Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki. High school grad? Last year. The one and only Bakugou Katsuki. After graduating high school, I didn’t jump straight into college.
If anyone asked why, it wasn’t because I was a fucking idiot. My brain was sharp as a damn blade, my grades were cutting-edge. Hell, I was number one in high school. But that wasn’t enough to get into Seigetsu University’s Nuclear Engineering, the fucking holy grail of engineering schools in Japan. That department was too packed, too perfect, and I got bounced out by a hair’s breadth from the cutoff.
I could’ve gone to some other shitty university. My rank was good enough. But what was the point of living if you’re not aiming for the top? Why waste my time in some half-assed place that didn’t even make my pulse race? Seigetsu’s Nuclear Engineering, that was the only one.
Non-negotiable.
Period.
Kirishima had already gotten into college. Sero too. Iida, Shinsou, even that damn Deku made it into Seigetsu, though not in my dream department. But me? I chose to repeat a year. A whole fucking year stuck in a stuffy, cold, too-damn-quiet study room. Nothing but the sound of flipping pages. My days were filled with numbers, formulas, and a quiet, burning grudge.
Kaminari flunked too, but he stuck with me. He said he was aiming for electrical engineering next year, and for some reason, that made my sacrifice feel a little less fucking lonely. Todoroki? That bastard failed too. And for the first time, we were on the same level: trying again, together.
My old hag of a mom, Mitsuki, kept shaking her head at how stubborn I was chasing the same damn thing. She called me hard-headed, too ambitious, told me to be realistic. Like I gave a shit. I wasn’t raised to be ordinary. I was raised to win. And winning meant getting into Seigetsu’s Nuclear Engineering.
And I fucking did it. At 19, I walked through those university gates. Kaminari got into electrical engineering, and Todoroki, that half-and-half bastard, made it into nuclear engineering with me. Late? Who gave a damn. I was exactly where I was meant to be. Seigetsu.
From the first day I stepped foot there, I swore nothing would distract me.
I came for one thing: to be the best in Seigetsu’s Nuclear Engineering.
°•°
I knew.
Getting into Seigetsu’s Nuclear Engineering wasn’t the end. It was just the fucking gate swinging open. And once I stepped through, I got slammed with a tidal wave of assignments, bullshit calculations, merciless lab reports, and sleepless nights. Accepted? That was just the warm-up. The real bastard came after.
Fuck.
Sometimes I thought about slapping a heat pack on the foreheads of those heartless professors. But I knew it wouldn’t help. It wasn’t exhaustion that was killing me. It was this fucking hunger to keep winning.
I became a coffee addict. Not because it was cool, but because my body needed to keep moving even when my brain begged for mercy. Sleep? That became a rare side dish I barely touched. Reports? Piled up. Daily quizzes? Too many. Labs? Hell. Professors? Evil. Life? A mess. Me? Giving up?
In your fucking dreams.
Todoroki even started carrying heat packs in his bag. Can you believe that shit? Todoroki Shoto. That cold-blooded jerk. Carrying heat packs. Sometimes I wondered if he had imaginary burns from academic pressure, not reactor heat. But we were always in the same group. Efficient. Deep down, I trusted his dumbass brain. He trusted me too. And even though we argued over theories, simulations, even the optimal temperature for reaction tests, I’d still rather work with him than anyone else.
Fuck our rivalry. Under Seigetsu’s pressure, we weren’t opposites anymore. We were two ticking bombs trying to explode in the same direction. And it worked. Our grades were solid. Our focus? Unbreakable.
I was so damn busy, I barely went home. My house, just one city away from campus, felt like another fucking planet. Too far, too cozy to bother with. I couldn’t even remember the last time I opened my bedroom door.
The old hag, always calling with her voice booming like a damn megaphone, “YOU LITTLE BRAT! COME HOME ALREADY! YOU SEE THOSE SAD PANDA EYES OF YOURS!? HOLY SHIT!” I just snorted and fired up my laptop on the dorm bed.
Sleep? It became a fucking treasure. When I could actually crash on a not-too-hard mattress without thinking about neutron moderation or reaction rate calculations? That was a luxury vacation I got maybe once a month.
That’s why I crashed at Todoroki’s dorm a lot. His shitty room was basically my second home. Not because it was comfy. Hell no. But because I didn’t have the energy to drive back. Why waste time on the road when I could finish next week’s report while Todoroki’s microwave heated up some soba for breakfast?
