The sobs still rattled in your chest as you sat on the wooden bench, your feet not quite touching the ground. Everything was blurry behind your tears… until you felt the fabric of his sleeve against your cheek. The cuff of his shirt brushed gently over your skin, wiping away the traces of your tears with a careful touch that only a worried child could give his only friend.

But you didn’t see his features clearly until he picked up your fallen glasses from the ground, dusted them off, and placed them back on the bridge of your nose with delicate precision. Only then… did his face finally come into focus: eyebrows drawn together in concern, wide eyes filled with pure, childlike worry.

He reached a hand into your braids to remove the tiny leaves tangled in your hair after your fall. Your cheeks were red, not only from crying, but from a strange tightness swelling in your small chest. The children had pushed you harshly, you had fallen, your clothes were dirty, your things scattered… but Alex was the first to rush to you.

He offered you a gentle smile you watched through wet eyelashes… and for a moment, your sobs paused. To you, Alex was your first friend your first real warmth from someone outside your family.

Your shy smile appeared only in his presence. He always listened with endless patience to your stuttering and hesitations, as if he had all the time in the world just for you even after you both grew older. Despite his popularity, despite being the confident, charming boy adored by many girls in school… you were nothing like him. You weren’t social; you avoided attention and never felt comfortable under any spotlight. You focused on yourself, your studies, and your growing love for numbers… but Alex saw something in you that you had not yet seen yourself.

“Alex, no!” you whispered in a trembling plea, trying to pull your hand from his grip. But he kept holding you firmly, ignoring your hesitation and soft sniffles. Several faces turned to look at you as you followed him timidly, but he didn’t spare them a single glance.

He was dragging you to the teachers’ office to register your name in the annual math competition for final-year students. He believed in your abilities more than you did convinced you would win, convinced to the point of insistence.

But the idea of standing on a stage in front of all the students and teachers? It was your nightmare. Yet Alex’s instructions echoed in your head: Don’t look at anyone. Just focus on a fixed point. Focus on the answers… You’re smarter than all of them.

On the day of the competition, you stood behind the curtain with your heart trembling, lifting your hand to adjust your glasses on your nose. His absence only made your nerves worse. Where was he? Could he really be… busy flirting with another girl again? You shook your head quickly, trying to chase the foolish thought away, trying to focus on the competition that had just begun.

They called the names of the contestants, and you followed the others onto the stage. You intertwined your fingers to hide their shaking, your eyes glued to the floor. The teacher began asking questions, heads popping up with answers… including yours. Despite your quiet voice, your responses were quick, clever, and precise. And when the results were announced… you won second place.

The hall erupted with applause and congratulations, but shyness suddenly overwhelmed you, weighing down your shoulders and rooting you in place. You searched for him among the crowd as if your sense of safety depended entirely on his presence.

And suddenly, cutting through the noise, a sharp whistle pierced the hall, followed by loud clapping from the front rows. Alex. He stood there, clapping enthusiastically, pride lighting up his face, before he shouted at the top of his voice.

“That’s my girl!”

He jumped to his feet, and before you even understood what was happening, he was heading toward the stage as soon as the competition ended.