He's just a boy from the next class
828 Words
The next morning felt off.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t slept. Not really. I had lain in bed with my arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.
I replayed everything from the way Simon’s voice cracked to the way he wiped his tears and even the way he looked at me as if I were someone he might be able to trust.
Every second of it clung to my skin like a memory I didn’t want to wash off.
When I got to school, the air felt different. Or maybe it was just me.
The halls were louder, full of chatter and footsteps and the sharp clatter of lockers slamming shut. Students passed me by in little groups, laughing, talking about weekend plans, hairstyles, new games, and gossip. None of it mattered.
My heart felt heavier than my backpack.
As I reached my class, I slowed. Just for a second.
Class 2B was across the hall.
Simon’s classroom.
The door was shut.
I didn’t know what I expected—that he’d be standing there, waiting? That he’d see me and nod? Smile? Glance?
Of course not.
He wasn’t in school.
And even if he was… we weren’t friends. Not officially. Not publicly. Not in a way anyone else would understand.
He was just a boy from the next class.
That’s what everyone thought. That’s what I wanted them to think.
Because if anyone found out that I had run barefoot through traffic, bruised and breathless, just to reach him…
They’d laugh. Or worse, they’d ask questions.
And I didn’t have answers. Not yet.
The first period dragged on.
I couldn’t focus. I kept glancing at the empty desk by the window in Class 2B whenever I passed by.
People still whispered about him. Not with sympathy anymore—just curiosity. The kind that fades quickly once something more exciting comes along.
Did you hear what happened to that Simon guy?
Car crash, both parents dead.
He hasn’t come back to school since.
He was always kind of quiet though, right?
They didn’t know him.
Not really.
They didn’t know the way he clenched his fists when he was holding back tears. Or the way he laughed once, for a second, when I told him I wanted to be his friend.
They didn’t see him that day by the river. I did.
And now I couldn’t unsee it.
---
During lunch, I sat outside under the trees near the basketball court. Alone, as usual.
Gabriel found me. Dropped his tray beside mine and flopped onto the bench.
“You good?” he asked, chewing with his mouth half-full. “You look like your soul’s in another dimension.”
I didn’t answer right away.
He nudged me with his elbow. “You saw him, didn’t you?”
I turned slowly.
Gabriel raised a brow. “I’m not stupid, Jimmy. You don’t run across the school like a maniac and almost get yourself killed for someone you barely know—unless there’s a reason.”
I looked at my tray. I hadn’t touched my food.
“I don’t know what it is,” I said quietly. “I just… when I heard what happened… something snapped. Like I had to find him. Like I couldn’t breathe until I did.”
Gabriel’s chewing slowed. He studied me.
“You like him.”
I didn’t answer.
Because yes.
Yes, I did.
But it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t just some silly crush. It wasn’t about his hair or his voice or the way he wore that oversized hoodie like a blanket. It was the way his pain felt familiar. The way he made silence feel like a language.
Gabriel leaned back.
“I’ve seen the way you look at him before,” he said after a moment. “Like you’re trying not to look.”
I clenched my jaw. “Don’t tell anyone.”
He shrugged. “I won’t.”
And just like that, it was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only exists between people who’ve known each other long enough not to fill it with noise.
“He’s not coming back yet,” I said after a while.
Gabriel glanced at me. “You want to see him again?”
I nodded.
“I think he needs someone.”
Gabriel raised a brow. “And you think that someone’s you?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I want to try.”
He didn’t tease me. He didn’t call me dumb or dramatic.
He just said, “Then try.”
---
That night, I sat on my bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over my notes app. I thought about sending a message. About finding his number. About doing something.
But I didn’t.
Because I didn’t want to push him.
Because he was still grieving.
Because maybe, even now, I was still just the boy from the next class.
- Writer