Japan’s top engineering university had dorms, complete with lab access just steps from the stairs. Those dorms weren’t just housing. They were fortresses for students who had no time to live. I didn’t officially live there, but I was a regular in Todoroki’s room.
Yeah.
Todoroki.
He was annoying, cold, quiet, but efficient.
His dorm room was always neat. Except for the fact that he hoarded too much instant soba.
Sometimes I wondered if his fridge was a personal shrine to buckwheat noodles.
We bickered a lot. Swearing was our daily language. But in the end, we sat side by side on the same floor, staring at the same screen, eyes red, spirits still burning. Sometimes he muttered, “You’re too hard on yourself.”
And I just shrugged.
“If I wanna graduate fast, that’s the price.”
°•°
Finally, I gave in.
Not to the university. To the fucking grind that was tearing me apart. So, I decided to rent a dorm room… in the same one as Todoroki.
Each dorm room fit two people. Us, the two most emotionally incompatible bastards, decided to live together not because we liked each other. But for efficiency. Our schedules matched. Our classes matched. Our stress levels… matched. And for the record, our room was next to Kirishima’s. He was in materials engineering. And Kaminari’s. Meaning, if you walked down that hallway at 2 a.m., don’t expect peace.
What you’d hear was a live broadcast from academic hell.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? YOU DID THE HEAT REDUCTION SIMULATION WITH A STONE-AGE FORMULA, TODOROKI!”
“YOUR YELLING WON’T SLOW DOWN THOSE NEUTRONS, BAKUGOU.”
“YOU DUMB BASTARD, IS YOUR BRAIN FROZEN?! DO YOU EVEN GET THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DETERMINISTIC AND STOCHASTIC?!”
“I GET IT. YOU’RE THE ONE WRITING IT IN A SHITTY FORMAT. IS THAT TABLE TRYING TO FIGHT THE FONT?”
“IF I SMACK YOU WITH YOUR UNDERWEAR YOU LEFT IN MY DRAWER, CAN I CALL IT SELF-DEFENSE?!”
“THAT’S MY UNDERWEAR? YOU’RE THE ONE WHO PUT IT ON MY TROPHY SHELF, JERK.”
Our swearing was basically the room’s background music. Kirishima even knocked once, laughing, “Are you two a failed married couple or failed nuclear scientists?”
But still, even if our words were like knives thrown blindly, we knew where they were aimed. They never hit the heart. Never hit the intent. We fought, yeah, but we got how each other worked.
Sometimes, Yaoyorozu Momo from Chemical Engineering, Todoroki’s girlfriend, stopped by. She stood at the door like she was about to cast a cleansing spell on the room. Her hand slapped her forehead, her eyes scanned the paper-strewn desk, and all she said was, “I don’t know if you two are living or burning in your own theories.”
But guess what? When we were serious. And yeah, that happened more than people thought. We could sit quietly, shoulders touching, voices low, discussing. In one calm night, we could finish a semester project, build a theory, compile a perfect report… and score the highest in class.
I hated admitting it, but… me and Todoroki were the most explosive combo Seigetsu could’ve created.
And my life?
Full of blasts, coffee, and hot-headed moments… but I was enjoying it.
°•°
My goal from the start was simple: graduate fast, high GPA, work at the national reactor center, get a fat paycheck, and live peacefully away from human stupidity.
Everything was laid out neatly like an energy conversion formula: certain, measurable, no distractions.
But fuck… semester five hit, and the plan got complicated.
Spring. Other students were posting pics of gardens and fireworks festivals, but me and Todoroki? We were basically nocturnal creatures now. Internships tore our schedules apart like starving dogs, lab reports were ticking time bombs, and sleep was a distant memory.
Todoroki once sat next to me, face blank, eyes empty.
“Wanna jump out the window?”
“Hm,” I grunted, “sounds fun.”
“Let’s do it together.”
“Not a bad idea.”
Sometimes I wondered why we hadn’t fused into one organism.
Our brains were practically synced, bitching about the same shit, moving in the same patterns, even… suffering in the same system.
But in the middle of it all. Labs, simulations, technical errors, system crashes, stale coffee. One thing kept me going.
One thing made me open my eyes in the morning with a bit more life.
Her hair. Light brown, short, beautiful like petals falling from a branch. Her cheeks, round, chubby, pink like spring brushing past. Her eyes. Sweet, round, deep… like warm melted chocolate. Short, tiny, her steps soft as she walked.
