A Crush Without A Name

I didn’t call it love.

Back then, I didn’t even know what to call it.

It was just a feeling that appeared quietly and slowly, like sunlight entering a room through a small window. I didn’t notice it at first, but once it was there, everything looked a little different.

After the day he brought the basket of chocolates and cake, I became more aware of him. Not in a dramatic way. I didn’t stare openly or talk about him with my friends. I just noticed him more than before. The way he walked into the classroom. The way he talked with his friends. The way he laughed without caring who was watching.

That smile…

That smile with the dimple.

Every time he laughed, something inside me softened. It wasn’t loud happiness. It was quiet and warm, the kind that makes you smile without knowing why.

But still, I told myself, this is not love.

I was only fifteen.

I had exams waiting for me at the end of two years.

I had dreams, fears, responsibilities.

So I kept everything inside.

We didn’t talk. Not even once. No “hi”, no “how are you”. Yet somehow, our eyes met again and again. During lessons. During intervals. Even when the classroom was full of noise, those few seconds of eye contact felt strangely calm, like the world paused just for us.

Sometimes, when I caught him looking at me, I quickly looked away. My heart would beat fast, and I’d pretend to be busy with my books. Other times, when I looked up and saw him already looking at me, I wondered how long he had been looking before I noticed.

I never knew the answer.

One day, during a free period, I was showing my friend a picture I had drawn in my free time. Drawing was something I did when my mind felt heavy. It helped me breathe. The picture wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.

Suddenly, a classmate grabbed it.

Before I could react, he ran around the classroom, showing it to everyone. My heart dropped. I felt embarrassed, exposed, like a part of me was being passed around without my permission.

And then—I saw him.

He was looking at my drawing.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just looked at it quietly, seriously, like it mattered.

That moment stayed with me.

Even without words, it felt like he saw something real.

Around that time, things started to become confusing.

I later heard that he had talked about me with his friends. He had said, “The girl who sits next to the long hair girl is my crush.” My heart raced when I heard that. For a second, hope rose inside me like a sudden wave.

But confusion followed quickly.

There were two girls with long hair in our class.

One was my friend, who sat next to me.

The other was another girl, who also sat beside someone with long hair.

Some classmates misunderstood. Rumors began to form, quietly but painfully. A few people believed it was me. Others believed it was her. Some didn’t care at all.

I didn’t say anything.

I just stayed silent, watching everything from a distance, like it wasn’t about me—even though it was breaking me slowly inside.

Then came the term test.

On one of the exam days, I sat beside him.

He was on my right side.

That alone made my heart feel full.

But then something else happened. I had forgotten to bring my pencil case. Panic filled me. I didn’t know what to do. Exams were serious, and teachers didn’t like excuses.

Without hesitation, he gave me his pen. Then more—whatever equipment I needed at that moment. He didn’t make a big deal out of it. He didn’t tease me. He just helped.

That simple act meant more to me than he could ever know.

For the rest of the exam, even though I was focusing on the paper, I was aware of him beside me. His presence felt comforting, like I wasn’t alone anymore.

Because of the upcoming major exam the next year, the school started extra study sessions—even during what would normally be holidays. Most students complained.

I didn’t.

I was happy.

It meant I could see him more.

One day, his friends were absent, and he was alone in the classroom. I walked in and noticed him trying to say something, but he stopped. The words never came out.

That evening, I saw him talking with his friends outside. As I passed by, I barely heard him say, “I like that girl.”

My heart skipped.

A month and a half passed like this—silent, confusing, full of unsaid things.

One day, while walking with my friends to buy snacks, I saw him again. He was walking toward us, his friends behind him. And again, I heard him say, “That girl is my crush.”

One of his friends laughed and said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll make you two get together.”

I pretended not to hear.

But inside, I was shaking.

When I returned to the classroom, his friends were singing. I accidentally looked straight into his eyes. Just for a second. Then I looked away quickly, my face burning.

I ran out of the classroom.

Not because I didn’t like him.

But because I was scared.

I was a medium student. Not the best, not the worst. He was better than me academically, and he was especially talented with computers. I was afraid that if this continued, both of us would lose focus. I didn’t want to be the reason his future suffered.

So I made a decision.

I stopped giving hints.

I stopped paying attention openly.

I tried to focus only on my studies.

I didn’t remove him from my heart completely—but I hid everything very well.

I thought he would do the same.

I was wrong.

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