Episode 1: And the Day Began Like Any Other

“Oh, another Friday morning,” Amaranta groaned, dragging herself out of bed, exhausted from endless routine.

She skipped breakfast again, stuffing her books into her bag, silently counting the minutes to school.

Then she saw him — the boy she had quietly admired for three years, ever since seventh grade.

He glanced her way, briefly, unaware of who she was, and her heart skipped uncontrollably anyway.

By the end of the day, she wrote in her diary, “Three years of silent longing, and yet, one fleeting glance can still feel like magic.”

The next day, Amaranta was determined. She wanted him to notice her, to see that she existed.

She sat through every boring period, counting down the minutes, her excitement growing, and heart racing faster.

Finally, lunch break arrived. She waited, ready, hoping for a small chance, a smile, a glance.

But it never came. He didn’t notice her, didn’t even look in her direction once.

Her heart sank, disappointment heavy, yet somewhere inside, a quiet spark whispered: she would try again.

The next day, Amaranta woke with determination. Her heart raced as she imagined finally doing something — anything — to get him to notice her.

At lunch, she saw him standing by his carriage, surrounded by classmates. Her hands shook as she approached, heart thudding like a drum. She had rehearsed what to do a hundred times in her mind, but now that the moment had arrived, words deserted her.

Summoning every ounce of courage, she reached out and gently lifted his carriage, placing it beside him. She stood frozen, barely breathing, waiting for any sign, any glance.

He looked at her — only for a second — and said nothing. Amaranta felt her face burn red, nervousness twisting in her stomach. She could barely speak, barely moving, yet the world seemed to narrow to that single moment.

Finally, she returned the carriage to him, bowing slightly in embarrassment. She expected nothing, yet her heart swelled. For the first time in three long years, he had noticed her.

She didn’t need words. That fleeting glance, the smallest acknowledgment, was enough. She walked back to her friends, cheeks still hot, a quiet smile on her lips, feeling lighter than she had in years.

That night, in her diary, she wrote, “Today he looked at me. He didn’t speak, yet it was everything. I exist, and he noticed me. I finally exist.”

By the end of the day, Amaranta returned home, her steps light, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. She sank onto her bed, opened her diary, and began writing with a fervent energy she could barely contain.

“Today was… unbelievable. He looked at me. I don’t think he knows I exist, but it’s something. Three years, and I finally felt it — a tiny connection, a spark. I can’t stop smiling. My heart feels lighter than ever.”

She reached for her calendar and carefully placed a small, bright sticker on today’s date — a mark of triumph, a memory preserved. Even the sticker felt like magic, as if the world had acknowledged her joy.

Her thoughts wandered, imagining the days ahead. She wanted things between them to develop faster, to move beyond stolen glances and shy gestures. She reminded herself that he was a year older, in tenth grade while she was still in ninth, which made every step forward seem both thrilling and terrifying.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll try something small, just to be noticed again. Maybe a smile, a word, anything. I want him to know I exist — truly know me. I’ve waited three years for this, and I can’t let it slip away.”

Amaranta closed her diary, her heart still pounding, her mind racing with hope and excitement. For the first time in years, Friday felt extraordinary. Something had shifted, tiny but unmistakable, and it was enough to make her believe that perhaps one day, her silent longing could become something more.

It was a very weird dream, that very night. Amaranta couldn’t decide if her brain had gone on vacation or if it had joined a romantic movie without her permission. One minute she was scolding her alarm clock for existing, and the next—there he was. That boy. The one she pretended not to think about but secretly did.

In that dream, everything moved at lightning speed. They met, became friends, argued about small things, laughed until their stomachs hurt, fell in love, got married, and even had children who somehow looked exactly like the little sketches she doodled in her notebook. It was perfect—too perfect. And when she woke up, it vanished, like breath on glass. Just her ceiling fan spinning lazily, reminding her that real life rarely moved that fast, or that kindly.

She groaned and rolled over, muscles sore from all the tossing and turning. Apparently, even dreaming could be exhausting.

The next morning, Amaranta dragged herself out of bed, still feeling the weight of the dream clinging to her. At school, she decided to do something brave. She placed her carriage right beside his, hoping he would notice. And then she waited. Long minutes passed, each one stretching her patience thinner, almost painfully so.

Break time approached. Ten minutes left. She sighed and decided to grab a quick bite upstairs, planning to return and try again. But when she came back down, the carriage was gone. His carriage was gone. And with it, a small flicker of hope she had been clinging to.

