Love Before Graduation

Just then Rian dropped onto the bench with a thud, like the world's biggest tragedy had somehow sunk into his shoes.

"Damn sneakers are ruined," he muttered to himself, poking at the dried mud stain like it wasn't just dirt, but a punishment stuck to him.

I turned my head. Tenzin followed, and shook his head the way someone does when even patience seems tired.

"Arin... you're the one who dragged us into this mess," Tenzin said. Less like a friend teasing, more like someone just too exhausted to pretend.

I raised an eyebrow. "Arin? What did he do now?"

Rian twisted his mouth, mock anger, but the tone was that of an elder sibling whining to a younger one.

"He's the one who said we should start tuition today. Of all days. When the damn city is drowning."

Arin was standing there. Not interested in taking blame. Not in the mood to defend himself either.

He gave a small smile—one that didn't reach the lips but curled in the corner of his eyes—like he knew too much but would never say it aloud.

He walked past us and sat down in the back row, like someone on trial who already knew the verdict.

But just before sitting, without sparing a glance at Rian—he looked at me. Direct. Unapologetic.

And said:

"Studies matter. And when something matters... you show up."

The words were meant for Rian.

But the arrow? It pierced right through me.

Something shifted in the room. Just because he was in it. Like the air turned heavier, like my chest remembered how to ache again.

Why does everything he says feel unfinished?

The teacher walked in then, adjusting his glasses, scanning the unfamiliar face in the back.

"You must be Arin?"

Arin stood up and nodded — steady, silent, as if to say, Yeah. So?

"Why are you sitting in the back? Come forward... yes, sit next to Aira."

It was like someone kicked me in the ribs.

The one person I was trying so hard to avoid—and now he was going to be inches away?

I lowered my head, fingers gripping my pen like it was the only weapon I had.

He walked over. Sat. Close. So close I could hear his breathing.

There was math happening in class.

But in my head?

Something entirely different was being calculated.

He leaned in—just enough, like he was whispering a secret meant to unsettle.

"How are you?"

I barely moved my lips. "Fine."

"Me too."

He said it like he wasn't answering me—but himself.

I looked at him. Same eyes. Same mystery.

"Why today?" I asked.

"Just felt like it."

The kind of answer a drunk might give if you ask why he drank.

"Why not?"

Then he asked, voice lower now:

"Do you remember... the first time we met? In the rain?"

I lied. "No."

But he smiled—that goddamn smile like he'd known the truth all along.

"I remember."

And just like that... silence.

---

I was silent.

He was close.

My heart? Far. Confused. Loud.

But what difference does it make?

In love, closeness doesn't matter. Nor does distance.

Only that one look—when someone sees you, and you forget who you are.

And I...

I was slipping out of myself. Slowly. Completely.

What are you doing to me, Arin?

Why does your silence feel like a scream inside me?