Chapter I
Hey, it's Lisa, and this is my story.
There's this girl I've been crushing on for ages, and only God knows how I am dying to talk to her. She's been my schoolmate since elementary school. We've shared a few classes, but I've never dared to talk to her because I might actually die if she even looked at me. No shit, bro! I don't know what I'd do to myself if she talked to me. Probably spontaneously combust on the spot.
Ah, yes, Myoui Mina, our school's illustrious shining star, blazing brighter than a supernova in our high school galaxy. Fluent in English, Korean, and the delicate art of heart thievery, she's not just a student; she's an enigmatic phenomenon. With a ketchup obsession rivaling a tomato's love for sunlight and a devotion to TWICE that could power a metropolis, Mina is the epitome of cool. When it comes to cheerleading, she's not just a team member; she's practically the squad's spirit guide, leading us through routines with unmatched zeal. And academics? Well, she's rewriting textbooks while the rest of us are still trying to decipher them.
"Then there's me, Lisa, the maestro of awkwardness and invisibility, tiptoeing through social minefields like a clumsy cat on a hot tin roof. Quiet, introverted, and perpetually flying under the radar, I'm more like a background extra than a main character in the high school saga. Math? It's my own personal black hole, where numbers vanish into oblivion, and where I once mistook the quadratic formula for my grocery list.
Every day, I find myself ensnared in the cliché of silently admiring Mina from a distance, feeling like a character straight out of a cringe-worthy teen drama. It's a tad creepy, I'll admit, but I can't resist the magnetic pull of her effortless perfection. Her laughter is a symphony, her smile a dazzling sunrise. And me? I'm the introverted bookworm, perpetually buried behind manga, comic books, and fiction novels about romance and GL, praying she doesn't catch me in my starry-eyed moments. If only she knew how many times I've daydreamed about sharing a genuine laugh with her, witnessing her radiant smile directed my way. But let's face it, I'd probably trip over my own shoelaces and end up face-first in a locker, or something equally mortifying.
Let's be real. I'm too scared to even say "hi." The thought of her looking at me, let alone talking to me, is enough to send my heart into a full-on panic attack. It's like trying to approach a goddess when you're a mere mortal. My tongue would probably tie itself into knots, and I'd embarrass myself in ways I didn't even think possible. I'd probably invent new ways to embarrass myself.
So, here I am, stuck in this never-ending loop of silent admiration and daydreams. Maybe one day, I'll muster the courage to actually talk to her. Or maybe I'll just keep admiring her from afar, content with the small glimpses I get of her perfect world. Who knows? All I know is, Mina is everything I wish I could be and everything I wish I could have.
In the meantime, I'll be over here, blending into the wallpaper, perfecting my wallflower skills, and trying not to trip over thin air.
Then high school hit, and things took a turn for the worse. Some classmates started picking on me because I'm not exactly the most outgoing person. I don't get it, really. What's the thrill in making someone else feel small? I've often wondered if their parents are just as mean—did they inherit it, or did they learn it somewhere?
I never really clicked with anyone at school, especially not the rich kids. You know the type—always complaining about something, threatening to shut down the school because they're related to some "big shot". And then there's me, with my simple attire—printed shirts and thrifted denim—standing out like a sore thumb. But my parents, they worked their tails off to send me to this fancy Catholic school known for its academic prowess, despite not being wealthy themselves.
Since I was a kid, I've known I like girls. Maybe it's because my dad was a bit of a ladies' man, or perhaps it's because my mom hammered strict gender roles into my head. I've got two brothers who are all about that "girls do this, boys do that" stuff, and I never quite fit into their mold.
As the final year of senior high kicked off, fate decided to give me a taste of its mischievous sense of humor—Mina and I ended up in the same class. It was like the universe looked down at me and said, "Hey, let's see how Lisa handles this!"
"Hi! You're Lisa, right?" she asked, her smile lighting up the room and turning my world upside down.
In that moment, my world suddenly flashed before my eyes. Every awkward glance, every clumsy interaction replayed in vivid detail. Gay panic set in, my brain short-circuited, and I could barely manage to breathe, let alone respond.
It was our first real conversation, and in that moment, I knew I was fucked...