And her.
A fucking lecturer.
Uraraka Ochako.
At first? Pure accident. The “Nuclear Materials” class only opened once. Me and Todoroki stayed up until midnight fighting for a spot in the class taught by everyone’s favorite professor: Emi-sensei. But fuck it. The registration site crashed. System down. And when we finally refreshed…
The class was full.
We both froze.
“Emi-sensei’s gone,” I muttered, holding back my rage.
Todoroki spun his laptop, checking other options. “There’s one left. Class E.”
I glanced at the screen.
The lecturer’s name popped up in small, unfamiliar letters.
Uraraka Ochako.
“Who the hell is that?” Todoroki frowned. I didn’t know either. Never heard of her. Even checking the university’s official site, all we got was a short bio. New hire this year, never taught at the campus before.
But…
Top graduate, youngest ever, from the number one nuclear engineering university in the world.
America.
Since when did Japan import nuclear professors from abroad? Me and Todoroki exchanged looks. Clearly, no other choice. And I thought. A new lecturer might not be as brutal as senior ones like Professor Maijima Higari. Maybe her class would be calmer, or at least not make me want to chuck my laptop out the window.
Maybe.
Right?
…Right?
°•°
First “Nuclear Materials” class, semester five.
I sat in the back row. Todoroki was next to me, his face as annoyingly blank as ever. I wasn’t expecting much from this class. New lecturers were usually boring, more focused on building their rep than teaching anything worthwhile.
But the door opened.
And all my assumptions collapsed like a failed isotope structure.
She walked in. Tiny frame, soft pink blouse, white knee-length skirt swaying lightly as she moved. Short honey-brown hair, sweet under the sunlight. Round cheeks, big eyes. And when she spoke, her voice was light, clear, but warm.
Uraraka Ochako.
Fuck.
Cute.
Honest? Yeah, I had to admit it. This woman was adorable. Too adorable for a harsh, high-pressure place like Seigetsu. She was small. How tall was this professor? Five feet? Five-two? But I couldn’t deny it, she had this… aura. It hit a weak spot in my defenses.
Then I remembered.
She wasn’t just a pretty face and a soft voice.
She was… the top graduate from the world’s number one nuclear engineering university. America. Youngest ever. Perfect scores. Her record? Terrifying. Her brain? Undeniable.
And fuck, that made her even more… interesting.
Uraraka-sensei wasn’t stiff like the older lecturers. Maybe because she was young. Maybe because she knew, to survive at Seigetsu, you had to make your students… like you. But don’t get it twisted. Her smile was soft, but her questions were deadly.
And… she knew who me and Todoroki were.
Of course she did. All the professors knew. We were the two stubborn bastards who almost never missed an A. So, every class… we were her target practice.
“Bakugou, what’s your take on the effect of thermal aging on nuclear density at 1200 Kelvin?”
“…Todoroki, critique group three’s presentation. What can they improve in their neutron flux approach?”
Shit.
Her questions… they didn’t just drain your brain.
They made me want to stay in that room longer.
At first, I thought it was just because she was attractive. But over time? No. This woman was too damn smart. Too sharp. Her explanations were simple but deep. The way she glanced at us, split her focus between the board and leading the discussion… insane.
And fuck…
I liked it.
Her.
I liked her.
Uraraka-sensei.
I knew it was crazy. My own lecturer. Screw it. Age? Three years’ difference is nothing. She’s gorgeous. Brilliant. Her brain works twice as fast as the average jerk in this room. So why the hell not?
Todoroki kept glaring at me every time I raised my hand.
His look said, “I know you don’t actually need the answer, you just want to hear her voice respond.”
And I just smirked back.
Then raised my hand again.
“Sensei, can you explain the isotope binding mechanism in a fast breeder reactor again? I get the basics, but I want a deeper explanation… from you.”
Yeah. I know the answer. But I want to hear it from her. Her voice. That little smile when she explains. The way she draws graphs on the board.
Maybe… this isn’t love.
But if falling for someone is a nuclear reaction, then I’ve been exploding since the second she walked into class.
°•°
Uraraka-sensei taught with this soft touch. Her voice was calm, never raised, not even a hint of frustration. It was more like a narrator for some damn kids’ fairy tale than a nuclear expert who could press one button and blow up your entire semester.
Gentle.
Calm.
