I never thought I’d see him again—at least, not like this.

The last time we’d spoken properly was in ninth grade, back when we were the infamous duo of classroom pranks, late submissions, and unstoppable laughter. Then life happened—new friends, different priorities, the occasional cold nod in the hallway. And just like that, we went from partners-in-crime to acquaintances who barely acknowledged each other.

But fate, that nosy troublemaker, had other plans.

Because today, four years later, here we were—stuck in detention together.

“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath as I slumped into my seat.

Across the room, he shot me a slow, lazy smirk. That smirk. The one that always meant trouble. The one that had once made me laugh so hard I cried. And now? Now it just made me want to throw a dictionary at his face.

“This is nostalgic,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head like we were chilling at a café instead of sitting in a classroom, being punished. “Detention, just like the good old days.”

“The good old days?” I snorted. “Speak for yourself. Unlike you, I don’t make a habit of getting in trouble.”

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow. “So what are you doing here, Miss Model Student?”

I crossed my arms, ignoring the way his eyes twinkled with amusement. “It’s a misunderstanding.”

“Aha.” He nodded dramatically. “Of course. I’m sure the teacher just imagined you back-answering her in front of the whole class.”

I groaned. “She was being unreasonable!”

“She was always unreasonable. But you never used to care.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So what changed?”

I didn’t answer. Because the truth was, a lot had changed.

I wasn’t the same girl he used to know—the girl who laughed too loud, who stole his fries in the cafeteria, who dared him to pull the fire alarm (he actually did, and we got a three-day suspension). I had spent the last few years trying to be better, to be perfect. And somehow, in the process, I had lost the only person who ever made life feel easy.

Now here we were. Full circle.

Before I could respond, the teacher in charge of detention walked in, gave us a withering glare, and handed out our punishment—writing an essay on ‘The Importance of Discipline’.

I barely held in a groan.

He, on the other hand, winked at me and whispered, “Race you to the worst essay.”

And just like that, the laughter came back.
If there was one thing I remembered about him, it was this—he hated writing.

“Discipline is important,” he muttered, tapping his pen against his notebook. “Because…uh… it helps you…not end up in detention?”

I stifled a laugh. “Wow, Shakespeare. That’s deep.”

“Shut up.” He scowled, flipping his pen between his fingers. “This is a stupid assignment.”

“It’s detention. It’s supposed to be stupid.”

He sighed dramatically, slumping in his chair. “Wanna make it interesting?”

I glanced at him warily. “Define interesting.”

“Whoever writes the worst essay wins. Loser buys coffee.”

I blinked. “Wait, so we want to fail?”

“Obviously.” He grinned. “What, scared you can’t beat me?”

Oh, he was on.

For the next twenty minutes, we scribbled furiously. I wrote an entire paragraph about how discipline was important because if monkeys had discipline, they could take over the world. He, on the other hand, wrote three lines before giving up and drawing stick figures fighting a battle labeled Discipline vs. Freedom.

The teacher took one look at our papers and groaned. “Why am I not surprised?”

We were thrown out of detention early.

“That’s a win for me.” He smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets as we walked out of the building. “You owe me coffee.”

“In your dreams,” I scoffed. “I clearly put in more effort to be worse.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, so you admit my essay was worse?”

His smirk faltered. “No, I—”

“Ha! Victory!” I pumped my fist in the air. “You owe me coffee.”

He groaned. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured towards the café across the street. “Fine. But I’m picking the place.”

I shrugged. “Whatever. Just don’t poison my drink.”

“No promises.”

Laughing, we stepped inside, the warmth of the café chasing away the last of the awkwardness.

And just like that, the invisible wall between us started to crumble.

If there was one thing I remembered about him, it was this—he hated writing.

The café smelled like freshly ground coffee beans and warm vanilla. It was the same place we used to come to after school when we were still friends—before time and silence got in the way.

He led us to a corner booth like he owned the place, dropping into the seat across from me. “So, Miss Essay Champion, what’s your order?”

I smirked. “The most expensive coffee on the menu.”

He let out a mock gasp. “Wow. First, you cheat your way into winning, and now, you’re robbing me?”

“You suggested the bet.”

“Remind me to never make a deal with you again.”

I shrugged, flipping through the menu. “Too late.”

When the waiter arrived, I ordered a caramel macchiato, making sure to emphasize large size. He rolled his eyes and got a black coffee, just like he always used to. Some things never changed.

“So,” he said, leaning back against the booth, “what’s your deal?”

I frowned. “What deal?”

“You.” He gestured vaguely at me. “You used to be fun. Now you’re all…” He paused, searching for a word. “Responsible.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Thanks?”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “I just mean, you were never the type to care about rules. Now you’re arguing with teachers and acting like some kind of academic warrior.”

I stirred my coffee, avoiding his gaze. “People change.”

“Yeah,” he said, studying me. “But not always for the better.”

