MY GIRL ( Boy X Girl)

Part 1

I got ready for college while my headphones sing, "...I've got sunshine, on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May (ooh) I guess you'd say . What can make me feel this way?...." hummed along, as my hands worked to tie my Converse classic shoes. The shoes had seen better days, the canvas worn and the soles flat from overuse.

I glanced at my face in the mirror, letting my gaze linger there just for a second. Brown hair, a medium mullet that never quite looked neat. My eyes were green, nothing special. I stood 5'9", the height I always was, not bothering to check the reflection again.

I clicked my tongue, a quick sound to break the silence. Then, without another thought, I walked out of my dorm room.

✧✧✧

As I reached the college, the first thing I noticed was Mariana. She stood near the entrance, smoothing down her shirt with quick, precise movements, as if she needed everything to be perfect. Her skirt matched her top ~ dark red with white accents that popped against the green of the campus around her. Even her small high heels seemed like they belonged in a catalog, sharp and polished, tapping softly against the concrete.

Her face caught the light, a soft glow that hinted at just enough makeup to highlight what was already there. Her lips curved into a laugh, and for a moment, it felt like everything else faded. Her teeth were straight and white, her laugh light and carefree, the kind that made you want to know the joke. She was beautiful, in that effortless way that didn't try too hard but still left you staring.

I walked past her and her group of friends, my headphones still on, the music drowning out the chatter and laughter around me. I didn't look back. There was no point. Instead, I headed straight for my major class, the soles of my worn Converse scuffing lightly against the tiled floor.

When I stepped into the room, the professor was already there, leaning against his desk with that usual air of authority. He looked up as I entered, his expression shifting into something between curiosity and approval. "Caleb," he greeted, his voice carrying easily through the half-filled classroom. "How did you spend your holiday? Looking quite different."

"At home," I replied simply, nodding before heading straight to the back of the room. No point in dragging out the conversation.

"Simple answers as usual, Mr. Caleb," the professor said, watching me as I walked away.

The back row was always where I belonged - quiet, out of sight, and out of mind.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Mariana walked in with her friends. The sound of their heels clicking against the floor echoed as they made their way to the middle row, their laughter soft but unmistakable. She sat down gracefully, her movements calm and deliberate, while her friends shuffled into place around her

While the professor ramble on, his words blurring into a low hum in the background, my mind wandered. I was sinking deep into thoughts I'd been avoiding, thoughts that left a bitter taste of disappointment. One whole month in the gym, sweating it out, trying to get fit ~ and yet, I hadn't made a single move on Mariana.

I've thought about it so many times. Countless scenarios ran through my head, each more hopeless than the last. Should I just walk up to her when she's with her friends? The idea alone made my stomach twist. The way they huddled together, laughing and whispering, it felt like walking into a pack of wolves. Or maybe I could wait for her to be alone? But then, wouldn't that come off as weird? What if she got the wrong idea and thought I was some creep?

Maybe I should bump into her by accident ~ something casual, not forced ~ and then bring up something about class. Like asking her about the paper problems, even though I didn't actually have any. It could work. It might work. But what if I stammered? Or worse, what if she didn't even look up from her phone?
My jaw tightened as I stared blankly at the notebook in front of me, its pages still painfully empty. I tapped my pen against the desk, the rhythm matching the frustration building inside me.