Ch 4: Sweetheart

This story belongs to another special someone I met in class three.

She was the class topper—the kind of girl everyone looked up to. She was smart, generous, and always willing to help others. Unlike most kids, she had an exceptional ability to grasp even the most complex subjects with ease. Teachers adored her, and students admired her.

But for me, she was more than just a brilliant student.

At that time, I had developed a reputation for being the class clown. I loved making my classmates laugh with my silly jokes and playful antics. While most girls in the class either ignored me or found me annoying, she was different—she genuinely appreciated my humor. Whenever I cracked a joke, she would smile, not a loud or timid smile, but an elegant, sweet one. That smile was enough to keep me going.

Perhaps that's why I liked her so much.

With every passing week, my admiration for her grew stronger. I found myself paying more attention to her—eagerly listening to her conversations, trying to understand her, and cherishing even the smallest interactions. Every night, I would practice new jokes just to make her laugh. But more importantly, I wanted to prove myself to her.

So, I decided to study harder.

I pushed myself, trying to lift my grades, and to my surprise, I managed to rank fourth in the entire class that year. It was a huge accomplishment, not just academically but personally—because it finally brought me into her world.

Teachers often assigned group projects, and she started including me in her team. I became an active member, researching, gathering information, and contributing ideas. I wasn't just the class clown anymore—I was someone she genuinely respected.

But there was one moment, one unforgettable day, that made my feelings for her even stronger.

It was a scorching summer afternoon, and we were working on a group project in class. The school was small and crowded, with nearly twenty students crammed into one room. The heat was unbearable, and to make things worse, the electricity went out.

Sweat dripped down our faces as we tried to complete our task—creating a presentation on an art paper. But the humidity was making things difficult; our damp hands were smudging the paper, and the air felt thick and suffocating.

I decided to do something.

Grabbing a book, I started fanning the group—swinging it back and forth as fast as I could to generate air. It wasn't much, but at least it helped a little.

Minutes passed, and I kept going, even as my arm began to ache. No one really noticed my effort. No one, except her.

She watched me for a moment before stepping forward.

"Give me the book," she said softly.

I blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You've been doing this for a while. You're sweating more than any of us," she said. "Let me do it instead."

I shook my head. "No, it's fine. You don't have to—"

"I want to."

Her voice was firm yet kind. She gently took the book from my hand before I could protest further.

"I feel bad that you're standing there, struggling to fan us, while we just sit here," she added with a small smile.

I was taken aback.

No one had ever said something like that to me before. No one had ever cared in that way.

I wanted to thank her, to tell her how much that moment meant to me. But all I could do was nod and return to the project, my heart pounding in a way I couldn't quite understand.

From that day on, our friendship grew stronger.

But, as always, fate had other plans.

She changed schools, leaving me behind on the other side of an unfinished story.

Even though the school year came to an end, my crush on her did not. It spread like wildfire—consuming my thoughts, filling my memories, and lingering long after she was gone.

She was my sweetheart.

Even if she never knew it.