze Gang” as people jokingly called them. Cheerleaders, footballers, class clowns—every hallway royalty imaginable. Daze wasn’t just famous. He was Crescent High.

April? She was the hallway ghost. Silent. Clumsy. Bookish. Invisible.

She moved cautiously past him, eyes on the floor. Not that it mattered. He never looked.

They were still neighbors. Their families were still friends. Her mom still bragged about Daze to every relative who visited. His parents still gave April sweets and called her their “fourth daughter.” But in school, the line was thick and real. She’d never crossed it.

She remembered the promise often.

“I’ll always protect you. Forever.”

It echoed in her mind as if it still meant something. But Daze hadn’t spoken to her in almost a year—not at school, anyway.

A group of students walked by, jostling her shoulder. April stumbled slightly but caught herself. One of Daze’s friends glanced at her with a quick, pitying smile before turning back to the group.

She sighed and found her locker, spinning the dial slowly. As she opened it, a small pink note fluttered to the ground.

“Meet me behind the science block after school.”

Her heart skipped. Was it… from him?

She turned it over. No name. No signature. Nothing.

April stared at it, torn between fear and wild hope. Her mind began spinning romantic scenarios—but she quickly shook her head.

“Get a grip, April,” she whispered to herself. “It’s probably just a prank.”

Still, as the bell rang and students shuffled to their classes, April folded the note neatly and tucked it into her journal. Just in case.

From the other end of the hallway, Daze laughed at something his friend said, his smile lighting up the entire corridor.

April looked once, then looked away.

Somewhere deep inside, a tiny hope bloomed again.

April’s pencil rolled off her desk for the third time that morning.

She ducked down quickly to retrieve it, cheeks red. A few snickers came from the back of the class. Mr. Rahim didn’t even pause in his lecture—he never noticed her, not really. No one did.

Except maybe… someone did. That note. It still burned in her pocket.

April stared at the chalkboard, pretending to focus. Her thoughts danced behind her eyes like jittery moths.

“Meet me behind the science block.”

She had checked the handwriting ten times. It wasn’t from any of her brothers. It wasn’t from her teachers. And Daze… well, he barely even glanced at her in class. He sat two rows over, near the window, drawing little shapes in his notebook while the girl beside him giggled at his every word.

She tried not to look at him—but failed. His head was tilted slightly, his lips curled into that lopsided smirk. His hair was a little too perfect. His shoes were actually clean—how did he do that?

Then he turned his head. Just a little.

April whipped around so fast her neck cracked.

He hadn’t been looking at her, had he?

No. Of course not.

By lunchtime, she was spiraling.

What if it was a prank? What if Daze’s gang found out she liked him and decided to mess with her? April imagined them all behind the science block after school, pointing and laughing, Daze leading them with that charming grin.

But… what if it wasn’t?

What if he had noticed her—just once? Maybe he remembered the promise too. Maybe he missed their garden days. Maybe—

“April!”

She blinked up. It was Daze’s mother, standing near the school gates with a lunch bag.

“Your mom asked me to drop this off! She said you forgot it. Silly girl,” she said fondly, patting her head like a toddler. “You need to eat properly or you’ll blow away!”

A few students turned. Some snickered.

April wanted to evaporate.

Daze’s mom waved goodbye and walked toward her car, calling out, “Tell your mother I’ll see her tonight!”

From the other side of the courtyard, Daze stared. Their eyes met for half a second.

April’s heart jumped.

He looked… blank. Then he turned back to his friends.

Lunchtime passed with April picking at her sandwich in silence. She watched the clock tick closer to the end of the day.

Science block. After school.

She didn’t know what was waiting there—but she had to go.

Because deep down, under all the clumsiness, April still believed in childhood promises.