I have never believed in love at first sight, and after I met you my beliefs had not changed – despite you trying to convince me otherwise.

I had remembered the first time I had seen you, however. The day had been bright for September but it was London, the seasons had been long altered and everyone simply adjusted to its abrupt changes. I had liked to think that the sun was shine ushering a warm beginning to the new academic year. To perhaps welcome the uncertain students fresh out of secondary school and into college, to assure them that the next two years would perhaps not as dreadful as it seemed; and to entice the second years dawdling outside the gates still deciding whether or not to get to class on time or at the last possible minute despite the goals and prayers of self-reformation since calamity of results day.

Well, I say the beginning to new academic year – I had transferred from another school, two weeks into September. Despite the adamant protests from my family, I found myself ghosting on a smile standing outside the gates of the new college – a fresh beginning, a fresh start.

“Let’s go, then. You have your timetable?” I turned to look at my best friend and nodded before we launched ourselves into the crowd. When I find myself looking back, I often wonder how I had managed to find myself a best friend. Girls like me led a life of solitude.

Don’t trust anyone; no one is ever what they seem. My mother’s words drifted through my head spoken with no doubt of her terrible experiences of her youth and I had dared not to venture further back then, simply dismissing it as mother’s paranoia of having me go to a public school, out of reach of my family’s watchful eye.

“Is it always this busy?” I had asked as we lined to get beeped through the entrance.

“Apparently, for the first month or so. Then people tend to give up, dropout, transfer or bunk,” Chaelin had replied. “Well, according to the second years anyway.” I nodded and looked ahead, the entrance crawling closer at an achingly slow pace.

“Patience,” Chaelin spoke as she regarded the furrowed brows that had appeared on my face. “We won’t have to deal with this traffic afterwards, anyway.”

I simply arched my eyebrows in acknowledgment. I mentally admonished myself, not allowing myself to get annoyed by the fact that I was sandwiched between two rather hench boys…or girls. No, I have scraped some form of freedom, as measly as it maybe, it was something. Therefore, nothing should spoil my mood, today.

As we beeped ourselves in through the entrance, I found myself looking upon an elongated patio. Currently filled with students obsessing over their timetable – they should get there early to set a good impression; friends desperately searching for their group of friends lost in the sea of chaos; students awkwardly looking at signs, still not used to the difference in size of a college compared to secondary school; couples, and people awkwardly sitting on the benches at the sides.

“Welcome to a normal college, Minzy. Definitely not what you’re used to. Major downgrade, dude.”

“It’s different,” I replied. It was. A downgrade, most certainly, but I chose to do this.

“Ugh, you don’t have registration with me,” Chaelin glancing at the paper clutched in my hands. “You going to be OK?”

Despite the small pang of disappointment, I nodded, determined to show my tough side. I can do this. She nodded in the direction and set off to class.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Reciting this mantra, I carried on down the corridor and soon found myself staring at a door. The sign beside the door had been severely scratched and I had to squint my eyes to see the barely legible class number, A101. This is it.

 It was not until half an hour later that you decided to waltz into class, however. I had found myself seated in the back squeezed between the desk and a row of computers behind me, but at least I had a window seat, which was currently open.  A combination of the gentle breeze on my face and the soft tone of Mr. Goose (or Geese or of the same sort) had begun to lull me to sleep. The sudden bang as the door slammed against the poor old man’s chair snapped me into full alertness.

And you strolled in.

It wasn’t the way you kicked the door closed as you walked. It wasn’t the way you waved an apology to the teacher as though it had become some form of a greeting between you two. Nor was it the way you flashed that wide smile I would get accustomed to over the next two years.

I had no idea what it was, but something had happened to me. A tingle down my spine or the way my stomach churned uncomfortably as you took your seat next to mine. But whatever it was, I had decided to dismiss as simply not being exposed to the male population of our species – having being cooped up in a girl’s school for most of my life. That’s what I had decided and told myself several times, more than I like to admit.

“Never seen you before. I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered a face like yours” The old man had settled and restarted reciting school announcements –or whatever it was – so you had leaned in close, too close. Once you were sure you had gained my attention, you swung back on your chair a bit and flashed that smile again. I released my lip. I had not realised I was biting.

“Just transferred from another school.”

“Oh. Well, hi. I’m Song Minho.”

I was proud of myself, at that point. For I had remembered being quite sceptical of how genuine your intentions were, from that pathetic conversation starter. Yes, my stomach had begun its own gymnastics class, but I had chosen to ignore that you see thus deserving my own little celebratory moment.

“This is where you say your own name.”

“Gong Minzy.”

And with the unusual writhing in my gut, my sudden clammy hands that erupted and my mother’s warning the moment you uttered your words; I had mentally made an oath to myself. A resolution, as I returned your smile, that I would never try to talk to you again.

And it worked.  

But not for long.