"Sometimes, the loudest noise in school isn't the bell.
It's the hush that follows your name,
spoken in a tone that knows more than it should."
Dear Diary,
It started with whispers.
Soft at first, like dust stirred by passing feet.
Then louder — bolder — like chalk screeching on an old blackboard.
They were talking about us.
Me. And him.
"They snuck off together at the museum."
"They were seen dancing in an attic."
"She's been in love with him since he moved in."
"He's moving to our school — because of her."
The words slithered down hallways.
They clung to my name like vines.
People turned to stare.
Some smiled knowingly.
Some just smirked.
And Jia?
She stood like a flame in the middle of it all.
"Let them talk," she said, arms folded, chin high.
"They're just mad no one wants to sneak off to dusty attics with them."
I wanted to laugh — and cry.
Because half of it was true.
---
But then came the real twist.
Morning assembly.
New term.
New announcements.
The principal's voice boomed:
"Let's welcome our new transfer student… from Eastview College."
And there he was.
Him.
Hair slightly windswept.
Hands in his pockets like they were holding thoughts too fragile to drop.
Eyes searching… and finding mine.
The entire assembly seemed to shift,
tilting toward something unreal.
He was here. In my school. In my world.
Jia gasped beside me.
"No way."
I just blinked.
Nodded.
Smiled like the moon had decided to show up at noon.
He was placed in my class.
Sat two rows behind me.
And during Literature, when we read "A Love Song for the Broken City,"
he underlined a line in his textbook, tore the edge of the page, and passed it forward.
It landed on my desk.
Like fate delivered in a folded corner.
I opened it slowly.
> "You are the only echo I want in the halls of my heart."
---
By lunch, the rumors grew stronger.
But now, they didn't sting.
Because sometimes, love doesn't need to be quiet.
Sometimes, it deserves to be seen, even in whispers.
Even in crowded school corridors where lockers slam
and hearts beat louder than footsteps.
And Diary?
If they keep talking,
let them.
Let them write our story for us —
while we live the real one,
one chapter at a time.
Until tomorrow's page,
Wunor 💌📚🌬️