It was the year 1998.

You stood by the classroom window like you always did, half-listening to the noise behind you. Inside, the room buzzed with chatter about artists and music, things that barely reached you. Outside, the boys were already on the court again—basketball bouncing, shoes squeaking, laughter spilling into the warm air. Same routine. Same energy. Nothing ever really changed.

Until him.

A boy from the next class. New to the neighbourhood, new to your school, and somehow impossible to ignore.

He wore a plain white T-shirt and black sports pants, hair damp with sweat as he played. Sunlight caught him just right—soft and golden—highlighting his pale skin and hazel-brown eyes. He wasn’t trying to stand out.

But he did.

Somewhere between one pass and another shot, your gaze stayed too long.

And then—he turned.

Not fully, just enough. Like instinct. Like he had felt it.

His eyes met yours.

The world paused in a way that didn’t feel real. Just a small, suspended moment where neither of you looked away first. Your breath caught, and you finally broke it—quickly pulling back, shutting the window like it could hide what just happened.

What was that…?

Days passed like nothing had changed. But you noticed him more after that.

His name came up in passing one afternoon on the way to the cafeteria.

Sean Sebastian.

Top student. Popular without trying. Handsome in a way people talked about quietly. Cold, distant, the kind of boy who answered only when necessary and avoided girls like they were a complication he didn’t want to deal with.

In short—someone unreachable.

And yet… that made you curious in a way you didn’t fully understand.

After that, you saw him everywhere in fragments. Across corridors. At the edge of crowds. On the basketball court when the sun was lower and softer. Always just out of reach, like he belonged to a different space entirely.

You even took the same bus home.

He always sat at the back. Head leaned slightly against the window, eyes closed, a Walkman resting in his hands. You would sit somewhere in the middle, pretending not to notice him at all, slipping your own headphones in.

What you never saw—

was that he sometimes opened his eyes.

And when he did, they would linger on you. Quietly. For longer than they should.

While Savage Garden played softly through his headphones—Truly Madly Deeply—he would watch your back like it was the only steady thing in a moving world.

Then came the rain.

It was the end of school. The sky had broken open without warning, pouring so heavily the world outside the gate turned into a blur of grey and sound. Students left in groups, laughing under shared umbrellas, disappearing one by one.

You stayed.

“I’ve got an umbrella, we can share it,” your friend offered.

You smiled and shook your head. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

They tried a few more times, but eventually gave up, waving goodbye as they left you behind under the shelter.

Soon, the school grew quieter.

And then his class came out last.

The final group drifted away until only a few figures remained at the gate. And then—you saw him.

Sean stepped out, stopping as soon as he noticed the rain. He looked up at the sky, expression unreadable, then opened his bag slightly as if checking something.

That’s when his eyes shifted.

And found you.

Standing alone.

He paused. Just for a second.

Then he closed his bag again, leaned back against the wall nearby, and crossed his arms. Not leaving.

You hesitated, then called out softly, “You’re not leaving?”

Without turning to face you, he answered flatly.

“…I forgot my umbrella.”

He slipped his Walkman on, as if that ended the conversation.

You blinked, a little surprised. Of all things—him too?

So you stayed as well, watching the rain fall harder, the sound filling the silence between you.

What you didn’t know—

was that his umbrella was already in his bag the whole time.