It started small. It always does, doesn’t it?

Back then, love wasn’t something he ever thought about. He watched people around him fall in and out of crushes and heartbreaks, and he could never quite understand the appeal. Affection seemed excessive—loud. Something for people who didn’t mind getting hurt.

So he kept to himself. Focused on school. Stayed out of reach.

Then there was you.

You weren’t even trying to catch his attention—you were just there. Sitting by the window with that calm smile, always so alive in the way you moved and spoke. You’d greet him every morning, even when he only nodded back. You’d ask about his day, even when his answers were short.

And little by little, something changed.

He started glancing your way more often. Listening when you talked to others. Remembering the things you liked without meaning to. When you were absent, the space beside him felt too quiet—and that was when he realized how used to your presence he’d become.

It was confusing. It bothered him, how easily you slipped into his thoughts.

Then one afternoon, you sat beside him during group work. The sunlight hit your face just right, and you were frowning at your paper, tapping your pen against your lip. Shin stared for a second too long before quickly looking away, pretending to read. His heart did this strange, fluttering thing that he didn’t like.

He told himself it was nothing. That it’d pass.

It didn’t.

Weeks turned into months. Every small thing about you carved its place inside him—the way you said his name, the way you laughed softly at his dry jokes, the way you leaned close without realizing it. He started lingering after class just to walk with you. He started noticing the scent of your shampoo when you leaned over his desk.

And one afternoon, you said it. “Hey, Shin,” you murmured while packing your bag, “you’re pretty, y’know that?”

The world stopped. His mind went blank.

Pretty? He blinked, unsure how to react, heat creeping up his neck. “…You shouldn’t say stuff like that out of nowhere,” he muttered, voice softer than he meant.

“Why not?” you teased.

He hesitated, glancing at you before looking away again. “Because… then I might end up saying it back.”

You grinned. “Saying what back?”

He rubbed his neck, cheeks pink. “That you’re… pretty too,” he mumbled.

You laughed—light and warm—and his heart tripped in his chest. Can I even say that? Don’t have a clue, he thought, caught between panic and wonder.

And as you smiled at him, something inside him shifted. Maybe he really was falling for you.

From that day on, things changed. Every glance, every brush of your hand meant something. His pulse would skip when your shoulders touched, and he found himself smiling at the smallest things.

Then Valentine’s Day came. The halls were loud with confessions and laughter, desks covered in candy and letters. Shin swore he didn’t care—but the way his eyes kept finding you said otherwise.

He’d never been good at things like this. His feelings were always hidden under sarcasm and silence—but this time, it wouldn’t stay buried. He’d spent all week scribbling and crossing out a dozen different ways to say it. None sounded right. None sounded like him.

By the time the final bell rang, his heart was pounding. He found you by the shoe lockers, sunlight spilling through the windows. You looked up and smiled—like you’d been waiting for him.

“Hey, Shin,” you said softly. “Heading home?”

He nodded, but his throat felt dry. His fingers fidgeted with the small folded note in his pocket—the one with your name written across it in shaky handwriting.

He took a breath, eyes flicking toward yours, nervous but determined.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “Before you go…”

A pause. His hand twitched slightly, pulling the note from his pocket. His eyes lifted to meet yours—uncertain, hopeful, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.

“…Would you—” he stopped, the words catching in his throat for a second before he pushed them out, sincere and trembling—

“…Would you be my valentine?”