ONE SHOT STORIES [english]

For The Better.

For The Better.

Elyza POV.

I first noticed him during one of those lazy Friday rehearsals where everyone's half-tired from the week.

The music room was warm, a little too warm for comfort, and the air smelled faintly of brass polish and old wood.

Chairs were scattered around, cables snaking across the floor, and people were still unpacking their instruments.

I was standing near the mic stand, flipping through my lyrics, when my eyes drifted to the back of the room.

That's when I saw him.

Kei. The drummer.

He was leaning slightly against his stool, drumsticks tapping absentmindedly against his thigh.

There was this small smile on his face as he chatted with the bassist, the kind of smile that made you feel like you'd known him for years even if you hadn't said a single word to him.

His laugh I could hear it even over the noise of people tuning guitars and talking was light, almost careless, like the week hadn't weighed him down at all.

I didn't know him, not really. We'd never talked.

The most I knew was his name from roll call and the way people in the band seemed to like him right away.

He looked like the type who could walk into any room and already be friends with half the people there in five minutes.

Still, I kept glancing back at him. Not on purpose, or at least that's what I told myself. My eyes just... found him, like they were skipping over everything else in the room to land there.

When rehearsal started, I tried to focus on my lyrics, on staying in key, but the steady beat of his drums kept pulling me in. It wasn't just sound — it was him.

The way his head tilted slightly when he played. How he looked so at ease, like the whole world made sense when he had drumsticks in his hands.

I told myself I was just noticing. Just curious. But a small, stubborn part of me already knew I was lying.

Even outside the music room, I'd catch myself looking for him without meaning to.

We weren't even seatmates. He sat a few rows to my left, close enough that I could see the back of his head but not close enough for casual conversation.

Sometimes I'd be scribbling notes when a ripple of laughter would run through the room, and there he'd be leaning back in his chair, talking to someone like they'd been best friends forever.

He had this way of making people relax around him. I noticed it the most when he spoke to the quieter ones, the kind who didn't talk much in class.

He'd ask something small, like where they bought their snacks or if they had an extra pen, and suddenly the whole table would be laughing about something random.

One time, during a group activity, he called out to me from across the room. "Elyza! You've got the markers, right?"

I didn't, but my heart still jumped a little at the sound of my name in his voice. I shook my head and pointed to another classmate, trying to act normal. He just grinned and gave me a small thumbs-up before turning back to his group.

Another time, he actually did borrow my pen. No "Hi" or "Excuse me," just this quick, easy reach across my desk and, "Thanks, I'll give it back later."

The way he said it, like we'd been doing that for years, caught me off guard. I remember watching his hand as he wrote, noticing how he spun the pen between his fingers when he paused to think. I told myself it was just boredom making me notice.