When We Met, I Lost Myself

Chapter 2 – The Seatmate Arrangement

The classroom always felt too bright in the mornings, sunlight spilling in through the tall windows, bouncing off the whiteboards, making it hard to hide behind sleepiness. I slipped into the room with the rest of the class, still clutching the memory of yesterday like a secret I couldn’t tell.

I told myself it was nothing—that moment in the hallway, the glance, the small smile. Just a coincidence. Just another beginning to another year. Nothing more.

But the universe seemed determined to prove me wrong.

“Class,” our adviser, Ms. Ramirez, announced, clapping her hands to grab everyone’s attention. She had her clipboard pressed against her chest, her glasses perched low on her nose. “We’re rearranging seats today. Find your names on the chart, and settle down quickly. No complaints.”

Groans erupted almost immediately.

“Ma’am, please! I already like my seat.”

“Can we just pick, ma’am?”

“This is so unfair!”

Ms. Ramirez raised an eyebrow, the kind that could silence even the loudest voice. “Unless anyone here wants to write the exam twice, I suggest you follow instructions.”

That ended the protests.

I dragged my bag across the floor, scanning the chart at the board. My eyes darted nervously, searching for my name. There it was—front row, window side. My stomach sank. Too close to the board, too close to the teacher’s eyes. At least the window would be a small escape, I told myself, a frame of blue sky to stare at when the lessons got too heavy.

Then my gaze slid to the name beside mine.

Mendoza.

My heart stuttered.

It couldn’t be—

But of course, when I reached the desk, he was already there. The boy from the hallway. The one who had picked up my notebook. He was sitting with one leg stretched lazily under the desk, his bag slumped against the chair, as if the world had given him exactly the spot he wanted.

He looked up when I approached. Recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by that same half-smile I remembered.

“Looks like we’re seatmates,” he said. His tone was light, casual, but there was something in it that made my stomach twist.

I tried to act unfazed. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm but not too loud. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

The first few minutes passed in silence, the kind that stretched too long and made me hyper-aware of every small movement—how close our elbows almost touched on the desk, the sound of his pen clicking in his hand, the faint smell of cologne I couldn’t quite place. I busied myself with arranging my notebooks, aligning the edges like it mattered, while my heart thudded faster than it should have.

Then, without warning, he leaned slightly toward me.

“Hey,” he whispered.

I jumped a little. “What?”

“Did you do the science assignment? The one Ms. Ramirez gave?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Of course. Why?”

“Because…” He scratched the back of his neck, his grin sheepish. “I kind of forgot. Well, not forgot. Just… didn’t do it.”

I rolled my eyes, though a laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Figures. First week of school and you’re already slacking off?”

“Hey, don’t judge me yet,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Maybe I’m just waiting for a brilliant seatmate to save me.”

I shook my head, biting back another smile. “Don’t push your luck.”

But something shifted after that. The silence didn’t feel as heavy anymore. By the time the bell rang, we had exchanged more words than I expected—complaints about the new math teacher, jokes about the broken electric fan in the corner, even a small debate over who had the better handwriting.

They were small things, nothing extraordinary. But to me, they felt like the first cracks in a wall I hadn’t realized I had built around myself.

When I left the classroom that afternoon, my mind kept circling back to the same thought.

We weren’t strangers anymore.

We were seatmates.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the start of something I wasn’t ready for.