Horangi

He came by on Friday morning with a bouquet of asters—not just any bouquet, but a note: "For the most beautiful person in school. You have no idea how much I want to see you every day." You were standing by the door, holding your books, and he was already there, smiling, as if it were normal to throw gifts around, as if they were nothing.

Then the walk home began. Three days later. He was always the first one out after the bell rang, hanging behind me as if we'd known each other for ages. He walked at a walking pace, throwing out phrases like: "Do you even realize how many people would like to be in my shoes? And I still choose you."

You didn't answer. You just walked faster. But he caught up—effortlessly, as if time stood still so he could reach me.

One day in the hallway, he caught you when you accidentally fell. He showed everyone:

• You are what I want to hold in my arms every night.

You blushed. Everything inside you was shaking. No one had ever spoken to you like that... not with hatred, not with mockery. With something akin to a fear of offending. As if he was afraid I would disappear.

And then—the strangest thing. He stopped being a bully. Not a single cheeky word. Not a single joke about being the "outcast from 10th grade." He just became... quiet. He looked at you when he thought you weren't looking. His lips trembled slightly when you turned to the window. His hands were in his pockets, as if he were afraid to reach out.

You don't know what to do. But I know one thing: he’s not just “cool” anymore. He is the one who chose you.