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There’s something indescribable about the way love softens a person’s gaze. It’s not just in books or movies it exists, I’ve seen it. It lingers in fleeting moments, in the way people look at someone they cherish, as if time itself slows for that single second.
I’ve spent years watching, observing. I’ve seen the way my parents look at each other, how their eyes hold the kind of love that has weathered storms and still found warmth in the aftermath. It’s not just affection; it’s something deeper, something unspoken, something so tender that it aches.
But have I ever seen it directed at me? Have I ever been the reason someone’s gaze softened like that? I never thought so. Not until that day. The day she saw me.
Her eyelids were low, almost sleepy, her attention lost in the glow of her phone screen. She wasn’t looking at me. She wasn’t expecting me.
I had only come to collect my notes. That was all.
And then she looked up.
It was subtle at first, the way her lashes lifted, slow and unguarded. Her gaze met mine, and for a second, something shifted. Her irises, warm and deep, seemed to expand, as if adjusting, as if seeing me differently than before. Her pupils darkened, catching the light, and in that moment, they glowed—not in any way I could explain, but I saw it. I saw myself in them, a reflection so clear it felt like she had captured me inside her eyes.
Then, just as quickly, something softened.
Her lips, once pressed together in thought, parted slightly, the corners threatening the hint of a smile. Her head tilted, her breath caught for a second, just long enough for me to notice.
And then, as if realizing it herself, she looked away.
I stood there, holding my notes, my heartbeat uneven, my thoughts a mess. Had I imagined it? Had I just been searching for something that wasn’t really there? Or had I truly seen that brief moment where everything softened, where everything changed?
Because for the first time, I wished.
I wished to be seen like that again.
I wished to be the reason someone’s gaze turned gentle, the reason their breath hitched, the reason their entire body reacted before their mind could catch up.
I wished it was real.
And that scared me.
Because she was my rival.
Namtan.
The girl whose name had found its way into my thoughts so often that I could never shake it free. The girl who challenged me, who made my pulse race in frustration, who knew exactly how to get under my skin.
But if I truly hated her, why did my days feel empty without her?
Why did her absence feel wrong?
Why did I find myself looking for her in every room, every hallway, every crowded space?
She was my normal.
And now, I don’t know when or how it happened, but there’s this feeling this pull. A quiet force drawing me closer, deeper, without permission, without reason. It’s drowning me, but I don’t want to fight it.
I told myself I would focus on my studies. That this was nothing. That it would pass.
But how do you ignore something that refuses to be ignored?
How do you pretend not to feel something that grows stronger every time she looks at you like that?
I tried to avoid her. Every hallway, every class, every place where our paths might cross I chose another way. I turned before she could see me. I left before she could approach. I convinced myself that if I just stayed away long enough, if I kept my distance, maybe whatever was happening inside me would disappear.
But she noticed.
I knew she did.
Because her group started lingering more, circling closer to mine, waiting for any excuse to pick a fight. And yet, through all of it, she never spoke. She never threw the first insult or started the chaos. She just stood there, her eyes finding me every time, watching. Always watching.
And then it happened again.
Beam’s elbow was swinging toward me, fast and unrelenting. I flinched, raising my arms to shield myself, bracing for the impact.
But it never came.
There was no pain. No force. No sudden sting against my cheek.
Instead, I opened my eyes to find her standing there.
Namtan.
Her expression was cold, unreadable, but her hand was firm, stopping Beam’s elbow mid-air like it was nothing. Her fingers curled around Beam’s joint, unyielding. A sharp tension hung between them, a silent war in the way their eyes clashed.
And then, with a single push, Namtan sent Beam stumbling to the ground.
The fight around our groups came to a standstill. Every voice hushed, every movement stilled. All eyes turned to her.
But she wasn’t looking at them.
She was looking at me.
The coldness in her face melted into something I wasn’t ready for. Concern. Genuine, quiet, aching concern. Her brows knitted together, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. And her eyes I saw them again.
The way they shined, just slightly. The way something wet clung to her lashes, threatening to spill. The way her gaze swept over my face, searching, checking, worrying.
Worrying about me.
Why?
Why did she care?
Why was she standing between me and Beam like she was my shield? Why was she looking at me like that, with softness where there should have been distance?
Before I could say a word, Beam's furious voice shattered the silence.
“What the hell, Namtan? You pushed me?”
Namtan turned, her face still unreadable, but there was something in the way she squared her shoulders, the way her body tensed, as if she was ready for whatever argument was about to come.
I stepped aside, watching as she started to argue with her own friend.
Why was she doing this?
We weren’t even friends.
We were nothing to each other.
At least, that’s what I had been telling myself.
So why, Namtan? Why?
