CHAPTER 13: OFFICIAL
1150 Words
The moment it becomes official isn’t loud or planned. There is no grand declaration in the school courtyard, no i********: post with a heart emoji, no group chat announcement that makes Andra scream. It happens quietly, on a Tuesday afternoon in the library, the same table by the window we’ve claimed for months.
We’re supposed to be reviewing for the upcoming college entrance exams. Books open. Highlighters uncapped. Pens moving. But neither of us is really reading.
Reagan closes his reviewer first. Sets it aside. Looks at me—not the quick glance he usually gives when he’s checking if I’m stuck on a problem. A long look. Steady. Like he’s made up his mind about something.
I feel it before he speaks.
He reaches across the table. Takes my hand. Laces our fingers the way he’s done a hundred times now. But this time he doesn’t let go.
“I want to date you,” he says. Voice low. Clear. No hesitation. “Officially. No more ‘closer.’ No more ‘just us.’ I want everyone to know you’re mine. And I’m yours.”
My heart stumbles. Not from surprise—from the weight of how much I’ve wanted to hear it said out loud.
I look at our hands. His thumb traces slow circles on my skin.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He exhales—like he was holding his breath longer than I realized.
“Okay?”
I smile. Small. Real.
“Okay.”
He stands. Walks around the table. Pulls me up. Hugs me tight. Face buried in my hair.
I hug back. Feel his heartbeat against my cheek. Fast. Like mine.
When we separate, he doesn’t kiss me right away. Just looks.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “We walk in together. Hand in hand. No hiding.”
I nod. “No hiding.”
The next morning feels different. Not because the sky is brighter or the air smells sweeter. Because I’m nervous in a new way. Good nervous. The kind that makes your stomach flutter instead of twist.
I meet him at the gate. He’s already there—blazer on, tie perfect, bag over one shoulder. Waiting.
When he sees me, the almost-smile appears. Then the real one. Small. Only for me.
He holds out his hand.
I take it.
We walk in together. Fingers laced. Not tight. Just there.
The first person who notices is Andra. She’s near the bulletin board, talking to someone from section B. She spots us. Freezes. Mouth opens. Then she grins so wide I think it might split her face.
“Oh my god,” she mouths.
We keep walking.
By the time we reach the third-floor corridor, people are looking. Not staring. Just noticing. Whispers follow us like leaves in wind.
“Is that Verano and Ty?”
“Since when?”
“Finally.”
Hiro sees us near homeroom. He’s leaning against a locker, laughing with debate friends. He looks over. Smile falters for half a second. Then recovers. Nods once. Small. Respectful.
Reagan nods back.
We don’t stop. Don’t explain. Just walk past.
In homeroom, we sit in our usual seats—me by the window, him in the back row. But when the teacher steps out for attendance sheets, he stands. Walks to my desk. Leans down.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi.”
He kisses my forehead. Quick. Public. Casual.
Then goes back to his seat.
The room erupts in quiet gasps and giggles.
Andra turns around from the row in front. Gives me a thumbs-up.
I smile. Face warm.
The day passes in small moments.
In physics lab, Mr. Alvarez pairs us again. We work side by side. Our elbows touch. No one comments. But everyone notices.
At lunch, we sit together for the first time. Not his corner table. Not my window spot. A middle table. Andra joins. Hiro joins too. It’s awkward for five seconds. Then it’s not.
Hiro smiles at me. “Congrats.”
I smile back. “Thanks.”
Reagan’s hand rests on my knee under the table. Light. Reassuring.
After school, we don’t go to the roof deck right away. We walk to the cathedral instead. Sit on the steps. Watch people pass.
He turns to me.
“How does it feel?”
“Official?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
I lean my head on his shoulder. “Like I can finally stop chasing.”
He kisses the top of my head.
“Good.”
We sit until the sun lowers. Then he walks me home.
At my gate, he stops.
“Tomorrow?” he asks.
“Tomorrow.”
He kisses me—slow, sure, in the golden light.
No rain this time. No misunderstanding.
Just us.
Dating.
Finally.
The rest of the week is small joys.
Friday morning, someone from the debate team teases him in the hallway.
“Finally got the girl, Ty?”
Reagan doesn’t blush. Just looks at me across the corridor. Smiles.
“Yeah.”
I smile back.
During volleyball practice, we’re on the same team again. I dig. He spikes. When we win a point, he high-fives me. Lingers. Fingers squeeze once.
Coach raises an eyebrow. Says nothing.
After practice, he waits outside the gym.
“Walk you?”
“Always.”
We walk. Hand in hand. No hiding.
At the gate, he kisses me goodbye.
“Good night, girlfriend.”
The word hits me soft. Sweet.
I smile against his lips.
“Good night, boyfriend.”
He laughs—quiet, real.
I go home smiling.
The weekend comes.
Saturday, he asks me to his house again. Parents are home this time.
I’m nervous. Meet-the-parents nervous.
His mom opens the door. Warm smile. “You must be Zhyra.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come in. Reagan’s in the living room.”
I step inside. House smells like adobo and fresh laundry.
Reagan appears. Casual shirt. Jeans. Hair still damp from shower.
He takes my hand. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
His dad is in the kitchen. Looks over. Nods. “Nice to meet you.”
We sit on the couch. Study. Talk. His mom brings snacks. Asks about school. About rankings.
Reagan answers most questions. I add when needed.
No interrogation. Just normal.
When I leave, his mom hugs me.
“Come back anytime.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
Reagan walks me to the car.
In the backseat, he holds my hand the whole ride.
At my gate, he kisses me.
“See you Monday.”
“Monday.”
The weeks pass like that.
Small moments piling up.
Hand-holding in hallways.
Library afternoons where we barely study.
Study dates at his house.
Roof deck sunsets.
Cathedral steps talks.
No rush.
No pressure.
Just dating.
Just us.
And it feels like the best thing I’ve ever chased.
Not first place.
Not the top rank.
Him.
- Writer
