It didn't happen right away.
That's what I remember most.
For someone who would end up changing everything.
—
Christopher didn't rush into my life.
He stayed at a distance.
Like he knew better.
—
I noticed him long before he ever noticed me.
Or maybe… he noticed me and chose not to show it.
That sounds more like him.
—
It started small.
A glance that lasted half a second too long.
A pause when he walked past my desk.
Nothing obvious.
Nothing anyone else would catch.
But I did..
I always noticed things like that.
—
I had a reputation back then.
Rich parents.
Too much money.
Too much freedom.
People either wanted something from me
—
or wanted to be me.
It got boring.
Fast.
So I stopped paying attention to them.
Stopped pretending.
Stopped caring.
—
Christopher was different.
Not because he tried to be.
But because he didn't try at all.
—
The second time I really saw him
—
not just looked, but saw
—
he was standing outside the lecture hall.
Sunlight hit him wrong.
Or maybe right.
I don't know.
But it made people stop.
Actually stop.
Even if they didn't realize they were doing it.
Blonde hair catching light like it belonged to something softer than this world.
Blue eyes too clear.
Too honest.
Pink lips slightly parted like he was about to say something
—
and then decided not to.
Beautiful.
Annoyingly so.
The kind of beauty that didn't ask for attention but got it anyway.
—
He looked out of place.
Not because of what he wore
—
simple.
Clean.
normal.
But because of how he carried himself.
Careful.
Like everything he did had to be measured first.
Like one wrong move would break something.
—
I don't know why I walked up to him. Maybe I was bored.
Maybe I was curious.
Or maybe
—
I just wanted to see if someone like him would look at me the same way everyone else did.
—
"Hey."
The word left my mouth before I thought about it.
Christopher blinked.
Slowly.
Like he needed a second to process that I was talking to him.
Then he looked at me.
Properly.
And for the first time
—
there it was.
Recognition.
Not admiration.
Not interest.
Just… awareness.
—
"…Hi,"
he said.
Quiet.
But not weak.
That surprised me.
—
"You're in my class," I added, like it mattered.
Like I needed a reason to be standing there.
"I know."
Of course he did.
He always noticed things.
—
A pause.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.
He looked like he wanted to leave. Actually leave.
Not in the polite, fake way people usually did.
And that
—
that annoyed me.
—
"What's your name?"
I asked.
I already knew.
But I wanted to hear him say it.
—
"…Christopher."
A slight hesitation.
Then
—
"Christopher Miller
I tilted my head.
"miller , huh."
He nodded once.
Like that was enough.
Like that was all I was getting.
—
Most people would've filled the silence.
Talked too much.
Tried too hard.
Christopher didn't.
He just stood there.
Waiting.
Not nervous.
Not eager.
Just… ready to go.
—
It was the first time in a long time that
I didn't know what to say next.
—
"…Jackson," I said finally.
"I know."
—
That made me pause.
"You do?"
Christopher nodded again.
"You sit near the window."
A beat.
"And people talk about you."
—
Of course they did.
I almost laughed.
"Yeah? And what do they say?"
—
He hesitated.
Not out of fear.
Out of consideration.
Like he was deciding whether I deserved the truth.
—
"That you're not a good person."
—
Silence.
Then
—
I smiled.
Not offended.
Not angry.
Just… interested.
"Do you think that too?"
—
Christopher looked at me for a second longer this time.
Really looked.
And something in his expression shifted.
Just slightly.
—
"I don't know you,"
he said.
Simple.
Honest.
Final.
—
And then
—
he walked away.
—
I stood there longer than I should have.
Watching him leave.
Watching the way people moved around him without realizing they were making space.
Watching the way he disappeared into the crowd
—
even when he shouldn't have been able to.
—
That was the first time we spoke.
Not dramatic.
Not important.
Not unforgettable.
—
At least.
—
that's what I told myself.
—
The memory cracked again.
Sharp this time.
Like something breaking under pressure.
—
And suddenly
—
I was back in his apartment.
Back in the silence.
Back with the letter in my hands.
—
My chest felt tight.
Too tight.
Like something inside me was trying to claw its way out.
—
"That you're not a good person."
His voice echoed in my head.
Clear.
Unchanged.
—
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Yeah,"
I muttered.
"You got that right."
—
My grip on the paper tightened.
Wrinkling it slightly.
Careless.
Something he would've hated.
—
"I wasn't," I said softly.
To the empty room.
To him.
To myself.
—
A pause.
Then quieter
—
"…but I could've been."
—
The words settled into the silence.
Heavy.
Useless.
Too late.
—
I closed my eyes for a second.
And when I opened them
—
I kept reading.