Chapter 2: The First Bestfriend đź’—
1057 Words
Chyell learned two things on her first day.
First, no matter how many years you spent somewhere else, coming back doesn’t mean things will feel the same.
Second, Charlie was impossible.
The next morning, she arrived earlier than most students. The school felt different without the noise, quieter, calmer, almost gentle. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting soft patterns across the empty desks. Chyell liked this better.
She stepped into class and paused for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the stillness.
Then she walked to her seat by the window, next to him.
Charlie was already there. Of course, he was.
He sat in the same position as yesterday, slightly leaned back, eyes turned toward the window as if he had been there for hours.
He didn’t look at her when she sat down.
Not even a glance.
Chyell placed her bag down and pulled out her notebook.
“… You’re here early,” she said casually.
No answer. She smiled a little to herself.
“Good morning to you too.”
Still nothing.
She didn’t mind as much this time. Silence wasn’t uncomfortable — it was just… different.
A few minutes passed before more students started arriving. The classroom slowly filled with voices again, the quiet fading into something more familiar.
“Hey! Canada girl!”
Chyell looked up, slightly surprised.
A girl with bright eyes and a warm smile dropped into the seat in front of her, turning around almost immediately.
“I’m Rosé,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “You’re Chyell, right?”
Chyell nodded. “Yeah.”
“I was gonna talk to you yesterday, but you disappeared too fast.”
“I didn’t know where to go ^^,” Chyell admitted.
Rosé laughed. “That’s fair. This place is chaos if you’re new.”
There was something easy about her, like talking didn’t require effort.
“I can show you around later,” Rosé continued. “Unless you already have plans.”
Chyell shook her head. “No plans.”
“Perfect. You’re with me now.”
Chyell smiled.
“Also,” Rosé added, lowering her voice slightly, “you’re sitting next to Charlie.”
Chyell glanced sideways. He hadn’t moved.
“…I noticed.”
Rosé made a face. “And you’re still alive. Impressive.”
“He’s not that bad.”
For the briefest second, Charlie’s pen stopped moving ,then continued like nothing happened.
Rosé raised an eyebrow. “Give it time.”
By lunchtime, Chyell had learned her way around the school, thanks to Rosé, who talked nonstop but somehow made everything feel less overwhelming.
“This is the best spot,” Rosé said, dropping her tray onto a table near the window in the cafeteria. “Not too crowded, good lighting, and you can watch people without being obvious.”
Chyell laughed softly. “You sound experienced.”
“I observe. It’s a skill.”
They sat down. For the first time that day, Chyell felt something close to comfortable.
“So,” Rosé leaned forward slightly, “what’s Canada like?”
Chyell thought for a moment. “Quieter. Slower. People keep more distance.”
“And here?”
“Louder,” Chyell said, smiling. “But… warmer.”
Rosé grinned. “Good answer. You’ll survive.”
They continued talking about school, teachers, random things that didn’t matter but somehow made everything feel lighter.
Until - “Rosé.”
A voice interrupted. Both girls looked up. A boy stood beside their table, tall, composed, his expression calm but distant.
“Tom,” Rosé said, straightening slightly. “What’s up?”
“We have a meeting later,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
His gaze shifted, landing briefly on Chyell.
Assessing. Quiet.
“New student?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Rosé replied. “Chyell. She just came back from Canada.”
Tom nodded once. “I’m Tom. Class president.”
“Nice to meet you,” Chyell said politely.
He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary.
“See you later, Rosé.”
And he walked away.
Chyell watched him go.
“…He’s intense.”
Rosé snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
From across the cafeteria, Charlie saw everything.
He hadn’t planned to look. But he did.
Chyell was laughing, not the polite kind, not the small, careful smiles she had in class.
This was different.
Easier. Brighter. And it wasn’t because of him.
It was because of Rosé. Because of Tom. Because of people who weren’t him.
Charlie’s jaw tightened slightly.
Why does that matter?
It didn’t. It shouldn’t. He looked away. Then looked back again.
Tom was standing too close. Leaning slightly toward her. Talking like he had a right to be there.
Charlie clicked his pen once.
Harder than usual.
It doesn’t matter.
He stood up abruptly, grabbing his tray. But as he passed their table, he slowed.
Just slightly. Just enough to hear her voice.
“…I didn’t know where to go yesterday.”
Something about that stayed for a second, Charlie hesitated. Then he kept walking.
That afternoon, Chyell returned to class a little earlier than usual.
Her notebook was already on her desk, but something was different.
A small stack of papers sat neatly beside it.
She frowned slightly.
“…What’s this?”
She picked them up.
Notes.
Complete. Organized. Detailed.
Everything the teacher had explained earlier was written clearly, carefully, better than anything she had managed to copy.
Chyell blinked. “I didn’t write this…”
She looked around. Most students hadn’t come back yet. Only one person sat by the window.
Charlie.
Exactly where he always was.
"Did you ... ”
“No.”
He didn’t even let her finish.
Chyell paused.
“…I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to,” he replied calmly.
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“You didn’t do it?”
“No.”
A pause. Chyell looked at the notes again. Then back at him.
“…Okay.”
She sat down. Didn’t push. Didn’t question further.
But as she flipped through the pages, a small smile appeared. Because somehow—She knew.
And across from the window, Charlie stared outside.
As if he hadn’t just spent his entire lunch break rewriting notes… for someone he “didn’t talk to.”
- Writer
