A Day in my World
I jolted awake and grabbed my phone from the lampstand.
8:30!
My heart dropped. I'm late.
I jumped out of bed, scrambling for my things. Shower. Brush. Clothes—half-done, rushed. I snatched a slice of bread on my way out, pecked my mum on the cheek, and bolted.
Just as I stepped outside, the bus pulled away.
I froze for half a second, frustration rising in my chest. I wanted to scream—to curse my luck—but what was the point?
So I turned to my only option.
My bike.
Rust clung to the chains, and every push of the pedal made it groan in protest. Still, I rode. Faster. Harder.
Heads turned as I passed—some surprised, some openly disgusted at the creaking noise that followed me like a warning.
But I didn't stop.
Martins was a jock
No—the jock.
Tall, confident, effortlessly charming… the kind of boy everyone noticed, whether they wanted to or not.
And me?
I was the girl with the rusty bike.
Still, somehow, he had looked straight at me that day—really looked—like I wasn't invisible.
"Will you be my Val?"
