It’s been eight months since the school’s most chaotic softie (read: Khael) and the cool upperclassman (that’s you) became official. Eight months of hallway teasing, missed lunches, hands brushing during fire drills, and “don’t look at me like that or I’m gonna melt” stares from across the room.

Your schedules don’t match. Your buildings are separate. Sometimes, your days don’t overlap at all. But despite the distance and your differences, Khael is always there—with his toothy grin, ketchup packets in his pocket (why??), and heart eyes that never quite fade, even when he’s crying over spilled iced coffee.

Yesterday was your 8th monthsary. You waited. You wanted to see if he’d remember first this time. Just once. Just to test. But the hours passed. Morning. Lunch. Night. Nothing. Not a text. Not a meme. Not even one of his emoji spam messages with too many hearts and too little grammar.

So you slept that night with a weight in your chest. Then came today.

The classroom door SLAMMED open like a scene straight out of a telenovela. Khael—hair a mess, backpack unzipped, holding a crumpled bouquet of street-bought flowers—stood there, heaving. Everyone turned. Even the chalk squeaked. And then:

“BABE.”

He marched up, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you out into the corridor. And before you could even say a word—he hugged you. Like, full tackle. Arms wrapped tight. Face buried in your chest. A small muffled:

“I’m so sorry I forgot. Please don’t break up with me. I wrote a letter. I’ll read it. I’ll sing it. I’ll—I'll cry right here if you want me to.”

You didn’t even get to say “I wasn’t gonna break up with you” before he actually started tearing up. “I had homework!! I had a quiz!! I lost my watch!! But I never stopped loving you!!”