ch 1.always almost

Xin Ran noticed the empty seat beside her before she noticed anything else.

The classroom buzzed with the usual morning noise—chairs scraping, friends calling out greetings, pages flipping—but that chair remained quiet. Sunlight streamed through the window and rested there, warm and patient, as if waiting for someone who always came a little late.

She told herself not to stare.

Just as she looked away, footsteps approached.

“Morning, Xin Ran.”

Qin Yang dropped into the seat beside her, his voice bright and familiar. He smelled faintly of soap and the morning air. Xin Ran’s fingers tightened around her pen, her heart reacting faster than her thoughts.

“Morning,” she replied, keeping her eyes on her notebook.

The teacher began the lesson, but Xin Ran struggled to focus. Qin Yang leaned forward when he concentrated, his sleeve brushing hers now and then. Each time it happened, her heart jumped, even though she pretended not to notice.

A folded note slid onto her desk.

Did you finish the homework?

She nodded and quietly pushed her notebook toward him. When he reached for it, their fingers touched—just barely. Xin Ran froze, her breath caught in her throat. Qin Yang smiled casually and pulled the notebook closer, unaware of the moment he had just created..

“Thanks,” he whispered.

At lunch, they sat together by the window, sharing half their meals like it was routine. Qin Yang talked about random things—games, teachers, plans for the weekend—while Xin Ran listened, smiling and responding softly. She liked these moments, where she could simply exist beside him without explaining anything.

Occasionally, Qin Yang glanced at her and smiled, and she wondered if he ever felt the same quiet warmth she did.

After school, they walked home together. The sky glowed orange, and the air felt cooler. Their shadows stretched long across the road, almost touching.

“Do you ever feel like days go by too fast?” Qin Yang asked suddenly.

Xin Ran looked at him, surprised. “Sometimes.”

He nodded, hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Me too.”

They reached the familiar crossing where they always stopped. Cars passed by, and the moment felt fragile, like something important was supposed to happen there.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Qin Yang said.

“Tomorrow,” Xin Ran replied, forcing a smile.

She watched him walk away, her chest tight with words she had practiced so many times in her head.

I like you.

The words stayed trapped inside her.

Xin Ran turned toward home, wondering when things had started to feel this way. Maybe they always had. Maybe she had just been too afraid to notice.

They weren’t strangers.

They weren’t just friends either.

They were something in between—close enough to matter, far enough to hurt.

Always waiting.

Always hesitating.

                             Meanwhile

Qin thoughts

Xin Ran was already there when I walked into the classroom.

She usually is.

I don’t know why i always look for her seat first—it’s just a habit, he guess. Still, seeing her by the window feels… right. Like the day starts properly only after that.

“Morning,” i said, dropping into the chair beside her.

She looked up for a second and smiled. That quiet smile. The one that never tries too hard. For some reason, it makes me want to talk more than usually do.

During class, i borrowed her notebook again. he always do. She never complains. our fingers touched for a split second when I took it, and i felt something strange—like a pause i couldn’t explain. When I glanced at her, she was already looking away.

Maybe I imagined it.

At lunch, we sat by the window like always. I talked about random things, mostly nonsense, but she listened like it mattered. Sometimes I catch her smiling at the smallest details, and it makes me want to keep talking, just to see that smile again.

I wonder if she knows how easy it is to be around her.

After school, we walked together. The sky looked nice today. I almost said something then—something important—but the words didn’t come out right. They never do.

When we reached the crossing, I felt it again. That quiet moment where it feels like I’m standing on the edge of something.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said instead.

She repeated it softly, like she always does.

Walking away, I felt an odd pull in my chest. I don’t know what to call it. I just know that when I imagine not sitting next to her tomorrow, it feels wrong.

Maybe she’s just a friend.

Or maybe… it’s something else.

I’ll think about it tomorrow.

I always do.

Always… almost.

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