Without Nazma realizing it, her life had actually changed drastically since she met Zemiro Guilherme. It was just that the ambitious girl was too busy with rows of numbers and thick books to notice the small changes starting to grow within her heart.
In truth, Nazma's prayer had already been answered.
She wanted to be in the romance dramas she often read—those filled with unexpected encounters and strange, swirling feelings. However, Nazma was too rational to realize that her own drama had already begun.
Just look at her. Every day after school, Nazma remained the same as she was before entering AB College. The unpleasant sounds of mockery still accompanied her on the streets heading home or around her neighborhood.
Those cynical whispers seemed to have become an inseparable part of her routine.
But, something was different.
Suddenly, falling in love was what began to drown out those discordant voices.
Every time a cruel whisper tried to pierce her ears, Zemiro's gallant voice—the way he said her name, or even just his soft cough in class—acted like a powerful silencer. That voice was now more dominant, more alluring, and more capable of filling every corner of her mind.
Nazma was now intensely focused on one thing: how could she talk to Zemiro? How could she get closer to the boy in the blue mask? Several weeks had passed since school started, yet Nazma had not found an opening. Their relationship was still limited to being classmates who never greeted each other, let alone exchanged numbers.
That question haunted her, proving more complicated than any algebra problem.
She did not know yet that fate had already begun to play its part.
Nazma let out a long sigh, propping her chin with her right hand while staring blankly toward the classroom window.
Is it true that middle school is a happy time? she asked in her daydream.
For Nazma, that belief was firmly planted. Her mind drifted to scenes of romance anime she usually watched secretly on weekends. A middle school era filled with flowers, where a schoolgirl ran cheerfully under cherry blossom trees with petals falling, blown by the spring breeze.
Truly, Nazma was feeling that "springtime" sensation right now—right inside her heart.
There was a flutter that bloomed every time Zemiro's image passed by. But, Nazma quickly brushed the feeling aside before she could even enjoy it. She felt a giant wall separating her imagination from reality.
It's impossible for me to get Zemiro, she thought bitterly.
Zemiro was too handsome. Even just by seeing his calm gaze and his upright posture as he walked down the corridor, Nazma felt the boy was in a different league. As for her?
Nazma saw her own reflection in the bedroom mirror—a girl with thick glasses and a uniform buttoned up to the very top.
Zemiro is too perfect for someone as plain as me, Nazma looked down sadly, her fingers toying with the edge of the steel ruler on her desk.
***