By the time she met her friend, Amaranta felt like the day had already betrayed her. She told her friend everything—about the dream, the waiting, and the quiet disappointment when the carriage disappeared. Her voice was low, almost trembling, but her friend listened carefully, eyes soft with understanding.

“You did the right thing,” her friend said gently. “You tried. That counts more than you realize.”

Amaranta looked down, tracing the strap of her own carriage. “It just… feels so pointless sometimes. Like nothing will ever move the way it does in dreams.”

Her friend smiled faintly. “Maybe not like dreams. But little things… little hints, small gestures, they can be just as meaningful. You don’t have to rush anything. You don’t have to confess or shout it from the rooftops. Just… let him see that you care, slowly. That’s enough.”

Amaranta felt a quiet warmth. The sadness lingered, but it was softened by hope. She nodded, thinking about how small, careful actions might make a difference. How the days ahead might hold little surprises, if she just allowed herself to notice them.

And for the first time that morning, Amaranta felt that her dream hadn’t completely vanished—it was just waiting for reality to catch up.

That afternoon, Amaranta opened her diary again, her pen trembling slightly in her hand. She wrote down everything—the dream, the waiting, the tiny hope that still fluttered in her chest. She wrote it as if he might somehow notice it, somewhere, sometime. It was a long love. A long wait. And she knew that soon, perhaps in just a few months, he would not even be in the same school as her. All she had to do was hold on, patiently, and in three more months, maybe she could finally confess what her heart had been whispering all along.

And for the first time that day, Amaranta felt that her dream hadn’t completely vanished—it was just waiting for reality to catch up.

---

The next morning, Amaranta woke up with a mixture of excitement and dread fluttering in her chest. School felt different today—brighter, somehow, even though the sky was a dull gray. As she settled into her classroom, whispers reached her ears. Gossip, as always, traveled fast. Apparently, four couples were now dating in her class. Even the girl sitting beside her had a secret boyfriend.

Amaranta’s heart skipped. Inspiration surged through her. If they could do it, why couldn’t she? Today, she decided, would be the day. Today, she would confess her feelings to him.

She spent every spare moment preparing. She rehearsed in front of the mirror, over and over again—“I like you,” “I really like you,” “I’ve liked you for a long time.” Sometimes her voice cracked; sometimes she tripped over the words, but each attempt strengthened her resolve. By the time she reached school, she had practiced the confession a thousand times—maybe a million, in her dramatic estimation.

Her friend noticed the tension in her shoulders and the nervous fidgeting. “You’re ready,” her friend said, smiling. “I can feel it. Just… breathe. You’ve got this.”

Amaranta nodded, grateful for the encouragement. She recited her rehearsed lines once more, quietly to herself, feeling the words almost burn with anticipation. The whole day stretched before her like a long, exciting countdown.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. By the end of the day, dark clouds had gathered, and rain poured from the sky in relentless sheets. Amaranta stood by the school entrance, hoping for a moment alone to approach him—but the heavens were unrelenting. The rain drenched the playground, turning everything into a blur of gray and silver. Her carefully rehearsed moment slipped away, swept aside by the storm.

Her friend looked at her, shoulders sagging a little under the weight of disappointment. “Looks like the gods aren’t willing for you two to meet today,” she said gently. Amaranta couldn’t help but give a small, rueful smile. Even in frustration, there was a strange poetry to it.

She sighed, hugging her books to her chest. “Tomorrow,” she whispered to herself. “I will tell him tomorrow.” The thought of finally confessing still made her stomach flutter nervously, but the idea of having her friend’s support gave her courage she didn’t think she had. Even if she lacked the guts to say it alone, she could lean on someone who believed in her.

As the rain fell around them, Amaranta made a silent promise. She would not let the chance slip by again. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, she would find a way to finally speak the words that had been trapped inside her heart for so long.

And somehow, that thought made the gloomy, rainy day feel a little lighter.

The next day, Amaranta slowly began her journey. Her relentless pursuit, all the thoughts and plans she had rehearsed, seemed to drain her of ideas. Her mind raced for something clever, something perfect to say—but nothing came. She paused, took a deep breath, and decided to start with something simple.

Finally, she approached him. Heart hammering, palms slightly clammy, she looked at him and said, “Hi.”

It was just a single word, yet it carried all the weight of her hopes, her practice, and her longing. Amaranta felt her stomach twist with nervous anticipation as she waited for a response, unsure if the simplest greeting could ever capture everything she had rehearsed for so long.

Even in the uncertainty, a spark of courage remained. Perhaps this was the beginning. Perhaps, slowly, things could move from dreams into reality.

...----------------...