That stung. Not because he was wrong, but because a part of me had been thinking the same thing for months.

I sighed, staring at the steam rising from my cup. “It’s called growing up. You should try it sometime.”

He let out a laugh. “Oh, I tried. Didn’t like it.”

I shook my head, unable to stop a small smile.

“Seriously, though.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What happened?”

I hesitated. Should I tell him about the pressure to be perfect? About the expectations from my parents, teachers, and even myself? About how I’d spent so much time trying to be what everyone wanted that I forgot who I was?

Instead, I deflected. “What about you? You’re still the same reckless idiot.”

He grinned. “Thanks. I take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

He shrugged. “Still taking it.”

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest told me that, for the first time in years, I didn’t mind losing this argument.

Just then, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it and sighed. “Ugh. I have to go. My mom needs me to pick something up.”

I felt an unexpected pang of disappointment.

“Well,” I said, trying to sound casual, “thanks for the coffee. I’ll let you lose a bet again sometime.”

He smirked as he stood up. “Oh, you wish.”

As he walked away, I realized something.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t just remembering what it felt like to be his friend—I was starting to miss it.
The next few days passed in a weird mix of avoidance and expectation.

I didn’t expect to see him again so soon, but somehow, we kept bumping into each other—outside the library, in the cafeteria line, even in the corridor when I was running late for class.

And every time, he had that same smug grin, like he knew something I didn’t.

“What?” I finally asked when we ran into each other again, this time outside the school gate.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Nothing. Just funny how we keep running into each other.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you following me?”

“Please,” he scoffed. “If I were following you, I’d be better at it. You wouldn’t even notice.”

“Creepy.”

He smirked. “Thank you.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could walk away, he suddenly said, “Come with me.”

I blinked. “Where?”

“Nowhere dangerous.” He held up his hands. “It’s just this place I go to when I need a break. You’ll like it.”

Something in his tone made me hesitate. It wasn’t a challenge, wasn’t teasing—just…honest.

I should have said no. I should have walked away.

Instead, I found myself saying, “Fine. But if I get kidnapped, I’m haunting you.”

“Fair.” He grinned. “Let’s go.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting on a rooftop, watching the city below.

“Okay,” I admitted, hugging my knees. “This is actually…nice.”

“Told you.” He leaned back on his elbows, staring at the sky. “I found this place last year. Good spot to escape.”

“Escape from what?”

He was quiet for a second before answering. “Everything.”

I knew that feeling.

We sat there in comfortable silence for a while. The air between us wasn’t heavy with old fights or lost years anymore. It was something else—something lighter, something unspoken.

Then, without thinking, I blurted, “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if we never stopped being friends?”

He turned to look at me, his expression unreadable. “All the time.”

I swallowed. I wasn’t expecting that answer.

“So why did we stop?” I asked softly.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know. You got busy. I got…stupid.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, you did.”

He nudged my shoulder. “Hey. Not that stupid.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You got suspended for setting off a fire alarm twice.”

He grinned. “And I’d do it again.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“True.” He stretched his arms behind his head. “But admit it—you missed me.”

I opened my mouth to argue. But then I caught his gaze, warm and waiting, and I realized something.

I had missed him.

More than I wanted to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one.
Over the next few weeks, we kept accidentally running into each other.

Okay, fine. It wasn’t that accidental.

It started with him waiting outside my classroom after school, claiming it was “coincidence.” Then I started saving him a seat in the cafeteria, pretending it was “habit.” One day, I texted him about a stupid meme, and before I knew it, we were texting every night, slipping back into old patterns like we had never fallen apart.

But there was something different now.

Something new.

Like the way he started leaning in just a little too close when he talked. Or how he’d ruffle my hair and call me shorty just to see me glare at him. Or how, every time he made me laugh, he’d pause for half a second, like he was memorizing it.

And then came the game.

It happened in the library, of all places.

We were supposed to be studying, but of course, that lasted about five minutes before he got bored.

“I bet I can make you laugh,” he whispered, nudging my foot under the table.

I raised an eyebrow. “You think you can, but you won’t.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” He grinned. “Loser buys ice cream.”

“Fine.” I smirked. “Game on.”

For the next ten minutes, he whispered the dumbest things he could think of. Knock-knock jokes. Fake dramatic poetry. A horrible impression of our math teacher.

I held strong.

Until he leaned forward, rested his chin on his hand, and said in a mock-serious voice—

“If we were a rom-com, this is where we’d accidentally kiss.”

I snorted. Loudly. In the middle of the library.

The librarian shot us a death glare, and I slapped my hand over my mouth, eyes wide.

He, of course, looked way too pleased with himself.

“Looks like someone owes me ice cream,” he whispered smugly.

I groaned. “You’re the worst.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “And yet, here you are. Hanging out with me voluntarily.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide my smile.

And that was the moment I realized—I was in trouble.

Because I wasn’t just laughing at his jokes anymore.

I was falling for him.