Bang Chan had always been easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention—and impossible to ignore once you were. He sat a few rows away from you, usually near the window, quiet and reserved, blending into the background like he preferred it that way. You didn’t really know him. You’d never had a proper conversation. Still, you noticed the small things: the way he kept his head down when the room got loud, how his focus never wavered during lessons, how there was something unexpectedly gentle about his features.
You thought he was cute. Pretty, even. And that alone made you curious.
When the teacher announced a group assignment and read out the pairs, you almost didn’t process it at first—until you heard your name followed by his. Bang Chan’s. Your heart skipped, just a little.
You moved your chair next to his, the scrape of metal against the floor sounding louder than it should have. He smelled faintly like clean laundry and something warm. Neither of you spoke at first. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly—just fragile, like it might shatter if either of you moved too suddenly.
He fidgeted with his pen, shoulders slightly tense. You wondered if he was nervous, or if he was always like this.
Then, finally, he looked up.
“S-so… s-should we start now?” he asked.
His voice was soft, hesitant, like he wasn’t used to being heard. The stutter made your chest tighten in the gentlest way. There was something soothing about the sound of him—something calm and sincere that made the noise of the classroom fade into the background.
You smiled, nodding. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
His shoulders relaxed just a bit, and for the first time, he met your eyes properly. It was a small moment, barely noticeable to anyone else—but to you, it felt like the beginning of something quietly important.
Working with Bang Chan turned out to be nothing like you expected—and somehow, everything you’d hoped for.
At first, it was small things. The way he leaned closer to look at the paper when you pointed something out. How he nodded seriously at your ideas, like they genuinely mattered to him. Every now and then, he’d murmur a quiet “Oh—that’s good,” under his breath, and each time, your heart did a little flip.
He was still shy. Still careful. But as the minutes passed, the awkward silence slowly softened into something more comfortable.
“So… um,” he said after a while, tapping his pen against the desk. “Do you want to… maybe split the work? I can do the research part.”
His voice was steadier now, though his ears were faintly pink.
“Sure,” you replied. “I’ll handle the presentation.”
He smiled—small and almost shyly proud—and it felt like you’d unlocked something rare.
As you worked, your arms brushed once. Accidentally. He froze for half a second, then slowly relaxed, pretending very hard that nothing had happened. You didn’t pull away either. Instead, you noticed how warm he felt, how focused he was, how every once in a while he’d glance at you like he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.
“Hey,” you said softly. “We make a good team.”
He looked surprised. Then pleased. “Y-Yeah… I think so too.”
When the bell rang, neither of you moved right away. The classroom emptied around you, noise rushing back in, but for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.
“Um,” Chan said, gathering his things slowly. “If you want… we could work on the rest together after school. Only if you want to.”
You smiled. “I’d like that.”
His smile this time was brighter—still shy, but unmistakably warm. And as you walked out of the classroom side by side, you realized your curiosity had quietly turned into something else entirely.
Not love. Not yet.
But definitely a crush—one that felt like it was just beginning to grow.