Kim Jongin.

The same name that always popped into her head every day in the morning, without fail. For some reason, his name is always in the back of her mind whenever she enters the school gates, eyes still drooping from sleep and laziness.

No, wait; that’s not true actually.

 No, she knew why his name pops into her head on a regular basis—it’s almost become a routine now. She knew why, and unlike most others, she’d even accepted the ridiculous but unavoidable situation she’d let herself be captured in.

Usually, girls would either blush or scold themselves internally or remind themselves that they’re thinking of that person again and that they should stop if something like this happened to them; after all, which sane girl would want a boy’s name to resonate in their heads when they didn’t even know him personally? Emphasis on sane, of course.

But she’s already passed that phase—that phase of denial and refusal. And frankly, it was very tiring. And she was never one to over-analyze things or pick things apart.

So she gave up. And she indulged herself. She let herself think of whatever whenever. But unfortunately for her, her whatever consisted mostly of him. Though it’s not as if he would ever know about it.

They’ve never even had eye-contact. Ever.

To be honest though, she never thought she’d actually be silly enough to fall for anyone like Kim Jongin. Actually, it wasn’t like her to fall in love at all.

Or maybe love was too strong a word. It’s not as if she knew what the feeling of love—not the familial one, or the friendly one, but the actual butterflies-in-your-stomach, tingles-running-under-your-fingertips, romantic love.

More than love, maybe it was curiosity, or intrigue, or just plain admiration and awe.

Because when the boy moved, he moved.

 It was…spell-binding. The way every one of his muscles tense, the way his expression morphs into something different, the way his fingers still move elegantly and his feet glide gracefully, or maybe the way the slightest of twitch of his fingers would capture her attention, making her react so obviously—the way his movements on stage, or any floor literally made her hold her breath in anticipation and something more. 

And this was just through vision.

 It was captivating. It was mesmerizing.

It’s probably the only time anyone or anything could distract her from the tune and the melody and lyrics and the harmony and the intricacies in any music and instead make her only focus on someone’s movements.

He was an exception.

He wasn’t a really well-known student here though. He wasn’t one of the popular kids, or even a very social person. He could have been, but he chose to instead try to be a wallflower and for the most part, succeeded. It was only weirdos like her who pay extra attention to notice him on a regular basis.

 He was a student in the arts department, majorly. As this was the last year of high school, students were free to choose any one elective they wanted to advance in, along with the core subjects such as math, science and language. And he was in Dance, the obvious chance.  He was a very studious dancer, practicing in all of his free time. That’s why everyone believes he’s not very well known as the Arts Elective building is separate from the Science and Commerce Electives. The only time anyone can lay their eyes on him was when everyone had their core subject studies in the General building.

But in a lucky twist of fate, she also took her elective in the Arts department. Not in Dance though, but in Music. Her passion was in singing.

She’s often mused if he’s ever heard her sing. And if he ever felt the way she did whenever he dances when she sings. But she then immediately dismisses those wishful and whimsical thoughts from her head.

It was one thing to admire and notice from a distance, but it’s a whole dif