The Quiet Crush || gxg

Chapter 1

My name is Ananya, though most people call me Anya here. I’ve grown up with one foot in two worlds, balancing my life as both an Indian and a Thai, though if you met me on the street, you’d probably just see me as another girl from Bangkok. But no matter how many years pass, no matter how much I adapt, I’ll always be a little bit of an outsider.

Even though I was born here, and my family has lived in Thailand for as long as I can remember, I’m still “the Indian girl” to people at school, to neighbors, even to some of my friends. It’s just the way it is. And honestly, it doesn’t bother me much. My parents are proud of their heritage, and so am I. I grew up learning Hindi alongside Thai, eating my mother’s Indian dishes alongside local flavors, and listening to Bollywood songs on the weekends.

In some ways, I think being a little different has always made it easier to be alone. I’m used to spending more time in my own company, finding comfort in the quiet. My parents have always supported me, but they’re busy with their business, often working late or traveling, so it’s been just me and my books for as long as I can remember.

That’s partly why college was such a shock. I was excited to start, of course—who wouldn’t be?—but stepping into this place felt overwhelming. College is loud, fast-paced, and full of people who seem so… familiar with each other, as if they were all in on a secret I’d missed. Everyone moves together, talks over each other, fills every silence with laughter or chatter, and I am simply here, observing. The background character in everyone else’s movie.

I thought maybe I’d meet people like me, people who’d rather keep to themselves or prefer a quiet conversation over a loud gathering. But in a week, I could see that wasn’t going to be my story. My role here was going to be what it had always been—the quiet girl, the one who’s there but never quite in the spotlight. The “topper” who always gets her answers right but stays out of sight. And that suited me just fine. I came here to study, to focus on my work, to excel quietly, as I always had. I didn’t need friends, and I definitely wasn’t interested in chasing after anything like love.

But then… she happened.

I noticed her on the third day of classes, sitting in the corner of the room with a book in hand. While everyone else was busy talking, she was calm, almost serene, like she was a part of the silence around her. I found myself watching her, curious about this person who somehow made the room feel quieter, even more balanced.

It was a strange feeling. I’d never noticed anyone like this before, never been so aware of someone’s presence. In my life of routines and careful solitude, she became a new constant—a small, quiet fascination I couldn’t explain. I told myself it was nothing, just a passing interest, but that didn’t stop me from looking for her. Each day, I’d wait for those small moments when I’d catch a glimpse of her across the campus or see her lost in thought in the hallway.

It was silly, I knew. I’d never had crushes before; I’d never let myself get carried away by anyone. But there was something different about her, something that made the ordinary seem extraordinary.

And that’s when I felt the first quiet spark—a curiosity I’d never felt before, something new that slipped past all the walls I’d built around myself.

The first time I truly noticed her outside of class was in the library. I’d slipped away to my usual corner, ready to bury myself in my books, when I heard laughter—loud, carefree, and completely out of place for the library’s usual hush.

I looked up, mildly annoyed at the interruption, only to realize it was her and a small group of her friends. They were all talking in low voices, giggling, but not low enough to go unnoticed. The librarian shot them a stern look, raising a finger to her lips. “Quiet!” she whispered, clearly irritated.

But she didn’t look embarrassed. She just grinned, nudging her friend, and tried to contain her laughter without much success. The group around her—equally amused—whispered back and forth, trying and failing to keep a straight face. It was chaotic and careless, completely different from the way I navigated college life.

Her name was Nam—one of those simple Thai nicknames that could mean anything, really. She wasn’t someone you’d notice for her academics; she got by just fine, but nothing more. But she was different in her own way—extroverted around her friends, relaxed, like she belonged anywhere she went. She didn’t have to hide or hold back. I doubted she even noticed when others were watching her.

As I tried to refocus on my book, my attention kept drifting back to her, to Nam. I couldn’t help but watch as she leaned into her friend, whispering something that sent them both into a new fit of laughter. The way they were so comfortable being loud in a place meant for quiet—it was strange but oddly captivating.

It made me wonder what that felt like, having people to laugh with over nothing at all, to be loud without thinking twice about it. I’d spent so much time on my own, always choosing the quiet over the chaos, never really needing anyone by my side. But at that moment, seeing Nam and her friends, I felt a small ache—a realization of something missing.

I knew it was silly. I had my goals, my studies, and I’d always been fine alone. But as I glanced back at her, catching glimpses of her easy smile, I found myself wondering what it would be like to be on the other side of that laughter—to be a part of it, just once.

_to be continued _