It was an average classroom: humid, windowless and stuffy, packed to the brim with students of two different grades. I sat at the back, everyone’s actions laid out clear in front of me like a drawing on a piece of paper. A pencil scribbling down the last of the notes on the board, an eraser correcting a spelling mistake, even the whisper of voices of students at the back of the room, gossiping. But the one thing that really caught my attention was the distinct sound of a sheet of ruled paper being torn from a notebook. Passing notes was forever forbidden in class.

He was a troublesome boy, always sticking his nose in the wrong place. The girl held herself with a quiet beauty. He wrote the note with a patience most unlike himself, pausing every few seconds to cast a sidelong glance, hoping to impress her. She spared him not a glance until he finished the note, accepting it with a glare.

The note sat on her desk for the remainder of the class. It was an object of utmost interest to the boy, merely a small irritation to the girl. Her lovely head kept staring nervously at the teacher, as if the look itself would stop the teacher from catching her. The minutes ticked by, and when class came to an end, the note was quickly snatched up by the girl. The boy seemed to be delighted by her reaction. He hovered by the girl’s desk, anxiously awaiting her response. He had waited not fifteen seconds before the note was returned and the girl went storming out the door, a disgusted expression contorting her beautiful face. He didn’t need to look down at the paper to tell that the answer was ‘no.’