You gathered your things, the movement routine. As you stood, your gaze drifted past the rows of desks toward the door. That’s when you saw him.

Xavi. He was already packed, standing awkwardly by the window, but he wasn’t looking at the exit. He was looking directly at you. His eyes flickered away the second they met yours, his hand coming up to nervously adjust the strap of his backpack. A faint, hectic blush colored his cheeks.

You turned toward the hallway, the river of students pulling you along. A final glance back caught him still there, frozen, one hand subtly, hastily, smoothing down the front of his jeans.

Your locker was at the end of the hall. You spun the combination, the familiar clicks a comforting rhythm. The door swung open. Taped to the inside, stark against the grey metal, was a single, folded square of notebook paper.