The shape of beginning
If someone asked me when I first fell for him, I wouldn't have an answer.
Love stories are supposed to begin with certainty. A moment. A realization. A spark.
Mine began with a pair of crooked teeth.
Not because they were perfect.
Because they weren't.
The first thing I noticed about him wasn't his eyes. It wasn't his smile. It wasn't the sound of his voice.
It was his crooked teeth.
We were both preparing for competitive exams at the same coaching institute.
One afternoon, in a classroom that smelled faintly of marker ink and summer heat, our teacher asked him to stand up and read a passage aloud.
Most of us were half-listening, half-daydreaming, counting the minutes until class ended.
I looked up for what should have been an ordinary moment.
Until then, he had been just another student sitting a few rows away.
Just another face in a crowded classroom.
I looked up for a second.
Just a second.
Long enough to notice the way his teeth overlapped when he spoke.
"Cute" I thought.
Then I went back to my notes.
That's it.
No butterflies.
No dramatic music.
No love at first sight.
Just a random observation that should have meant absolutely nothing.
At least, that's what I thought.
A few weeks later, I arrived at coaching as usual. The afternoon sun hung heavily over the entrance, and students shuffled in and out through the gate.
As I approached, he noticed me coming.
Without hesitation, he stepped aside.
The movement was so natural that it seemed almost unconscious, as though making space for someone else was simply part of who he was.
I remember looking up.
He was smiling.
Not a big smile.
Just enough to soften his face.
I smiled back and nodded a silent thank you before walking past.
For a moment, neither of us said a word.
That was the first time I thought he seemed kind.
The first time he felt like more than just another face in class.
Not important.
Just memorable.
Then life happened.
Soon after that, I stopped going to coaching altogether.
I'd convinced myself that competitive exams weren't meant for me. My confidence had disappeared somewhere between expectations and disappointment, and eventually, so did my motivation.
So I left.
The classes.
The exams.
The notes.
The crowded classrooms.
And the boy with crooked teeth.
Or at least, I thought I did.
Weeks passed.
Every day I stayed home, it became harder to go back.
The notes piled up.
The syllabus grew.
My confidence shrank.
Eventually, quitting felt easier than trying.
Every conversation seemed to end with the same question.
"What are you going to do now?"
I never had an answer......
Everyone around me seemed to know exactly where they were going, while I stood at a crossroads, unsure which path belonged to me.
The future felt blurry that afternoon.
My friends were busy taking pictures, trying to capture a day that would probably be forgotten by next week.
I was pretending not to think about everything I'd left behind when my phone lit up.
Without thinking much of it, I opened the app.
And there he was.
The boy with crooked teeth.
For a moment, my heart skipped.
Not because I had a crush on him.
Not because I wanted him to text me.
Not because I had spent weeks thinking about him.
It just did.
I stared at his profile for a few seconds longer than necessary.
I hadn't even known his name.
Yet somehow, I recognized him instantly.
Then I turned my phone toward my friends.
"Look," I said.
"That's a guy from my coaching."
They didn't know who he was.
They had absolutely no reason to care.
But somehow, I wanted to show them anyway.
At the time, I didn't understand why.
Looking back now, I don't think I remembered him because of his crooked teeth.
Or because he smiled at me.
Or because he stepped aside at a gate one afternoon.
I remembered him because some people arrive in your life quietly.
Long before they mean anything.
Long before you know they'll stay.
And somehow, without realizing it, he already had.
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