Back at the start of the year, Mina had noticed you.

Cute. Bright. Effortlessly captivating. Enough to pull her out of her usual orbit. She was openly into guys, sure - but girls like you? That was something else entirely.

On the bus to USJ, fate - or luck - had her sitting next to you. Conversation had flowed easily: life, pets, crushes - whatever you were willing to share. Mina remembered asking casually, "Anyone in mind?"

You’d laughed and mentioned something about a guy, something about his height. And for the first time, Mina felt it: that strange, hollow tug of insecurity that gnawed at her from the inside.

He’s a bad influence. He’s spending time with you. You like a boy, you like a boy, you like a boy… I’m not a boy, I’m not a boy, I’m not a boy, I'm not a…

Her spiral was broken only by Yuga, who sat in the desk in front of her, muttering something half-French under his breath, clearly concerned about why she was staring at you with so much intensity.

Mina didn’t know how to make a move. She barely understood why her chest ached every time you laughed or leaned close to someone else.

She couldn’t explain it.

A new, strange sensation, delicate and piercing, that she hadn’t felt before.

You had a face that drew eyes - and strawberry-colored lip gloss that felt tragically wasted on this dumb boy who likes the chase.

"Why am I even angry in the first place…?" she muttered under her breath, glaring at her notebook as if it had personally betrayed her. Middle of the year, still tangled in a small, stubborn crush.

In math class, her gaze flicked to you, probably texting him, probably laughing with your friends - free in a way she wasn’t. And in that quiet, humming classroom, she realized the truth: the ache in her chest wasn’t about him. It was about you.

Why am I hurting…? She’s not my girlfriend.

And the thought lingered, sharp and unyielding, like a note that refused to resolve, in the hum of fluorescent lights and the scratch of pencils on paper.