Even when the class got rowdy, she just stood there. Waiting.
One breath from her was enough to shut the whole room up.
But don’t get it twisted.
Late?
No mercy.
One minute past class start?
“Sorry, you can’t come in. Absent.”
And “Absent” was her special name for our class. Maybe because we were the first batch she taught as a full-time lecturer. Maybe because she ran the class like a damn military squad. Whatever the reason, everything felt sharper… and crueler.
She called out names one by one at the start of every class.
Not some casual roll call. Formal, crisp, like a fucking army roster.
“Bakugou Katsuki.”
“Here.”
“Todoroki Shouto.”
“Here.”
And if some jerk tried to cheat the system. Having a friend cover for them, faking it through the group chat?
Grade F.
No negotiation.
One email begging?
Ignored.
Pleas?
Brushed off.
“Integrity matters,” she said with a wide smile that cut like a knife.
Even if you were late on an assignment by one minute. Just one fucking minute. She’d calmly type a zero into the system. No emotion. No guilt.
Pretty.
Me?
I had to hold myself back from falling harder.
Because a woman like that. Who could smile while dropping the heaviest academic hammer. Was a crazy mix of heaven and hell.
And me?
I’m liking her more and more.
Every step she took down the hall, every click of her heels, every flick of her hand writing on the board. It was like a trap I willingly stepped into. I knew she was untouchable. A lecturer. A woman. A hard worker. But… I can’t stop myself.
Calm?
Yeah.
But behind those chubby cheeks and neat hair… she had rules hard as steel.
This woman, Uraraka-sensei…
She’d become part of my head. Whether as motivation or some extra punishment from the universe.
“Oh, I won’t give you a test later,” she said with that soft smile.
“But instead…”
Fuck.
One assignment.
One.
But that assignment hurt worse than three tests in a week.
She told us to write a scientific journal on: Dynamic Evaluation of Fuel Materials in Sodium-Cooled Fast Reactor Systems. I knew the topic. But when I got the instruction sheet and read the details. I knew the whole class was screwed.
Formatting? International journal style. Font? Mandatory. Margins? Precise. Turnitin? Under 15%. One typo? Rejected. Deadline? One week. Her smile? Still sweet as strawberries laced with poison.
The class?
Panicked.
Hysterical.
Burning alive.
“I… I’ve never written a journal, Sensei!” some poor bastard yelled from the back row.
And Uraraka-sensei just nodded gently. “It’s a great chance to learn, right?”
Todoroki?
Slammed his face into the desk.
Hard.
I was pretty sure that desk had permanent damage.
Me? I stared at the assignment sheet she’d just handed out. Silent. Not because I was shocked. Because… I was impressed.
This woman…
Tough.
Strict.
Picky as hell.
But… fuck.
She’s too damn pretty.
And when the grades for that assignment dropped in the system?
The class exploded.
A’s?
Just two: me and Todoroki.
B’s?
Barely any.
C’s, D’s, E’s… even F’s, lined up like victims of a disaster.
Uraraka-sensei kept teaching like nothing was wrong, still smiling, still guiding discussions, still giving advice with that gentle touch.
But grades?
She was stingier than a thermocouple running out of voltage.
“…Avoid her class,” Todoroki muttered during that week’s lab session.
I just stayed quiet. Stared at my laptop. And deep down? I know my answer.
I’m not avoiding that woman. I’m chasing her. Even if it meant fighting for her class next semester, I didn’t give a shit. Screw the torturous assignments. If I could see her pretty face every week… I was in.
°•°
This summer break?
A mess.
Technically, I went home.
Same house, same roof, same walls, and of course… my mom’s same old screaming.
“YOU DIDN’T COME HOME FOR A WHOLE DAMN SEMESTER!”
Me? I just snorted quietly, sat at the dining table, coffee in hand, brain not really registering her nagging. My mind… it wasn’t in this house. Not even in this city.
It was still in Seigetsu’s halls. In Class E. In front of a sweet lecturer… named Uraraka Ochako. Me and Todoroki had decided to do an internship this summer. Part of an accelerated program for upperclassmen. But we weren’t going back to the dorms.
“Go home,” my mom said, “or I’ll slap your face on a missing person’s milk carton.”
I went home.
But my mind didn’t.
Because almost every night, when the house quieted down and my parents were asleep, I opened my phone. And yeah, I looked for her. Uraraka-sensei. Her Bubblegram? I’d found it easily. She’d written her handle on the first class syllabus. Along with her official campus email and phone number.
