Date: April 28, 2025
Author: Tristan Mendez

In middle school, I sat next to this guy in English class who pretty much embodied everything I was into. Tall, messy hair, that lazy smile — he was it for me. We had known each other since we were kids, but somehow, sitting next to him every day made everything feel brand new.

I would flirt with him a little, testing the waters, mostly through jokes or small touches. It wasn’t anything too crazy at first, but somehow we got comfortable enough that by some point we were literally holding hands during the whole class. Just quietly, under the desk. It felt weirdly safe and exciting at the same time.

But of course, nothing good ever stays hidden forever. One day, one of his friends noticed. I saw it happen — the way his friend’s eyebrows shot up, the way he leaned over and whispered something I couldn’t hear. After that, it was like a switch flipped. The guy stopped talking to me. No more jokes, no more lingering glances, no more anything.

Now in high school, when we pass each other in the hall, we just exchange these stiff, awkward looks. Like we both remember but neither of us knows what to do with it. Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve just grown a spine back then and asked him how he felt instead of being so scared. But I didn’t. I let it drift away.

I still think about it sometimes — about him, about what might’ve been if I’d just been braver.