Glances

Ever since that walk home with Eric, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Every memory of that brief, quiet conversation haunted me. I told myself it was curiosity—but I knew it was more. His soft smile, the way he looked at me without pretense, how his voice seemed calm yet alive—it lingered in my mind like a song I couldn’t stop humming.

The next morning, I walked into school with an unusual mix of excitement and nervousness. My sneakers scuffed the hallway floor, and I felt every eye, every glance, as if they were noticing my heartbeat before I even felt it myself. And then I saw him. Eric. Leaning casually against the wall by the lockers, his blue eyes scanning the crowd until they found me.

My stomach flipped. I wanted to look away, to act casual, but I couldn’t. Not when he smiled that faint, effortless smile—like he knew I was watching him and didn’t mind. And for some reason, I didn’t mind either.

During class, I found myself glancing at him across the room. He wasn’t doing anything remarkable—just taking notes—but even that made my chest ache. I noticed how his pen moved with precision, the way he occasionally tilted his head as he thought. Every detail was suddenly magnified in my mind. I felt like a stranger in my own body, both excited and terrified.

At lunch, Anna noticed my distraction immediately. “You’ve got that look,” she said, smirking. “The one you get when Eric’s around.”

I blushed, trying to cover it with a laugh. “I’m not thinking about him,” I said too quickly.

Anna leaned closer, teasing. “Jane… you like him. Don’t fight it.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but the truth was undeniable. I did. I didn’t just like him—I wanted to know everything about him. The sound of his voice, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he seemed to carry himself with calm confidence… it made my chest both heavy and light at the same time.

Basketball practice that afternoon was almost unbearable. I could feel him watching me from the railing, silent but attentive. Each time our eyes met—even for a brief second—my heart jumped. I wanted to wave, to smile, to say something witty—but words abandoned me.

By the time I walked home, my thoughts were a tangled mess. I kept replaying the moments of the day in my mind. The way he had looked at me, the subtle tilt of his head, the quiet attention in his gaze—it felt like he was already part of my world, even if we hadn’t spoken much.

That night, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to sit beside him again, to laugh at a joke he made, to feel the warmth of his presence close enough that I could reach out and touch it. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was already counting the hours until tomorrow, when I might see him again.

And I realized something: I wanted more. More moments. More words. More glances that made my heart race. I wanted to be near him.

Even if it scared me.

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