She’d said:
“Feel free to follow my account for easier communication. But if you’re complaining about grades, don’t expect a reply. Especially if you’re the one who screwed up.”
Strict.
As always.
And… adorable.
I’d hit the follow button without thinking. Screw it if she knew. I was a student. She was a lecturer. But we’re both human. What’s the harm?
Her feed?
One post.
Slide one: a brown cat sat smugly on a windowsill.
Slide two: handmade strawberry mochi. Pink, slightly uneven.
Last slide?
A candid photo.
Her face, smiling sweetly.
Her brown hair tied up simply. Cheeks pink. She was holding the cat from the first slide. Her arms gently wrapped around the animal, her eyes not looking at the camera, like she hadn’t known she was being photographed.
And the caption read:
Neko loves mochi… maybe because we’re alike?
My eyes were glued.
Neko.
She’d named her cat “Neko.”
Cat.
Named Cat.
Dumb.
Sweet.
So fucking sweet it was dumb.
And damn it… I’m liking her more.
I opened her story highlights. There was a small album labeled “neko.” Slide after slide showed her life. Not as a lecturer. As a regular woman. Hugging her cat, making tea, reading a book.
Not much. Not flashy. But enough to make my chest feel tight.
Uraraka Ochako.
My lecturer. A smart, sharp, too-gentle-outside-class woman. Twenty-five years old. Just three years older than me. That gap felt thin, like the line between professional and personal. And that night, scrolling through her photos again, I started thinking.
If I add one more reason to chase her, is that still a mistake?
°•°
I couldn’t sleep.
Not because of coffee. Not because of internship assignments. I was just… restless. So I picked the most neutral option. Gaming. I called up Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari on Playcord, headset on, phone in one hand while I lay on my bed. Gunshots, explosions, swearing, dumb laughter. It filled my head until the clock hit 3 a.m.
Then a notification popped up.
One.
Small.
But it hit like a grenade to my chest.
@chako_ wanted to follow my Bubblegram account.
That second. My entire nervous system froze.
My hand hovered over the screen. My head nearly smacked the wall. And my heart? Almost dropped to my knees.
“Shit,” I muttered softly.
But I didn’t wait. Didn’t overthink. Didn’t analyze.
I clicked “accept request” instantly.
My account?
Private.
Feed empty.
Story highlights?
Nothing.
Profile picture?
Wearing my favorite sneakers.
The only activity on my account was the occasional Bubble story repost from Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, or. Fuck. Todoroki, who for some reason loved sneaking pics of me eating ramen, sneezing, or raging when my laptop lost data.
I kept it that way on purpose.
I didn’t like opening up space for people. But that night… one space opened. And the woman who stepped in? My lecturer. Uraraka-sensei. Who, for some reason… wanted to know who I was outside of class.
I stared at the screen. No messages. She’d just followed. Silent. But her presence in my follower list… it made my chest shake more than the grenade kill in the game earlier.
I took a breath.
Then placed my phone on my chest. Closed my eyes. And for the first time that night. I didn’t want to sleep. I just wanted to stay in that moment. The moment she knocked on the door I kept locked tight.
°•°
That morning, I was barely settled. Simple breakfast: rice, miso soup, sunny-side-up egg, and steaming black coffee. Before I could take my first bite, my phone buzzed. Notification. From Todoroki. But it wasn’t polite. Far from it.
"YOU SENT THE WRONG LAMINATION FILE, YOU BASTARD."
"THAT’S FOR AIR COOLING SIMS, NOT FAST REACTORS."
"DID YOU MIX YOUR BRAIN WITH YOUR UNDERWEAR?"
I scoffed, annoyed. Todoroki’s notification sounded like a damn nuclear alarm. I replied while half-chewing.
"BITE YOUR OWN UNDERWEAR, JERK."
"THE FORMULA YOU SENT LAST NIGHT HAD A KINETIC ERROR TOO."
"WANNA SEE ME BURN YOUR PDF?"
I felt the adrenaline spike first thing in the morning. But then… my index finger brushed the Bubblegram icon, just a reflex while sipping coffee. And up there. In the little circle with the username @chako_. A pink outline.
New story.
Without thinking, I opened it.
First slide: a seminar building with text, “International Nuclear Material Science Congress - CALIFORNIA.”
