The Beginning of my mistakes
Lila had known Ethan for as long as she could remember.
Not in the dramatic way people described in books or movies, where two childhood friends grew up together under perfect timing and destiny slowly stitched them into something inevitable.
It wasn’t like that for her.
There were no romantic beginnings. No meaningful first meeting. No clear moment she could point to and say, that’s when everything changed.
Ethan didn’t enter her life like a story.
He just… stayed.
Like he had always been there, and the world simply forgot to explain why.
Same school since Year 8. Same corridors that smelled faintly of cleaning products and too many students rushing through them. Same classrooms where teachers mixed up names and somehow still always ended up pairing them together for group work as if it were written somewhere they couldn’t see.
And somehow, without anyone deciding it, they became a constant pair.
Lila and Ethan.
Ethan and Lila.
Always side by side in group assignments, even when they didn’t choose it. Always ending up near each other on trips. Always at the same bus stop in the mornings, standing in half-awake silence while the cold air made them both regret not leaving home five minutes earlier.
At first, it didn’t mean anything.
He was just… there.
But time has a strange way of making “there” turn into “familiar.”
And familiar slowly turns into something harder to ignore.
It started with small things.
Things Lila didn’t even notice until they started repeating often enough to feel intentional.
Like the way Ethan would lean over her desk in class without asking, like personal space was just a suggestion.
“What did you get for number three?” he’d whisper, even though he was sitting directly next to her and had clearly already done the question himself.
Lila would glance at him, unimpressed.
“You’re literally cheating in real time,” she’d mutter.
“I prefer ‘collaborating,’” he’d reply casually, already reaching for her worksheet.
And somehow, even when she tried to ignore him, she always ended up sliding it closer anyway.
Or the way he stole her pen constantly.
Not once. Not twice.
Constantly.
It became almost routine. She would place it carefully on her desk, focus on her work, and within seconds it would be gone.
“Ethan,” she’d say flatly without even looking up.
“I’m using it,” he’d reply.
“You have your own pen.”
“But yours works better.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Exactly,” he’d say, smiling like that was a valid argument.
And every time she reached for it, he would hold it just slightly out of reach, laughing softly under his breath like he was enjoying a private joke the world wasn’t allowed to understand.
It should have annoyed her more.
It should have been simple irritation.
But it wasn’t.
Because every time he gave it back—placing it into her hand like it meant nothing—she noticed how careful he was not to drop it.
How he always waited until she actually touched it before letting go.
How her fingers always lingered a fraction longer than necessary.
She told herself it meant nothing.
It had to mean nothing.
Because Ethan acted like that with everyone.
At least… that’s what she kept insisting to herself.
And if she repeated it enough times, maybe her chest would stop reacting every time he smiled at her.
There were moments she couldn’t easily dismiss, though.
Moments that didn’t fit neatly into the “he’s just like that” explanation she kept trying to believe in.
Like when she went quiet without realizing it, and he would look at her and say, almost softly:
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
Not teasing.
Not mocking.
Just… observant.
Like he could see something in her face that she didn’t know she was showing.
Or when she laughed at something someone else said, and he would glance at her—not immediately, not dramatically—but like he was noticing the sound of her happiness more than the joke itself.
Those were the moments that stayed with her longer than they should have.
The ones she replayed in her head when she was alone and had nothing else to think about.
The ones that made her question things she didn’t want to question.
One afternoon after school, everything felt normal.
Too normal.
That was usually how it started.
Lila and Ethan were sitting outside the cafeteria steps, a place they had ended up so many times it almost felt like theirs without them ever agreeing to it.
The steps were slightly cold even though the sun was still up. Other students moved around them in loud groups, laughing, shouting, rushing home or to clubs or wherever their lives continued after school ended.
But Lila and Ethan stayed where they were.
Sitting slightly apart, but not far enough apart to make it feel like distance meant anything.
Between them was a crumpled paper packet of chips Ethan had bought on impulse, even though Lila knew very well he only bought it because he knew she would end up eating most of it.
Lila picked at her portion slowly, pretending she wasn’t aware of how close he was sitting.
Too close.
Always too close.
Not in a way anyone else would notice.
But in a way she noticed too much.
Ethan nudged her shoulder lightly.
“You’ve been weird lately,” he said casually, like he was commenting on the weather.
Lila nearly choked.
“I have not,” she said immediately.
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“You have,” he insisted, stealing a chip from her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You go quiet when I sit next to you.”
“I’m always quiet,” she said quickly, too fast, too defensive.
Ethan paused for a moment.
Then smiled.
That smile.
Soft. Effortless. Familiar.
The kind of smile that didn’t feel like it was meant to mean anything—but somehow always ended up meaning too much anyway.
“No,” he said gently, leaning back on his hands, stretching out his legs in front of him. “Not like that.”
Lila looked away immediately.
Because looking at him when he said things like that made her feel like she was standing too close to something she wasn’t ready to understand.
The wind moved through the trees above them, shifting light across the pavement in soft patterns. Distant noise from the school faded into background sound, like it belonged somewhere else entirely.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Just shared silence.
Comfortable, on the surface.
Confusing underneath.
Then Ethan tilted his head back, staring up at the sky.
“Do you think people can like someone without realizing it?” he asked suddenly.
The question wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It sounded like something he had just thought of in passing.
But it landed differently for Lila.
Like it wasn’t meant to be casual at all.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the chip packet.
“…Why?” she asked carefully.
Ethan shrugged.
“Just wondering.”
That should’ve been the moment she pushed.
The moment she turned fully toward him and demanded clarification.
The moment she laughed it off or teased him or made him explain himself properly.
But she didn’t.
Because something about the question felt too close to something dangerous.
Something she wasn’t ready to name.
Instead, she forced her voice into something lighter.
“You’re weird.”
Ethan laughed.
And that laugh—soft, familiar, effortless—hit her in a way she didn’t expect.
Because it didn’t feel like something she was hearing.
It felt like something she was remembering.
That night, everything felt too quiet.
The kind of quiet that made thoughts louder than they should be.
Lila lay in bed staring at her ceiling, replaying the afternoon over and over again without meaning to.
Ethan’s voice.
His question.
His smile.
The way he looked at her when he said “not like that.”
Her phone lit up beside her.
A message.
Ethan.
you left your notebook in my bag again lol
Lila smiled before she could stop herself.
Of course she had.
Of course it was with him.
She could picture him noticing it, probably rolling his eyes slightly, maybe shaking his head as he realised she had done it again.
Then another message appeared.
also… you were quiet today. everything okay?
Her heart reacted before her mind could.
That soft, dangerous feeling again.
The one she didn’t fully understand yet.
The one she was starting to recognise too easily.
Lila sat up slightly.
Typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Paused.
Her chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with the conversation itself.
Finally, she replied:
I’m fine. you’re just annoying.
She hit send quickly, like speed could stop her from overthinking.
Almost instantly, the typing dots appeared.
Ethan: lies. you only call me annoying when you’re thinking too much
Lila stared at the message for a long time.
Long enough that the screen dimmed slightly before she touched it again.
And in the silence of her room, she whispered something she would never say out loud in front of him.
“You don’t even know what you do to me.”
Her voice was barely there.
But inside her chest, everything felt too loud.
And somewhere deep inside her, something answered back without words.
That’s the problem.
