CHAPTER 2: "OUR WORLD"
1090 Words
Our time together was good. Really fun.
The kind of fun that made me forget about money, about problems at home, about everything.
Sometimes I’d walk you home.
We’d take the long route on purpose. Pass by the plaza, stop at the sidewalk to buy fishballs, talk about stupid things until your street came into view. Then we’d stand there for 10 minutes pretending we weren’t saying goodbye yet.
Sometimes I’d eat lunch with you and your friends.
I’d bring extra. You’d steal my fries. Your friends would kick us under the table and whisper, “Just admit it already.” And we’d both pretend we didn’t hear.
There were days I’d go to your house just to work on our school project.
Your room smelled like erasers and hot chocolate. Your desk was always messy with highlighters, notebooks, and that one stuffed bear you said you didn’t care about but kept on your chair.
Everything felt normal on the outside.
Two girls working on a project.
But inside it felt like so much more.
I still remember one afternoon at your house.
It was raining. The power went out for a bit so we lit a candle.
You were sitting at your desk, focused on drawing a poster for class. You had that look — tongue out a little, super serious, brows furrowed like the world depended on that one line.
I couldn’t help it.
The room was quiet except for the rain.
I leaned over and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek.
You stopped drawing for a second. Your pen froze mid-stroke.
Then you smiled, really big, and pulled my face closer with both hands.
“Again,” you said softly. Like you were asking for candy.
So I did. Another small kiss on your cheek.
My heart was pounding like crazy, but you just laughed and went back to drawing like nothing happened. Like my whole world didn’t just flip.
Later, when I was finishing up my part on the floor, you laid down beside me.
The candle was flickering between us.
You reached up and held my face in your hands for a second. Your thumbs brushed under my eyes.
No words. Just that look.
Like you wanted to say something but were scared.
In that moment, I knew. We both felt it.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
So I confessed. Over text first, because I was a coward.
`Me: Can we talk? I like you. Like more than friends.`
You read it. 2 minutes passed. 5 minutes.
`You: Can we talk tomorrow? In person?`
The next day at 7/11, I asked you out properly.
My hands were shaking holding my iced coffee.
“I like you,” I said. “Do you… do you want to try? With me?”
And you said no.
Then I asked again a week later.
No.
A month later.
No.
After the school fair.
No.
After you won that competition.
No.
After your birthday.
No.
After graduation practice.
No.
After I helped you with your portfolio.
No.
After your lola got sick and I stayed with you at the hospital.
No.
After we got drunk at your friend’s party.
No.
After you cried to me about your parents.
No.
After our 3rd year anniversary of being “friends.”
No.
Thirteen times I got rejected.
Thirteen times I went home and cried into my pillow and told myself to stop.
But I didn’t give up.
Because deep down, I knew. We both felt the same.
Even if your words said no, your eyes said yes.
Even if your mouth said “let’s just be friends,” your hands would still find mine under the table.
For almost 4 years, we had our own little world.
A world built on almosts and maybes and “what ifs.”
4 years of “what if we started on day one?”
4 years of “what if you said yes the first time?”
You were everything the school wanted.
Top 5. Awards. Always representing the school in debates and competitions.
Teachers used you as an example. “Be like her.”
Me? I was building something different.
Orders to fulfill. Customers to reply at 1am.
A sewing machine at home that sounded like a heartbeat.
Fabric everywhere. Measuring tapes in my bag.
“You’re smart in a different way,” you told me once while watching me cut fabric on your floor.
“You’re building something with your hands. I’m just memorizing things.”
We had our spots.
The plaza bench where we first talked about dreams.
The 7/11 corner table where we studied until closing.
Your room where we pretended we were just working.
Your friends who covered for us. “They’re just project mates,” they’d tell people.
Under the table, a quick squeeze of my hand.
In the hallway, you’d “accidentally” bump my shoulder and smile.
In group chats, you’d reply to me first.
We even made plans. Real ones.
“You handle the sewing, I’ll do the marketing. We’ll open a shop together,” you said one night.
“We started as groupmates,” I laughed. “Let’s end as business partners.”
I really believed it.
I believed that if I waited long enough, if I loved you enough, the 14th time would be a yes.
Because the girl who said no to me 13 times...
still chose to stay with me for 4 years.
Still texted me goodnight.
Still called me when she was scared.
Still let me kiss her cheek when no one was watching.
I thought that meant something.
I thought that meant we were getting there.
But I was wrong.
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