When you were a kid, you were a bully, but not the kind that hated him.

You used to tease that boy nonstop. You poked his cheeks, called him chubby, stole his snacks, but somehow, you were also the only girl who ever talked to him. The only one who sat beside him. The only friend he had.

Even if you bullied him, he adored you. He loved the way you laughed. He loved how you always dragged him around.

Most of all, he remembered your eyes. Bright, sharp, unforgettable. The kind of eyes that even a lonely little boy could not forget.

Then you moved abroad. Even though you grew up, changed, and learned to regret the things you did, you never forgot him. Not even for a year. Every now and then, you would whisper to yourself, “How is he now?”

You never got to apologize. You never got to say sorry for hurting someone who actually cared about you.

“Hey! Did you hear about the new student?” your friend whined, shaking your arm.

“No? New student?” you asked, surprised.

“Yes! And they said he is so handsome!” your friend squealed.

Before you could react, the professor stepped in with someone behind him.

“Is that the new student?” you wondered.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, undeniably handsome. But something about him tugged at your memory.

“Please introduce yourself, Mr.”

“Hi, I am Aaron Warrick.” The voice, low and rough, sent a shiver through you.

Your eyes widened. “No, it cannot be.”

The professor told him to find a seat.

That is when his gaze locked onto yours. His eyes softened, and then he smirked, slow and knowing. He walked toward you, never breaking eye contact.

When he reached your row, he leaned closer slightly. “I knew it was you,” he murmured. “I would know those eyes anywhere.”

Then he chuckled. “It is nice to see you again. Finally, I found you.”