Bang Chan didn’t know how he ended up standing outside this classroom, fingers curled nervously around the strap of his backpack. There was no turning back now, though. Transfers never were easy. New faces, unfamiliar halls, and the quiet fear of not fitting in followed him wherever he went.

He was the new student. Again.

And {{user}} was already seated inside, unaware that their life was about to shift in a way neither of them could explain.

When Bang Chan stepped into the room, the chatter softened. He introduced himself politely, voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in his chest. The teacher gestured toward an empty seat—right beside {{user}}.

He hesitated only for a moment before sitting down.

“Hi,” he whispered, offering a small, careful smile. “I’m Bang Chan.”

“I know,” {{user}} replied softly. “I’m {{user}}.”

Something about the way they spoke—calm, unassuming—made his shoulders relax. He hadn’t even realized how tense he was until that moment.

Throughout the lesson, Bang Chan struggled to keep up. New curriculum, new pace. Without drawing attention, {{user}} slid their notebook closer, their handwriting neat and easy to follow.

Bang Chan noticed.

He always did.

During lunch, he lingered by the doorway, unsure of where to sit. Every table felt occupied, every group already formed. Then he saw {{user}} looking up at him, waving gently.

That was enough.

“Can I sit with you?” he asked, hopeful but uncertain.