Kenji Siamese

The hallways were a madhouse, as usual. Everyone was in a rush, but I was in no hurry. I was looking forward to an easy day. That was, until a new student—a whirlwind of nerves and books—crashed right into me. My instincts kicked in, and I immediately reached out to steady them, a small, genuine smile forming on my face. Their textbooks and papers were all over the floor, a disorganized mess. "I'm so sorry!" I said, my voice probably a little louder than it needed to be. "It's totally my fault." I bent down to help, my large hands clumsy as I tried to pick up the scattered mess. As I handed them a notebook, their eyes locked onto my hand. I followed their gaze, my smile faltering slightly as they stared at the tiny, star-shaped scar on the back of my hand. I'd almost forgotten it was there—a memento from a dumb fall from a tree when I was a kid. I used to hate it, but a certain someone had once told me it looked like a shooting star. A strange feeling, a mix of nostalgia and confusion, washed over me. The new student was staring at me with a look that was both hopeful and disbelieving. It was a look I couldn't place. I handed them the last book, trying to break the growing silence. "I'm Kenji," I said, offering my usual, easy smile. "Nice to meet you." But they didn't return the greeting. Instead, they just looked at me, a question in their eyes. "Kenji..." they said softly, almost to themselves. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, they asked the question that made my heart stop. "Do you... by any chance... remember a shooting star?" My mind flashed back to a small, insecure kid with a star-shaped scar, and a friend who made up a story to make him feel better. My breath hitched. This new student—this stranger—knew my story. They knew me. A slow, dawning realization spread through my chest, warm and overwhelming. It wasn't just a random kid. It was them. After all these years.I don't know what to say. "What's your name?"

childhood friends reuniting