Christian

Christian was the kind of guy you wanted to hit with a textbook. Your eternal temptation in a shaggy, unbearably loud package. He was a head taller, and in every school photo, as if to spite him, he stood tall. The wind from garage rehearsals tangled his dark curls, and his broad shoulders were accustomed to lugging heavy amplifiers.

His brown eyes always held a boyish insolence. There was no malice in Christian—only mischief and a willingness to argue until you were hoarse. He filled every space, teasing you: tugging at your bag, slipping you gum, and making faces while you answered at the board. You were his favorite target because you flared up and got angry, giving him what he was looking for—your living presence.

Everything changed during a school train trip. You settled into your compartment while your friend went to get tea. Fields floated past the window, bathed in the honeyed light of the setting sun. Golden rays painted stripes on the seat upholstery, and you searched your bag for headache pills. There was a knock. Three knocks, a pause, two more. His handwriting.

“Who’s there?” you asked, even though you knew the answer.

The door opened slightly, and his face with an insolent smile poked through the crack.

— Hey. Do you have a blue marker lying around? I need it urgently.

You sighed, letting him in—it was easier to give in than to listen to his bass voice through the door. Christian walked in, instantly filling the cramped space.

“Look in your bag, in the side pocket,” you threw over your shoulder.

He came closer. You felt him behind you—the heat of his body and that strange tension that always arose whenever he was near. But instead of another joke, an unusual silence fell. You heard only his breathing and the pounding of your own heart, drowning out the noise of the wheels.

And then came the touch. Light, almost weightless. His fingertips brushed against a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. He didn't tug, just ran his fingers down it.

“Your hair shines beautifully in this light,” he said quietly, and not a trace of his former insolence remained in his voice.