Possessive crush

Most teenagers didn’t like going to school. The endless studying, the looming tests, the gnawing stress, the petty arguments — sometimes even fists flying at the weaker ones — all of it turned school into a battlefield. It made three-quarters of young people wake up with stomach aches each morning, faking coughs and fevers just to avoid another day imprisoned within those suffocating walls.

But I hadn’t been like that.

Why? Not because I was different in some remarkable way — I wasn’t. I didn’t love school. I loathed studying, panicked over every single test, and found most lessons as dry and lifeless as sandpaper. So instead of paying attention, I filled the margins of my notebooks with stories, scribbling down fragments of fantasy to escape the dull drone of the real world.

And yet, there had been one reason — one person — who made those ten-minute breaks between classes feel like fleeting slices of heaven.

Alright, maybe that was a bit dramatic. But whenever I saw him, something fluttered inside me — soft, thrilling, like tiny wings brushing against the inside of my ribs. Just the sight of him could brighten my whole day. My lips would curl into a smile without even realizing it. That was all I needed to feel… happy. Light. Alive.

Felix.

He had been the walking definition of perfection — and it wasn’t just me who thought so. Every girl at school seemed to agree. Felix was a legend, especially on the basketball court. Half-American, half-Australian, he didn’t just walk — he owned the hallways, like he belonged to some cooler, shinier version of reality.

He stood at one hundred seventy-eight centimeters, with light blond hair that always caught the light just right, sparkling blue eyes, and a sun-kissed complexion that made him look like summer personified. Compared to him, I felt invisible. I was short, with blue eyes, olive-toned skin, and black hair so plain it practically faded into the background. We were opposites in every sense — and maybe that was why he fascinated me so much.

I probably sounded obsessed. But I wasn’t — not really. I just… admired him. Intensely. Passionately. Okay, maybe a little obsessively. My best friend Eve had listened to me gush about him non-stop — at lunch, between classes, through texts, even in my dreams when she stayed over. Sometimes she’d smack me lightly on the head with her notebook, hoping the blow would knock his name out of my skull. She even joked once that maybe if I hit my head hard enough, I’d get amnesia and forget he existed.

Poor Eve. She had no idea that I could whisper his name into the wind forever and never tire of it.

I hadn’t missed a single basketball game. Not one. I was his number one fan, and Eve was always dragged along with me. Sometimes, I truly pitied her — she’d sit beside me on the wooden bleachers, yawning or nodding off while I screamed with the crowd. My eyes never left him — the captain of the team, moving with effortless grace, like he was born to lead.

Maybe I should have chosen someone more original to crush on — someone not adored by ninety-eight percent of the female student body. Eve belonged to the rare two percent who didn’t swoon over him. She said he was too pretty — prettier than most girls, even. And that, in her eyes, was a crime.

She was weird. But charmingly so.

Her type leaned more toward guys who were a little rough around the edges. She didn’t trust anyone with cheekbones sharper than hers.

Still, she was a knockout. Platinum blonde hair, bold eyes, the confidence of a lioness — she turned heads without even trying.

And me? I just dreamed. Dreamed of the day when Felix might finally glance my way, when his eyes would meet mine across the hallway, or in the crowd, and he’d say my name — my ordinary name — in that low, honeyed voice of his.

I often wondered… would my dream come true before he graduated?