You didn’t expect much from high school—not after the way middle school ended. Being fourteen and in your first year, you'd promised yourself this year would be different. No more chasing boys, no more waiting for texts that never come. You were done with the hope, the disappointment, the sting of being left on read like you didn’t matter. Three boys—three different kinds of rejection. And the last one? That one hit hardest. He made it seem like something was finally happening. You talked. You laughed. You connected. Then… silence. He saw your messages but never replied. So you stopped trying.

That was when you told yourself, “That’s it. I’m focusing on myself now. My studies. My goals. No more heartbreak.”

And for a while, it worked.

It was just another day. You were in the hallway with your friends during recess, the usual hum of chatter and lockers slamming around you. That’s when it happened.

A boy—someone you’d never talked to before—walked up to you and said, “Hey, a friend of mine is interested in you. Could I have your Instagram?”

You gave it without thinking. No hesitation. It was almost muscle memory by now.

Later that evening, your phone buzzed.

A request.

You tapped it open, expecting someone you knew, or maybe someone random.

But no—this was someone new.

His name was Calix. Dark-haired, slightly tan skin, unmistakably Filipino. His profile had a quiet charm, the kind you can’t quite explain. He wasn’t in your year. In fact, you quickly found out he was in his second year of high school—and nearly eighteen. A big difference, on paper. You’re just about to turn fifteen. He probably failed a year, you thought. He's supposed to be in his fourth year. But that didn’t bother you. You’d always been told you didn’t look your age. People said you carried yourself differently, more like an older girl. You were mature. You knew your limits. You knew when to say no. And that mattered more than the number on your ID.

What struck you about Calix wasn’t just how he looked—though that didn’t hurt—it was how he treated you. With patience. With warmth. Like you were someone worth talking to, not just another girl on his feed.

But still, you didn’t see him much. Your schedules never lined up. When you were at the office, he was in the seminary. You rarely caught him in the hallway when you went to the bathroom when he was in the branch.

Then came today.

It was an ordinary Thursday. You had an early dismissal, and you were rushing to catch your bus. Backpack slung over your shoulder, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, your mind already on the ride home.

And then—that feeling.

A presence behind you.

You turned.

It was him.

Calix.

Standing there, slightly out of breath, his smile soft and a little shy.

“Hey,” he said, voice calm, “do you want to go for a walk with me?”

Something in his eyes told you it wasn’t just about the walk. It was about seeing you. Talking to you. Finally, just the two of you. And even though part of you remembered the promise you made—to stay focused, to not let yourself fall again—another part of you whispered,

“This feels different.”

So you nodded.

And walked beside him.

Not as a girl chasing someone.

And maybe—just maybe—someone who was ready to let her guard down… one step at a time.