THE BOY WHO WAS NEVER MINE

I didn’t fall in love with him the way people describe in romance movies and series. It was slower. Subtle.Dangerous, even, because it started before I even realized it was starting. My first day on campus was everything I’d imagined—and everything I hadn’t. The sun was cruelly bright, baking the red brick walls, making my black uniform feel heavier than it actually was. My backpack dug into my shoulders like it had secrets it wanted me to carry. I was trying so hard to look confident, to seem like I belonged. The truth is? I felt like a lost little girl dropped into a world of strangers who already knew each other’s stories. I spotted him the moment I stepped into the main courtyard. He was sitting alone, a battered notebook on his lap, scribbling furiously. His uniform looked worn, the kind that had stories stitched into its seams. And yet, there was something about him that made the space around him feel like a quiet bubble where the chaos of the campus couldn’t touch him. I didn’t want to look. Really, I didn’t. But my eyes betrayed me.I didn't want to look away.They found him again when I walked past the benches, pretending to check my timetable. And then it happened. A misstep, a stumble, and my pen flew out of my hand, rolling across the dusty concrete. He was the first to notice. Without a word, he bent down and handed it back to me. “Thanks,” I muttered, avoiding his gaze. “You’re welcome,” he said softly, not like everyone else on campus who would have ignored me, or worse, laughed. There was a calmness in his voice that somehow made the heat on my cheeks worse. I didn’t know his name yet. I didn’t even know if he belonged to my department. But somehow, seeing him there made me feel… safer. Over the next few hours, I kept catching glimpses of him. In the library, in the cafeteria, even walking past the dorms. Every time, I convinced myself I was imagining it. That it couldn’t be real. That maybe I was just tired, lonely, and overthinking. By lunchtime, curiosity got the better of me. I found myself walking towards the bench where he sat alone, staring at the same notebook. “Hi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. He looked up, and for a second, it felt like he was staring straight into my chest. I tried not to shiver. “Hi,” he replied, closing the notebook. “I’m Denzel.” I introduced myself. “Gabriella.” A pause. A small smile. Nothing more.At that time everything seemed awkward. We didn’t talk much that day. A few words here, a few words there. But every time I saw him, it felt like something was tugging at my chest—a soft, dangerous tug that whispered I would remember this boy.That he was going to matter. By evening, when the campus emptied and the shadows grew longer, I found myself walking back to my hostel, thinking about him more than anyone else I had met.Yes, I became delusional .My friends were chatting about orientation, clubs, and lectures, but my mind was stuck on the boy who had offered me a pen without judgment, the boy who had smiled at me like I was enough. I told myself it was nothing. Just a first-day crush. Something fleeting. But the truth? I was already hooked. And he didn’t even know it. That night, as I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, fantasy ruled my mind. I wondered if he thought about me at all. Or if I was just another face in the sea of students he ignored. A part of me hoped he did. A bigger part of me feared that he wouldn’t. Because somehow, deep down, I knew. I knew that Denzel was going to change everything—even if he was never mine.