Rainy February

The spark in her curls

Part 1: The Spark in Her Curls

I was sixteen when I first saw her, when I really saw her-Curly, as I came to call her. We had been in parallel classes since we were freshmen, and somehow, I had never noticed how the sunlight danced on those curls, how her dark brown eyes, smaller but captivating, seemed to hold secrets in their depths. She wasn't loud, not the kind of girl who commanded attention when she walked into a room. But when I noticed her, truly noticed her, it was like a spark inside me I couldn't ignore. She had this beautiful mark on her right cheek that somehow made her more real, more her.

But I was just me-a shy guy with a bit more muscle than fat, but I still saw myself as the chubby kid. She was confident in a quiet way, graceful even when she wasn't trying, and that intimidated me. Every time I thought about talking to her, my stomach would knot up, and I'd freeze. I'd watch her from afar, catch glimpses of her in the hallways, and wonder if she even knew I existed. But when we ended up in the same extra class-one of those after-school sessions for students who wanted to prepare better for English exams-it felt like fate was giving me a nudge.

I remember the day I finally worked up the nerve to speak to her. We were both leaving class, and I saw Curly walking alone ahead of me. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I pushed myself to catch up. "Hey, are you attending any English classes outside school?" It felt like such a lame question, but it was the only thing I could think of. I held my breath as she turned to look at me, her curls bouncing as she did. She smiled-God, that smile-and said she was. I couldn't believe I was actually talking to her, the girl I had been crushing on for months.

Well, we started going to the same English course, and I remember how awkward I felt walking into that first class with Curly. Our teacher, a lovely and energetic woman, only let me in after I barely passed her entrance exam. The moment I saw Curly, sitting close to a good-looking guy, something burned inside me-a mix of jealousy and insecurity. I thought, Maybe that's the guy she likes... He's slimmer than me. I caught myself feeling hurt, realizing how foolish I was being. Why did I assume girls would only like slimmer guys? It was one of those irrational insecurities that felt so real at the time.

But as the days passed, I learned that they weren't close at all. He was just another classmate. Relief washed over me when I found out that Curly was just as shy and awkward as I was when it came to conversations. It was almost endearing. Our teacher had this technique where each of us, about 8 or 9 students, had to tell a short story to each other during class. Every time it was my turn to speak to her, I noticed how she would blush, her cheeks turning a soft pink. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She could barely hold eye contact for more than three seconds before looking away shyly.

In those brief, stolen glances, I felt like we were sharing something-something that was just ours, hidden in plain sight. Each time she blushed, I felt my heart skip a beat, and it became clear: Curly wasn't just another pretty girl I had a crush on. She was different, and slowly, I was falling for her, piece by piece.