Freen and Dao reached me first, pulling me away from the crowd, away from the tension, away from her. Their voices blurred in my ears, their hands guiding me out of the chaos. I let them. I didn’t resist.
But as we walked away, I couldn’t stop myself.
I glanced back.
Just once.
And there she was.
Still standing there, still looking at me.
And I knew, in that moment, avoiding her wasn’t going to change anything. Because no matter how far I tried to run, no matter how many times I told myself we were nothing—
She was always there.
And I was always looking back.
The whole day, I couldn’t forget her eyes.
The way they locked onto mine.
The way they tried to tell me I wish I understood.
How could I explain it? How could I put into words the way she made me feel with just a look? It wasn’t just concern. It wasn’t just a fleeting moment of weakness. It was something deeper, something unspoken, something that lingered in the space between us.
And it refused to leave me.
I kept thinking about it, over and over, until my thoughts were broken by the sound of Freen, Becky, and Dao deep in discussion.
“The upcoming show is the biggest event of the semester,” Becky said, her tone sharp with frustration.
“And Blaze is going to do everything in their power to ruin it,” Freen added.
Blaze.
That’s what Namtan’s group was called.
They had a reputation one that suited their name. Fiery tempers. Reckless behavior. A hunger for chaos. They were bold, outspoken, and never backed down from a fight. I had seen it firsthand in Namtan’s brother Nani, who never stopped to think before acting, who charged forward with sheer willpower and aggression, ready to take on anyone who stood in his way.
And then there was us.
The complete opposite.
We didn’t even have a name, not until that one fight that trended across every social media platform, the fight that made the entire university take notice. That was when they started calling us Tide.
Because we weren’t reckless. We were strategic. We waited. We played the long game. We let things flow naturally, but when the moment came, when it was necessary, we struck hard.
Tide against Blaze.
Water against fire.
And now, another storm was brewing.
Lookmhee had bet something with Sonya, my sister. I hadn’t paid much attention at first, but the moment I caught their expressions, the sharp intensity in their voices, I knew something wasn’t right.
It wasn’t just a petty rivalry anymore.
Sonya had challenged Lookmhee.
A direct challenge.
And the unexpected happened.
The war had begun.
Freen, always cautious, always looking ahead, tried to warn Sonya. “This isn’t just some game,” she said, voice laced with concern. “If you push them too far, they’re not going to hold back.”
But Sonya was persistent.
And now, everyone was worried about what would happen next.
But me?
I was worried about something else entirely.
Because no matter how much I told myself that Blaze was our enemy, no matter how many times I tried to remind myself that Namtan was my rival—
She kept getting closer.
Day by day.
And I didn’t know how much longer I could fight it.
Days passed, and rehearsals had begun.
With classes canceled for the upcoming event, most students were either watching from the sidelines or taking a break, scattered across the auditorium. But I couldn’t afford to be distracted I had lines to rehearse, cues to perfect. My focus needed to be on the stage, on the script in my hands.
And then she walked in.
Namtan.
Her jacket slung lazily over her shoulder, posture effortless, like she hadn’t just disrupted my entire focus with her presence alone. If I hadn’t been so observant if she weren’t the one I couldn’t stop noticing I might not have realized the small details.
The way she wore a simple white shirt beneath her jacket.
The top button left undone, revealing the curve of her neck, the faintest glimpse of her collarbone.
The fabric clung to her, damp from hours in the lab, evidence of her effort. A single drop of sweat slid from her temple, tracing the delicate slope of her cheek, catching on the tips of her lashes before continuing its descent. Past the sharp line of her jaw. Down the column of her throat.
I sucked in a breath.
She raised her arms, pushing her sleeves up, exposing her forearms lean and toned, her skin catching the light. The way her fingers moved, the absentminded way she adjusted her sleeves until the fabric just barely touched the nerves—it was ridiculous how much I noticed.
And then I heard it.
"Hey!"
Freen’s voice snapped me out of it.
I flinched, cursing myself.
What the hell was I doing?
And that’s when I made my second mistake.
I looked back at Namtan.
She was already looking at me.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across her lips, eyes glinting with something almost playful. Shit. She noticed.
I quickly turned away, trying to steady myself, but the damage was done.
Why was she even here?
She and her group Blaze could’ve been anywhere else. The football field was empty. The cafeteria had plenty of space. And yet, they chose here.
Why?
I clenched my fists, frustration mixing with I wasn’t ready to name.
"Alright, let’s start the scene!" Freen called, trying to pull everyone’s focus back to the stage.
I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to focus, but my gaze flickered to the side just once.
And what I saw made me question if I was the only one losing my mind.
Sonya was winking at Lookmee.
Lookmee, in return, sent her a teasing glance, lips twitching like she was enjoying whatever silent game they were playing.
