There are some conversations that begin long before the first word is spoken.
This was one of them.
The room wasn't particularly special.
Just two chairs facing each other, a small table between them, and sunlight slipping through half-drawn curtains. Yet somehow it felt separated from the rest of the world, as if someone had carved out a tiny corner of time and forgotten to fill it with noise.
And for once, it was just us.
No friends hovering nearby.
No teasing.
No interruptions.
No pretending not to look at each other.
Just us.
The funny thing was, I had imagined this moment before.
Not the room.
Not the chairs.
Just the idea of finally talking without a hundred other people around.
And now that it was actually happening, I had absolutely no idea what to do with it.
Thankfully, neither of us seemed interested in discussing anything serious.
The conversation wandered wherever it pleased.
From random observations to half-finished jokes.
From old stories to things that made absolutely no sense.
The kind of conversation that shouldn't have felt easy after everything.
Yet somehow it did.
Every now and then I'd find myself smiling before he even reached the punchline.
Every now and then he'd look at me like he already knew I was about to laugh.
And that familiarity terrified me a little.
Because some things are supposed to fade with time.
Ours never seemed to.
There was something else too.
Something I had carried into the room with me.
A sentence.
A simple one.
Only a few words long.
I'm sorry.
It should have been easy.
People apologize all the time.
But every time I thought about saying it, the words got stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat.
So I kept postponing it.
One more minute.
One more joke.
One more conversation.
One more chance.
The perfect moment never came.
Or maybe it did and I was too afraid to take it.
Before I could decide, the door opened.
A teacher stepped inside.
Her eyes immediately landed on him.
"Why are you sitting here alone?"
I almost laughed.
Alone?
I was sitting right there.
Visible.
Breathing.
Existing.
Yet somehow I had become invisible.
He answered with a casual excuse, and she seemed satisfied with it.
She nodded.
Accepted it without another question.
And left.
No suspicion.
No lecture.
No raised eyebrows.
Nothing.
The moment the door closed behind her, we looked at each other.
Then simultaneously burst out laughing.
"Alone?" I repeated.
"I was wondering the same thing."
The conversation continued after that, but the room somehow felt smaller.
Not uncomfortable.
Just temporary.
Like we both knew it wouldn't last forever.
And it didn't.
A little later we found ourselves back in a classroom filled with people.
The spell was broken.
Friends were talking.
Students were moving around.
Life had returned to normal.
He was somewhere nearby.
Close enough to notice.
Far enough to disappear into the crowd.
I was halfway through a conversation when I reached for my water bottle.
Orange.
Bright orange.
A colour I had never owned before and probably never would.
I took a sip.
Then another.
A boy sitting nearby pointed at it.
"Still some left?"
I looked inside.
Not much.
Enough for later.
Not enough to share comfortably.
Before I could answer, I noticed him getting up from his seat.
He had his own bottle in one hand and was heading toward the door.
Immediately, an idea appeared.
"Wait."
The poor guy waiting for water looked confused.
I handed him the bottle anyway.
"Finish it."
Then I hurried after him.
He stopped when I called his name.
"What?"
I held out my bottle.
"Take this too."
He looked at it.
Then looked at me.
Then back at the bottle.
"No."
I blinked.
"No?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Why should I?"
The audacity.
I folded my arms.
"Didn't I let you drink from my bottle yesterday?"
A smile appeared on his face.
The kind he was trying very hard to hide.
"That's not the point."
"It absolutely is the point."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is."
For a moment neither of us moved.
Then he sighed dramatically.
The way people do when they're about to lose an argument and know it.
"Fine."
Victory.
He took the bottle.
Both of them now hanging from one hand.
Then walked away.
I watched him go for a second longer than necessary before returning to my seat.
A mistake.
Because the moment I sat down, two very familiar smiles were waiting for me.
The kind of smiles that meant trouble.
"Oh?"
One of them raised an eyebrow.
"The bottle."
I immediately knew where this was going.
"There is nothing special about the bottle."
"Of course."
"Absolutely nothing."
"Obviously."
The more serious I tried to sound, the harder they laughed.
Eventually I gave up and laughed with them.
Because honestly?
Maybe it had looked suspicious.
Maybe I had followed him for no reason.
Maybe I could have asked literally anyone else.
But I hadn't.
And unfortunately, everyone seemed to know it.
The rest of the day slipped away after that.
Classes ended.
People left.
Conversations dissolved into goodbyes.
The usual.
Only when I was halfway home did something suddenly occur to me.
My bottle.
I stopped walking.
Checked my bag.
Nothing.
Checked again.
Still nothing.
Then I remembered.
It was still with him.
The orange bottle.
The one I had chased him down the corridor to give.
The one I had completely forgotten about afterward.
I should have been annoyed.
Instead, I laughed.
Because somewhere between trying to return a bottle and trying to say sorry, I had managed to do neither.
And somehow that felt very us.
Some things, it seemed, were easier to carry than words.