Love Vs Logic

Chapter 5: Unexplainable feeling

I woke up earlier than usual that morning, though I couldn’t exactly explain why. My alarm hadn’t even rung yet, and there I was, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the electric fan above me. For a moment, I tried to convince myself it was just habit or maybe a misfire of my internal clock. But deep down, I knew the truth. Ever since I started noticing Hanna more or maybe I should say, ever since I allowed myself to notice her, mornings had been different. They carried a strange tension, like I was preparing for something I couldn’t control. And I hated that feeling.

I turned on my side, staring at the scattered books on my desk. Physics, mathematics, even a thick volume on neuroscience that I picked up just to remind myself that the brain was nothing more than firing synapses and chemical reactions. Love? Attraction? It was nothing more than oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin. A survival mechanism. A trick of evolution. I repeated that to myself as if it were a prayer, which was ironic, considering I didn’t believe in prayers.

Still, the thought of seeing her today gnawed at me. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t excitement. It was something more complicated, a kind of pull I couldn’t rationalize away no matter how many times I tried. And that irritated me.

Dragging myself out of bed, I went through the usual motions. Shower. Uniform. Breakfast. My parents were at the table when I got there, both of them looking as tired as ever. My father hid behind his newspaper, while my mother scrolled on her phone, occasionally making a comment about someone’s kid getting into this or that prestigious program.

When she glanced at me, I braced myself. “Louis, did you ever think about joining a church group? You know, broaden your circle a bit?”

There it was. The morning sermon.

I set my spoon down a little too hard. “I already have a circle, Mom. School, classmates, that’s enough.”

“Classmates aren’t the same as real community,” she said without looking up. “You isolate yourself too much. That’s not healthy.”

My father lowered the newspaper just enough to add, “Your mother’s right. People need faith, Louis. Something to hold onto.”

“I have something to hold onto,” I said sharply. “It’s called reality.”

The silence that followed was thick. My mother sighed, shaking her head. “You’re going to regret talking like that one day.”

Maybe I would. Maybe I wouldn’t. But I didn’t want to think about it now. Grabbing my bag, I muttered a quick goodbye and left before they could push the conversation further.

The walk to school was uneventful, but my mind wouldn’t shut up. Every step echoed with the same cycle: chemicals, illusions, denial. I thought about how pathetic it was that someone like me, who prided himself on logic and independence, could be undone by something as absurd as a girl’s smile.

When I got to the gate, I caught myself scanning the crowd before I even realized it. And there she was. Hanna.

She was laughing at something her friend said, her hands clutching her books close to her chest. The morning sun seemed almost conspiratorial, highlighting her hair, her features, the way she tilted her head when she laughed.

I looked away immediately, heat rising in my ears. Ridiculous. I wasn’t going to give myself away like some lovesick fool.

Still, fate had its cruel humor. Just as I was about to slip past, Hanna noticed me. “Louis!” she called out, waving.

I considered pretending I hadn’t heard. But that would’ve been too obvious, too rude. So I stopped, turned, and forced a casual nod. “Morning.”

She jogged up to me, her bag bouncing slightly against her shoulder. “You’re early today.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I said, keeping my tone flat.

Her eyes softened, just a little. “Too much studying again?”

“Something like that.”

We walked into the building together, her chatter filling the silence I usually cherished. She talked about the quiz in literature, about how she barely finished reading the assigned text. I answered with short replies, though I found myself listening more closely than I intended.

By the time we reached the classroom, a few of our classmates had already noticed. Whispers followed us in, not subtle at all.

“They look close, don’t they?”

“Do you think they’re—”

“No way, it’s Louis. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”

Hanna either didn’t notice or pretended not to. I, on the other hand, felt the weight of every glance, every murmur. I hated being scrutinized, reduced to gossip.

When the teacher finally entered, I almost sighed in relief. At least class would distract me.

Or so I thought.

Later that morning, I headed to the library, my usual escape between periods. I expected peace and quiet. Instead, I found Hanna again. She sat at one of the long tables near the window, books spread out around her.

She looked up when I entered, smiling. “Hey. Need company?”

“Not really,” I said, but I sat across from her anyway.

She laughed softly. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t like people.”

“I don’t dislike people. I just… prefer space.”

“Fair enough.” She tilted her head, studying me. “But you keep ending up in the same spaces I’m in. Coincidence?”

“Statistically probable,” I said quickly.

“Or maybe not.”

Her smile made me uneasy, but I kept my eyes on my notes. We studied in silence for a while, though it wasn’t the suffocating kind. Every so often, she’d glance at me, and I’d pretend not to notice.

I remembered whta she asked the other day, “Louis, do you ever think about the future?”

I looked up, surprised by the sudden question. “The future?”

“Yeah. Like… where you’ll be ten years from now. What kind of life you want.”

I hesitated. “I’ll probably be working in some lab. Research. Discoveries. Something useful.”

She nodded slowly, then smiled. “That suits you.”

“And you?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Her expression softened. “I want a family. A good one. A husband who shares my faith, kids who’ll grow up knowing God. I don’t care about being rich or famous. I just… want that kind of home.”

The words lodged in my throat. A wall rose between us, invisible but undeniable. I forced a shrug. “Simple dream.”

“The best kind,” she said firmly.

We went back to studying, but my mind was no longer on the page. Her words echoed, clashing with everything I believed, or didn’t believe. And yet, instead of pulling away, I felt myself drawn closer.

At lunch, things got worse. Or maybe better. I wasn’t sure.

I usually ate alone. It was easier. Less noise, less conversation. But that day, Hanna appeared beside me with her lunchbox.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked.

I stared at her. “Why?”

“Because food tastes better with company.” She sat before I could protest.

We ate quietly at first. Then she folded her hands, bowed her head, and whispered a short prayer. I watched, caught between irritation and… something else.

When she opened her eyes, she caught me staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“You think it’s silly.”

“I think it’s unnecessary,” I corrected.

She smiled, unbothered. “Maybe. But it gives me peace. Doesn’t hurt anyone.”

I wanted to argue. To dismantle her reasoning with logic. But I didn’t. Instead, I just watched her eat, and for the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t feel heavy.

That night, back in my room, I lay awake again. My parents were right about one thing: I was isolating myself. But not for the reasons they thought.

I wasn’t afraid of people. I was afraid of this, of feeling something I couldn’t explain, of being pulled into a world I didn’t belong to. Hanna wasn’t mocking me. She wasn’t toying with me. She was simply… herself. Honest. Unwavering.

And that terrified me more than anything else.

As I closed my eyes, I told myself it was just chemicals again. Just neurons firing. Just biology. But the warmth in my chest said otherwise.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure which voice was telling the truth.