What the hell was happening?
I didn’t have time to figure it out.
Because the scene had begun.
As I stood on stage, reciting my lines, I stared straight ahead into the crowd.
My eyes burned with intensity, my voice steady, my posture controlled but inside, a storm raged.
I had done scenes before. Performed in front of people. Yet today, something felt different.
Was it fear?
Was it the weight of their judgment pressing down on me?
Or was it something else entirely?
Because when my gaze drifted across the auditorium, past the faceless crowd, past the expectant eyes watching my every move, I found her.
Namtan.
Sitting in the top row, bathed in the dim glow of the stage lights, her expression unreadable.
She was watching me.
Not like the others.
Not like someone waiting for me to mess up, or succeed, or simply get through my performance.
She was watching me.
Her lips moved.
I blinked, trying to make sense of it.
She was saying something.
The noise in the auditorium was too much, swallowing whatever she was trying to tell me. But she didn’t stop she said it again, slow enough for me to see, to understand.
I focused.
And then I read it.
"I trust you, Film."
A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped me.
Something inside me shifted.
My fingers relaxed. My shoulders loosened. And I let go of the fear, the doubt, the pressure.
I gave in to the performance, poured everything into it.
And the world faded away.
When the scene ended, silence followed.
For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved.
Then the applause erupted.
A wave of stunned appreciation.
Freen clapped me on the back, grinning. "That was incredible, Film. The way you brought the character to life? That was something else."
Even Blaze was clapping. The same people who spent their time picking fights, throwing insults they were applauding.
But none of it mattered.
Because my eyes weren’t looking for praise.
They weren’t searching for admiration.
They were searching for her.
And she was gone.
Namtan had disappeared.
The seat where she sat was empty, as if she had never been there at all.
I swallowed, my heart pounding against my ribs. I wanted to ask where she had gone. Wanted to chase after her. But who could I ask?
If I questioned my friends, they’d know. They’d ask why I cared.
If I asked Blaze, they’d start to speculate. They’d see right through me.
So I stood there, rooted in place, pretending I wasn’t looking, pretending I wasn’t searching for her in the crowd.
But I was.
Because somehow, in that fleeting moment, in those three simple words she had mouthed
"I trust you."
She had given me something I never knew I needed.
And I wasn’t ready to let it go.
The day of the performance had finally arrived.
I sat in the dressing room, adjusting my outfit in the mirror. It wasn’t extravagant—just simple and fitting for the scene something about it still made me feel conscious. Maybe it was the weight of the night ahead, or maybe…
I sighed, reaching for the zipper on my back again. It wouldn’t budge.
I tried once, twice nothing. Damn it.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Freen, but of course, her phone was busy. Just my luck.
Frustrated, I turned back to the mirror, trying to see if I could maneuver the zipper myself when—
Click.
The door behind me opened slightly.
My breath stilled.
In the reflection of the mirror, I saw her.
Namtan.
She stood there, just a few steps away.
Her presence alone was enough to make my fingers freeze mid-movement. Her eyes the ones I had spent far too long thinking about, the ones that had lingered in my mind for days—they were looking at me.
She wasn’t saying anything.
Just standing there, holding something behind her back.
Then, in a voice softer than I’d ever heard from her before, so quiet it was almost a whisper, she spoke.
"You look beautiful."
The words sent a sharp pang through me one I didn’t expect, one I couldn’t ignore.
I swallowed.
I wanted to say something back, to tease her, to pretend it didn’t affect me the way it did, but before I could, I noticed her eyes lower slightly.
Her gaze landed on my back on the exposed skin where my zipper had failed me.
Suddenly, I felt bare.
Not just physically, but in a way that made heat rise to my face, made my fingers curl around the edge of the dresser.
She didn’t say anything.
She only stepped back, turning slightly was she trying to give me privacy? But that’s when I saw it.
The rose.
The one she had been hiding behind her back.
A soft red bloom, trembling slightly in her hands.
My stomach tightened. My throat felt dry.
Was it for me?
Without thinking, without giving myself time to process what this meant, I turned to her. "Can you… can you help me with the zipper?"
The words left my lips before I could second-guess them.
Her entire body stiffened.
I watched her reaction closely, the way her fingers twitched, the way her shoulders tensed, the way the tips of her ears turned the faintest shade of pink.
Namtan. Blush?
I nearly smirked.
The same Namtan who used to challenge me in every class, who used to roll her eyes whenever I spoke, who used to push my buttons like it was her life’s mission she was blushing just because I asked for help?
And somehow, that made me proud.
I turned back to the mirror, pretending not to notice her hesitance.
Behind me, I saw her close her eyes for a second, as if mentally preparing herself.
Then, slowly, she raised her hands.
