THE GIRL WHO LIKED ME

The Boy Who Came Home After two years away from home, I had forgotten what it felt like to belong somewhere. Not completely. I remembered the roads, the old houses, the familiar faces, the church bell that seemed to announce everything from Sunday service to unexpected meetings. I remembered the way people greeted my parents whenever we walked through town. But two years was a long time. Long enough for people to change. Long enough for children to grow taller, shops to change owners, old friendships to become distant memories, and unfamiliar faces to quietly take the places of people you once knew. I had gone abroad to study, leaving my hometown behind with the confidence of a young man who believed the world was waiting for him. When I returned, I realized the world had not waited. It had moved on without me. I came back to my parents' house with a suitcase, a head full of plans I hadn't figured out yet, and no clear idea what I was going to do next. My parents were pastors, and our family was well known in the small town. My father was the head pastor of our family church, and my mother was deeply involved in the ministry and also helped run the school they owned. Being the first son came with its own kind of attention. People knew me. Or at least, they knew of me. Some admired me because of my parents. Others respected me because of the family name. And, if I was being honest, there were young women in church who occasionally made their interest obvious. A smile here. A prolonged greeting there. An unnecessary question after service. Sometimes it was so obvious that even my siblings noticed. But I wasn't interested. I had just returned home. My mind was occupied with my future, my career, and the uncomfortable question of what exactly I was supposed to do next. A relationship wasn't part of my plans. Then came that Sunday. I walked into church expecting an ordinary service. Instead, I noticed several unfamiliar faces. New girls. Pretty ones too. I looked around casually but didn't allow myself to linger on anyone. At least, that's what I told myself. Then I saw her. She was sitting among the congregation, and for some reason, she seemed different from the others. Her name was Justin. She was tall, light-skinned, and naturally beautiful. But there was one thing I noticed almost immediately—a small gap between her teeth. A diastema. It should have been an ordinary feature. Somehow, it made her smile more memorable. I didn't know anything about her then. I didn't know where she lived. I didn't know how long she had been attending the church. I didn't know what she did. And, most importantly, I didn't know that she had already noticed me. But apparently, she had. Because while I was busy convincing myself that I wasn't paying attention to anyone, someone else was paying very close attention to me. Over the next few Sundays, I began noticing her more. Not because I was looking for her. At least, that's what I kept telling myself. She seemed to have a strange ability to appear wherever I happened to be. If I stood outside the church after service, she might walk past. If I spoke to someone, she somehow found herself nearby. If I joined a conversation, her attention would shift toward me. And whenever our eyes met, she would smile. Not the ordinary polite smile people gave each other in church. Her smile lingered. One Sunday, after service, I was talking with someone when she walked past. "Good afternoon, Sylver." I turned. "Good afternoon." She smiled. "How are you?" "I'm fine. You?" "I'm good." She started walking away. Then she turned around. "Welcome back, by the way." I smiled. "Thank you." She nodded and left. It was a very ordinary conversation. At least, to me. But there was something about the way she walked away that made me wonder if the conversation had meant more to her than it had to me. I didn't think much of it. Not then. What I didn't know was that Justin was becoming increasingly interested in me. And eventually, circumstances would make it impossible for us to remain strangers. My mother had been looking for someone to assist at the school. Since I was still trying to figure out my next move after returning home, she suggested something I hadn't considered seriously. "Why don't you teach for a while?" she asked one morning. I looked at her. "Teach?" "Yes. You're educated. You have nothing keeping you busy right now. Help us at the school until you decide what you really want to do." I wasn't convinced. But there wasn't much argument against it. So I agreed. I didn't know that my mother's suggestion would put me in the same building as the girl who had been quietly watching me from across the church. And when I walked into the school on my first day, I saw her. Justin. She looked at me, froze for half a second, and then smiled. That smile told me something. She was happy to see me. Very happy. I just didn't understand why.