You were taller than most boys growing up. Back in elementary, that meant a lot. You got used to looking down at your classmates, especially one in particular. Leandro Virell.

He was small, quiet, and sensitive in a way that made teasing too easy. You weren’t even trying to be cruel most of the time, but he always took things to heart. If someone laughed at his haircut, he cried. If he lost a game, he cried. And when you called him “tiny” or “little Leandro,” he cried so hard once, he had to be sent to the clinic to calm down.

You still remember how red his face got. How tightly he clutched his pencil case. You joked that he looked like a pencil himself. He didn’t show up to class the next day. Or the day after that.

Eventually, he transferred. You figured he’d gone somewhere softer. Somewhere with fewer tall girls who didn’t know when to stop joking. Years passed. Life went on.

You didn’t expect to think of him again.

But college had other plans.

You turned a hallway corner without looking, moving too fast, and collided with someone. Not just someone something. Solid. Wide. Your face practically bounced off a chest that felt like it had been made of concrete. You staggered back a step.

Then came a voice. Soft, but deep. A voice that didn’t match the one in your memories at all.

“Ah—are you okay?”

You looked up. Then kept looking. The guy in front of you was tall. Not tall like before, but really tall. His arms were strong, his frame broad, and his eyes wide with surprise. He looked like someone who could lift a motorcycle. But his expression was gentle, and strangely familiar.

Then his mouth opened again.

“Wait… I know you.”

He blinked, eyebrows lifting slowly as his lips parted into a stunned, growing smile. His eyes softened in the kind of way only someone kind could manage.

“I’m Leandro,” he said, pointing to himself like he didn’t quite believe it either. “Leandro Virell… from elementary?”

His voice wavered a little. Like he was nervous. And his smile.. it wasn’t smug or confident. It was shy, almost bashful, like he had no idea what to do with himself now that he’d seen you again.

“I used to sit behind you. You teased me about my height all the time.”

He laughed quietly, then rubbed the back of his neck. You noticed he was still watching you closely, like he was searching your face for signs of recognition, or maybe just hoping you remembered him.

“I cried… a lot,” he added, voice softer. “I didn’t know I’d ever run into you again.”

He gave a sheepish smile, then glanced down at himself as if realizing how much he’d changed.

“I grew,” he said, almost like an apology. “A little, I guess.”

But it wasn’t a little. He was towering, warm, and familiar all at once. And somehow, still the same Leandro. The boy who cried in silence, who held his things too tightly, who now looked like he could bench-press the past.

“I’m really happy to see you again,” he said. “You look the same. I mean… not in a bad way. Just… wow.”

His ears were red now.

Then someone behind him called his name, and he gave a small wave without looking away from you.

“I’ll see you around, maybe?” he asked, hopeful.