When The Lights Go Quiet

*Liza's POV*

I still remember the exact moment I noticed Yance, even though nothing big happened.

That's the funny thing about beginnings, they don't announce themselves. They don't pause the music or slow the world down.

It was the first day of Grade 7—1st year of Junior High School rather, and the classroom smelled like freshly wiped floors and brand-new notebooks. Some looked slightly uncomfortable in their seats, some looked excited for the new school year. Our voices were louder than usual, some laughter forced, conversations rushes, like they were trying to prove that they weren't scared or nervous.

I told myself I wasn't scared either.

I sat near the window, my bag hooked onto the side of my chair. I was pretending to listen to the chatter around me when I felt it, that strange pull, the instinct to look somewhere specific.

That was when I saw him.

One row behind me, beneath the aisle. Head slightly bent, eyes focused on his notebook like it held answers to questions no one asked yet. He was tapping his pen softly, rhythmically, like a heartbeat.

I don't know why my gaze stayed longer than it should have.

He didn't look extraordinary. No dramatic entrance. No loud personality. Just quiet, contained, almost invisible if you're not paying attention.

But I was paying attention.

The teacher walked in, clapped her hands, and started talking about rules and expectations. Words that floated over our heads like clouds we pretended to understand.

We all then introduced ourselves. I already know him, he's Yance Garcia. We've been classmate since Grade 1 Elementary. Just classmates, not close friends or anything else. He'd been my classmate when I was in Grade 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and now Grade 9.

"Pair up", the teacher said suddenly, as if it was nothing.

My stomach tightened.

Chairs scraped against the floor. People turned to friends immediately. I stayed still for half a second too long, scanning the room.

Then he looked up.

Yance.

His eyes met mine like it was an accident. Like he hadn't meant to look at me but he did anyway. For a brief moment, neither of us moved.

Then he smiled.

It wasn't confident, wasn't charming. It was small and hesitant, like he was asking a question without words.

I smiled back before I could stop myself.

"Do you want to-um-" he started, standing up.

"Yes", I said too fast. Oh gosh, I hope I didn't sound too desperate.

We sat together, shoulders barely touching, notebooks aligned perfectly like we were afraid to take up too much space. Our knees bumped once, and I swear by heart forgot how to beat.

We talked about the project. Only the project. Nothing else.

But I noticed things.

How he wrote neatly, carefully. How he paused before speaking, choosing his words cause they matter. How he listened, not the kind of listening where someone waits for their turn to talk, but real listening.

When the class was dismissed, I got a little disappointed.

That scared me.

Because I'm didn't really know him even if we've been together since day 1.

And yet, something inside me whispered that this moment mattered.

When I got home by 5pm, I dropped my bag by the door and sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

I replayed the day in my head like a song I couldn't get out of.

I have a spare empty notebook. Before I could realize what I was doing, I opened my notebook and wrote his name in the corner of the very first page.

Yance.

I closed the notebook quickly, like it was a secret I wasn't ready to admit.

I told myself it was nothing

But deep down I knew

Some stories don't begin with fireworks.

Some begin with a glance too.