Forever with You

I was never the type who belonged. Back in 9th grade, the classroom felt less like a place to learn and more like a cage where laughter was aimed at me instead of with me. I sat in the corner, head low, pencil scratching quietly, pretending I didn’t notice the whispers and snickers. Girls didn’t talk to me—except to joke. Silence was my only companion, and I had grown almost used to it.
That day, the classroom door creaked open, and our teacher stepped in with someone at her side. “Everyone, this is our new student. Treat her kindly.” Chairs scraped, heads turned. Mine stayed lowered, more out of habit than choice.
Then, against my will, I lifted my eyes. And there she was.
For one heartbeat—maybe less—her eyes found mine. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t smile, not yet. She just… saw me.
It felt like the world had shrunk around her. The hum of the fans, the rustle of papers, even the teacher’s voice—everything faded into the background. My chest tightened. My ears rang with the sudden awareness that someone was truly looking at me, not mocking, not indifferent.
I barely noticed when a classmate tapped me for a pencil. “Hey… can I borrow yours?” I fumbled, heart pounding, my fingers trembling. For a second, the mundane world returned—lines on paper, ink staining my fingers—but my gaze kept flicking back to her. Even sitting across the room, she filled it entirely, like sunlight spilling into a dark corner I never knew existed.
Later, just five minutes before the bell rang, the rest of the class had emptied, rushing down the halls in a chaotic blur. I stayed behind, slumped in my seat, lost in thought. She was gathering her books, moving with quiet grace. Her gaze flicked toward me—brief, casual—but it hit me like a spark. I didn’t know her name, yet my chest twisted in a way I couldn’t understand.
And then the bullies appeared. Five of them, sneering.
“Hey! Did you see him earlier? Staring at the new girl like a dog whose owner left him!” one spat, shoving me.
Fists and notebooks rained down. Pain and humiliation coiled around me, but I didn’t flinch. Not yet. My eyes never left her.
Her voice cut through the chaos. Calm. Clear. Fierce. “Stop. Or I’m calling the teacher.”
My chest thundered. My ears rang. My stomach twisted—not just fear, but something new: awe. Courage like hers didn’t exist in my world. I had never been the one to act. I had never spoken up for myself, much less for someone else. And yet, somehow, I knew I had to.
I pushed back my chair, knees weak, heart hammering like it would burst. “Leave her. Beat me if you want!” I shouted, voice trembling, but there was no going back.
The bullies froze for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, so the hero finally shows up! Come on, let’s see what you’ve got,” one sneered, circling me.
A shove sent me stumbling, a left hook grazed my cheek. Sharp, hot pain. My eyes watered, but I stayed on my feet. I wasn’t brave. I was innocent. Naïve. I didn’t know how this would end. I just knew I couldn’t let them hurt her.
Then the classroom door swung open. Our teacher’s voice cut through the chaos: “Stop this—now!”
The bullies froze. Their smiles faded. I was still standing, chest heaving, adrenaline thrumming. I looked at her—wide-eyed, clutching her notebook. Her quiet presence felt like a shield. Something unspoken sparked between us, warm and strange, like the first sun of spring.
We didn’t speak. Our eyes met again. And suddenly, the classroom disappeared. I wasn’t aware of desks or scattered books. I was aware only of her. My chest tightened. My heart raced.
Then one of the bullies shoved me from behind. I stumbled—and she stumbled with me. Our lips collided. Accidental, unplanned, yet… perfect.
In that instant, I wasn’t in the classroom anymore. I was in a sunlit garden, sunlight spilling over flowers, butterflies fluttering around, the air sweet and alive. Her hand rested lightly on my cheek, and I felt electricity run through me. My knees weakened, my stomach twisted. She leaned closer, deepening the kiss—long, unhurried, innocent yet intense.
I had kissed before, yes, many times, but never like this. Never with this feeling. My heart, my mind, my whole being felt new. She was a butterfly, delicate and alive, and I was a child discovering something magical for the first time.
When we finally pulled apart, the real world crept back—the empty classroom, scattered notebooks, faint echoes of the bullies. My cheeks burned, my heart refused to calm. I had felt something extraordinary. Something unforgettable. Something that would never let me be the same.
And I knew, deep inside me, that this was just the beginning.