Ah. So she was… abroad now. In California. Sensei was far away. But somehow. Her presence felt closer that morning.
Second slide.
A selfie.
Bare face. No makeup. Hair tied up messily. Transparent glasses. Sunlight hit the side of her face, creating a warm glow that. Fuck. Was too sweet for a sane person to process. Chubby cheeks like mochi. Lips slightly puckered, caught in a spontaneous moment. No edits. No filters. Just reality too pretty to let pass.
I smiled.
Reflex.
My lips formed a weird line I rarely saw in the mirror.
And damn it.
“Why are you grinning like a villain?”
I choked hard.
COUGH!
Miso soup went down the wrong pipe, and I was coughing my lungs out in front of my mom, who was glaring like she was about to throw a pan. The old hag stood with hands on her hips. Hair tied up, spatula still in her right hand. I could feel her stare splitting my skull.
My dad, Masaru, just sat at the table, sipping his tea slowly.
“Careful, Katsuki,” he said softly, almost like a breeze.
“Miso soup can kill faster if you’re daydreaming.”
I snorted, chugged water. But quietly, when everything settled back to normal. I opened that story again on the illegal Bubblegram app. I held my thumb, then tapped the three dots in the corner.
“Download.”
The file saved to my gallery.
Random name. Letters and numbers. But I knew. It wasn’t just a photo. It was one second of a woman I secretly wanted to remember longer. I kept it. Because I was insane. In this world, too few things made me smile for no reason.
°•°
Internship break.
Me and Todoroki sat side by side in the research center’s tiny break room. One round table, two bowls of instant food, two heads ready to slam into the nearest wall. We didn’t talk. No energy to talk.
Our brains were stuffed with numbers. Formulas. Deadlines. Half-finished reports. Papers scattered. The spoon in my hand felt heavy. Todoroki? Slurped his soba with a zombie-like blank face.
Me?
I sighed softly… then opened my phone.
Habit.
Boredom.
My thumb automatically tapped the Arcnote app. Where we shared docs, journals, important notes. But somehow, my thumb slid right. Bubblegram opened. And a small pink circle appeared above the username I’d memorized without realizing:
@chako_
Uraraka-sensei.
New story.
Suddenly my eyes widened. My neck felt lighter. And in that second, without taking a breath, I opened it. The slide loaded.
And…
Fuck.
I screamed internally. My face stayed blank. But my chest. It was churning like a leaking reactor.
A photo of Uraraka-sensei.
In California.
She sat on an outdoor park bench, hair tied loosely, eyes half-squinting from the daylight.
Her hand held a piece of strawberry jam bread, half-bitten. But it wasn’t the bread that nearly made me pass out. Her cheeks. Puffed up. Perfect. Like… mochi set in the middle of sunlight.
Cute.
Fuck.
So damn cute.
And so not safe for a bastard like me’s heart.
Reflex. I opened the illegal Bubblegram again.
Click.
Download.
Save.
Girlfriend?
Nope.
Permission?
Hell no.
Wrong?
Maybe.
But it was for my emotional survival.
Good thing Todoroki was still lost in his soba. He didn’t notice. Whether this crime was because I was falling for our lecturer or because I was using an illegal app to save photos of someone’s chubby cheeks.
My hand went back to the real Bubblegram. The official one. The one that tracked likes, views, my silent stalking that I never wanted anyone to know.
Uraraka-sensei’s story was still there. Not gone yet. Still there. Chubby cheeks, strawberry bread, brown eyes catching California’s light.
I stared at it long.
Gorgeous.
Not like the fake, over-aesthetic photos flooding social media. Just… honest. Real. And that was what was deadliest.
Normally, I didn’t care. Bubblegram was a waste of time, visual noise. But since I’d followed @chako_, since her stories popped up at the top, since my eyes got stuck on her cheeks, her smile, her eyes.
I’d changed my mind.
I tapped the little bell icon in the top right corner of her profile.
Turn on notifications for this user’s stories and posts?
Click.
Done.
Now, if she posted a new photo, a new second, a new strand of hair on my screen. I’d know.
At least… I want to know.
Seeing her sweet face, even just through a tiny screen in my hand. Was enough to make this world I cursed feel a little lighter.
Every like I dropped on her story…
Every notification I turned on…
Every photo I saved in silence…
It was my way of saying:
“I’m tired. But you’re sweet. And because of that, I can keep going today.”