I WISH I NEVER DID

The cafeteria buzzed with life, trays clattering, laughter bouncing off tiled walls, the smell of overcooked rice and cheap­­­­­­ coffee lingering in the air. Eli stood in the line, headphones in, lost in a world of muffled beats. He wasn’t paying much attention – not to the student behind him humming to herself, or to the way the sunlight poured in through the glass ceiling like honey. Until he stepped forward, turned a little too fast, and collided with someone holding a tray. ~Crash. A glass of juice tipped, a bowl of something unidentifiable splattered, and a voice gasped, “Oh no –” Eli’s heart dropped. “I – I’m so sorry,” he stammered, tugging his headphones down and instinctively reaching out to help. “I didn’t see you –” “It’s okay” she said, a voice calm but a little embarrassed. “Just juice” And then he looked up. There she was – Lina. A girl he might have seen but never really noticed. Curly hair tucked loosely behind her one ear, an old denim jacket over her inner white T-shirt, and eyes that didn’t look annoyed – just.... curious. She knelt beside him, helping him gather the mess. For a second, their fingers touched. Something strange happened in Eli’s chest. Not dramatic, not magical. Just... something. They stood. The line kept moving. Life resumed like nothing happened. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again. “I’ve survived worse,” Lina smiled. “Though this cafeteria’s food might be the real threat.” Eli chuckled. “Want me to get you another juice?” She shrugged. “Only if you’re not clumsy this time.” And just like that, she walked off – not waiting for a reply, not turning back. Eli stood there, tray still half-empty, headphones dangling at his neck, unsure if he’d just made a mess or stumbled into a moment that might stay with him forever. Eli couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not in an obsessive way. Not yet. Just in that quiet, curious way – that slips in during class when the teacher’s voice fades, or when the cafeteria door creaks open and he half-expects her to walk in again. But she didn’t. Not that day. Not the next either. It wasn’t until Friday, after school, that he saw her again – sitting alone under the sycamore tree at the edge of the soccer field. Headphones in. Sketchbook open across her lap. He told himself to keep walking. But his feet didn’t listen. “Lina, right?” he asked, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying not to look nervous. She looked up, surprised but not annoyed. “The juice assassin.” He smiled. “That title’s gonna stick huh?” “Maybe forever,” she replied, tapping her pencil against her knee. “Sit?” Eli hesitated, then dropped his bag beside hers. For a while they just watched the soccer team practice – shouts, whistles, cleats against the grass. She went back to sketching. “What are you drawing?” he asked. She tilted the sketchbook just enough for him to see – not a person, but a moment. The cafeteria floor. A spilled tray. Two hands brushing against each other. “You remember it like that?” “It was a little chaotic,” she said, eyes still on the page. “But....quiet too, isn’t it” He nodded, though he didn’t fully get it. Not yet. “Why’d you draw it?” he asked. Lina paused, tapping the page gently. “Because sometimes, a moment doesn’t wait to become important. It just is.” Eli didn’t say anything to that. There wasn’t much to say. He just looked at her – this girl who noticed things most people didn’t. Who turned messes into memories. Who drew moments he barely understood. He didn’t know it yet... But that was the day she stopped being a stranger. And the beginning of the only chapter of his life he would never truly be able to close. Eli didn’t tell his friends about Lina. Not yet. He wasn’t even sure that was something to talk about. All they’d done was sit beneath a tree, share a few quiet jokes, and watch the world watch the world move around them like it didn’t know they were there. But something about it lingered. The next week, they crossed paths more often. It wasn’t planned – at least, not always. A glance between class changes. A wave across the hallway. A shared seat on the school bus, even though there were plenty of others. Lina never said much. But when she did, it stayed with him. Like Thursday afternoon. They were walking towards the school gate – slowly, not really in a rush to go home. “You always look like you’re thinking about something heavy,” she said suddenly. Eli raised a brow. “I do?” She nodded, hugging her sketchbook against her chest. “Like you’re carrying a whole universe in your head.” He gave a soft laugh. “Maybe I am. Maybe you just caught me on my deep days.” Lina stopped walking. “Tell me one thing from that universe.” He blinked. “Now?” “Now.” Eli looked ahead – people rushing out of school, teachers waving goodbye, friends calling each other’s names. “I don’t think people really see me,” he said quietly. “I mean... they know I exist. But they don’t see me.” Lina didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked straight at him – eyes soft, lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “I do,” she said. Two words. And yet they cracked something open in him. No one had ever said it like that. Not with certainty. Not with that kind of calm honesty. The gate loomed ahead, and so did the end of the day. But something had shifted between them. Not loudly. Not with fireworks. Just enough to make Eli realize – he was starting to fall. And he didn’t even know if she’d catch him. Interlude: The Glance That Stayed That night, Eli couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t used to people seeing past the surface – most just like the version of him that smiled on cue, cracked jokes, and kept it light. But Lina ... she saw more. Or maybe she chose to. “I do.” Just two words, yet they looped through his mind like a quiet song with no ending. He sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his playlist on his phone without listening to it, replaying every second of their walk. What was it about her? The way she listened without trying to fix him? The way she saw through silence instead of trying to fill it? He didn’t know. But something inside of him whispered: This could mean something. And something deeper replied: Don’t get your hopes up. He wasn’t in love. Not yet. But something was beginning. Something that would either save him...or break him.