Her fingertips ghosted over my back light as air, barely there, but enough to send a shiver down my spine.
She dragged the zipper up, careful, deliberate.
When she was done, she pulled her hands back so quickly, it was as if she had touched fire.
I turned around, watching her.
She looked more nervous than me.
I was the one who should’ve been flustered. The one who should’ve been affected. But it was her who couldn’t meet my eyes.
I let the silence stretch between us, letting the moment settle before I spoke again.
"So… what’s that?" I asked, motioning toward the rose.
She stiffened again, her hands gripping the stem tighter.
I had never seen Namtan fierce, sharp, reckless Namtan look so unsure before.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she extended the rose toward me.
"Ah… ah… th-they… they’re for you," she stammered.
I blinked.
For me.
For me.
My chest tightened, and before I could stop it, my lips curled into a smile.
She panicked.
Her hand barely had time to brush mine as she practically shoved the rose at me, spinning on her heel as she reached for the door handle, ready to escape.
"All the best, Film," she blurted out, voice rushed, desperate adorable.
And then she was gone.
I stood there, staring at the door she had just disappeared through, my fingers curling around the stem of the rose.
She amazed me.
Not a single touch. Not a single long stare.
But still, somehow, she managed to leave me completely captivated.
A few months ago, she would’ve annoyed the hell out of me.
She would’ve gone out of her way to make my life difficult.
And now…
Now she looked at me like that.
Now she was shy around me.
Now she brought me roses.
What had changed?
Or maybe the real question was
When had I started wanting more?
The event had gone perfectly.
Everyone was in high spirits, celebrating the success of our performance. The judges were impressed, the industry professionals seemed interested, and for once, everything felt right.
Freen, being Freen, had declared she was treating all of us, dragging everyone to the cafeteria for ice cream. The atmosphere was loud, full of laughter and playful teasing.
I should have been indulging in the moment.
But instead, I stood in front of the ice cream freezer, taking longer than necessary to choose.
Because in my hands, I held two.
One for me, and one for her.
Just a simple way to say thank you.
Thank you for the rose.
Thank you for fixing my zipper.
Thank you for believing in me.
Freen, too preoccupied with feeding Becky spoonfuls of ice cream, didn’t question why I had an extra one. They looked adorable—Becky acting like a child, Freen indulging her without complaint.
Taking advantage of their distraction, I slipped away.
I searched for her everywhere the food stalls, the campus pathways, even near the benches where the student council usually gathered.
That’s when I spotted Nani.
Namtan’s brother.
Talking to Sky.
My cousin.
Freen had invited Sky to join us, but why was he with Nani instead?
I didn’t have time to think about it.
Because a few feet away, standing near a game stall, was her.
Namtan.
She was focused on a hoop toss game, eyes narrowing as she calculated her next move.
I took my chance.
Silently, I stepped closer. Maybe on purpose.
Then, in a low whisper, right against her ear, I said,
"How about that panda?"
She froze.
Her fingers, mid-throw, stiffened around the hoop.
I saw it the way her throat bobbed, the way her breath hitched.
Oh, Namtan.
I didn’t know why, but I was enjoying this. This side of her. The one that wasn’t all sharp edges and confidence.
Slowly, she turned her face towards me, her wide eyes blinking once, twice, three times as if trying to process what had just happened.
Her hand moved again, throwing the hoop.
I watched, impressed, as it landed perfectly around the panda.
The boy at the counter shouted in excitement, breaking whatever moment we had just been trapped in.
I smirked, grabbing the panda as I started to walk away.
But before I could get too far, I heard her footsteps fast.
A hand.
On my wrist.
A sudden pull.
Before I knew it, she had yanked me into a corner.
My back hit the wall, and before I could even react, her hand was over my mouth.
What the
My eyes widened as she leaned in, her face so close that her breath brushed against my cheek.
The only thing between us was her palm, pressed firmly over my lips.
Her gaze burned into mine.
"So you like this, huh?"
The words sent a shiver down my spine.
I tried to move, to speak, but she stayed there, eyes locked onto mine—challenging, daring, teasing.
Then, her free hand the one not silencing me moved.
Tracing.
A single finger along the side of my face.
Slow. Deliberate.
What is she doing to me?
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
Her eyes wavered, darkened, her expression unreadable.
And just when I thought she might do something else
She pulled away.
Completely.
Letting go.
Leaving me paralyzed in place.
"You did great today," she murmured.
She turned.
And walked away.
Again.
Again.
Leaving me behind.
Leaving me confused.
Leaving me standing there, clutching a panda, my chest rising and falling far too quickly.
Leaving me with more questions than answers.
What were we?
Were we still rivals?
Did I even hate her anymore?
Was this even hate?