The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on my room. I was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind replaying the moment from the day before. The boy at the crosswalk.

He had been a blur of motion—brown hair, a leather jacket, and a stride so confident it made my heart skip a beat. Our eyes had met for a split second, just long enough for me to feel a jolt of something I couldn’t name. And then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost.

I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. Who’s he? Where does he live? What’s his name? The questions had haunted me all night, keeping me restless and awake. I had no way of finding him, no clues to start with. Just the memory of his face, etched into my mind like a photograph.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling me out of the thoughts. It was Dia. “Triah! Can you tell your mom to pick me up today for school? My car broke!” Dia’s voice was frantic, but I couldn’t help but smile. Dia always had a way of pulling her back to reality. She’s been my best friend since kindergarten.

“Sure, we’ll be there in 30 minutes,” I replied, dragging mysef out of bed.

By the time we reached school, my mind was buzzing with questions again. I couldn’t focus on the Physics lecture, my notebook filled with doodles instead of equations. Dia, ever the loyal best friend, leaned over and whispered, “Still thinking about Mr. Mysterious?”

I nodded, my cheeks flushing. “I can’t help it. What if he’s a student here? What if he’s in one of our classes?” Dia grinned. “Mission: Find the Crosswalk Boy begins now.”

We two spent the rest of the week scanning the hallways, peeking into classrooms, and even asking around discreetly. But the boy was nowhere to be found. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

Then, disaster struck. It was during Maths class, in the middle of a particularly boring lecture, that my stomach began to churn. At first, I tried to ignore it, but the pain grew sharper, more insistent. I clutched my stomach, my face paling.

“Dia, copy notes on my book as well,” I whispered, before bolting out of the classroom.

The next 15 minutes were a blur of discomfort and embarrassment. I sat in the bathroom, cursing own luck. Why now? Why today? When I finally emerged, the pain hadn’t subsided. I stumbled to the school medical room, where the nurse took one look at me and called my parents.

Dia arrived a few minutes later, carrying my backpack. “You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. I managed a weak smile. “Just my stomach acting up. I’ll be fine.”

As I left school, my mind drifted back to the boy at the crosswalk. I wondered if he ever thought about me, if he even remembered our brief encounter. Or maybe, to him, I was just another face in the crowd.

But for me, he was more than that. He was a mystery I was determined to solve, a feeling I couldn’t shake. And as I rested at home, my stomachache slowly faded, I made a silent promise to myself: I would find him. No matter how long it took.

Later that afternoon, my phone buzzed on the bedside table, pulling me out of a light nap. I groaned, reaching for it. It was Dia.

“Triah! You missed so many lessons today,” Dia’s voice was a mix of excitement and mock despair. “Physics teacher dropped a bomb—there’s a huge project due next week. And guess what? You’re my partner. No escaping this one.”

I groaned again, this time louder. “Great. Just what I needed. More Physics.”

Dia laughed. “Oh, and by the way, did you use telepathy on me or something? Because I think I’ve caught the love bug too.”

I immediately sat up, intrigued despite myself. “What? Who’s the lucky guy?”

Dia’s tone turned dreamy. “I’m madly in love, just like you. But my crush isn’t some mysterious crosswalk boy. I know his entire biography, including his childhood. Want to hear it?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Alright, spill. Who’s the guy who’s stolen your heart?”

Dia took a dramatic pause, as if preparing for a grand reveal. “Yesterday, our Physics teacher’s son joined our school. He’s doing his IGCSE-A level, and I saw him in the canteen with one of his classmates. They were showing him around. He’s… *perfect*.”

“Before you say anything; remember we listen we don’t judge, I know we’re doing GED but he’s doing IG.”

I raised an eyebrow, even though Dia couldn’t see me. “Wait, let me get this straight. You’re crushing on the Physics teacher’s son? The same teacher who just assigned us a project that’s probably going to ruin our lives?”

Dia sighed dreamily. “Yes. And he’s even cuter up close. He has this downward smiles, and his hair is this perfect shade of brown—”

I cut her off, laughing. “Dia, I didn’t know your tastes were this bad. Crushing on the teacher’s son? That’s like… cliché levels of predictable.”

Dia gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me, Miss ‘I Fell for a Stranger at a Crosswalk.’ At least I know his name. What’s yours? Mr. Leather Jacket?”

I snorted. “Fair point. But still, the teacher’s son? Really?”

Dia huffed. “You’re just jealous because my crush is actually attainable. Yours is probably a figment of your imagination.”

I opened her mouth to retort, but a sharp cramp in my stomach cut me off. I winced. “Ugh, Dia, I’ll call you later. My stomach’s acting up again.”

Dia’s tone shifted to concern. “Still not feeling better? Take care of yourself, okay? And don’t forget about the project!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, hanging up.

As I lay back in bed, my mind wandered back to the boy at the crosswalk. Dia’s teasing had struck a nerve. Was he just a figment of my imagination? A fleeting moment she’d built up in her head?

But then I remembered the way he’d looked at her—those piercing eyes, the way time seemed to stop for just a second. No, he was real. And I was going to find him.

Meanwhile, Dia’s crush on the Physics teacher’s son added a new layer of chaos to our lives. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here we are, two best friends, caught in our own little whirlwinds of infatuation. One chasing a mystery, the other chasing a cliché.

But as I closed my eyes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that her story was just beginning. And somewhere out there, the boy at the crosswalk was waiting.

Let me just say this upfront: some days, the universe decides you’re its personal punchline. Today was one of those days.

I woke up looking like I’d been dragged through a hedge backward. My hair? A bird’s nest. My hoodie? A shapeless blue sack that screamed “I’ve given up on life.” I didn’t even bother with makeup. What was the point? Today’s mission was survival, not impressing anyone. Especially not some imaginary crosswalk boy who probably didn’t even exist.

By the time I shuffled into school, my headache had morphed into a full-blown drum solo behind my eyes. Maths class at 8 a.m.? Cruel and unusual punishment. All I wanted was to face-plant onto my desk and hibernate until graduation.

The classroom was mercifully empty. I slumped into my seat, cheek pressed to the cold desk, when movement outside the door caught my eye. Mrs. Varma—our Physics teacher, aka the Project Tyrant—was power-walking down the hall. And trailing behind her? A tall guy with messy brown hair. *Dia’s “perfect” crush.*

I squinted. From this distance, he looked… fine? Like a background character in a teen movie. The kind of guy you’d forget five minutes after swiping left. But before I could psychoanalyze Dia’s taste, my stomach let out a gurgle that sounded like a demonic frog.

“Seriously?” I hissed, clutching my gut.

The demon frog croaked again. *Abort mission.*

I bolted from my seat, my hoodie swallowing me whole as I sprinted for the bathroom. The hallway blurred—lockers, posters, the smell of disinfectant—until I rounded the corner and slammed face-first into what felt like a brick wall.

Except this wall was warm. And breathing.

My vision swam. *Six bricks. Wait, no—abs. Six-pack abs.* My brain short-circuited as I registered the topography of this human wall: hard planes under a thin T-shirt, leading up to a chest that could’ve been carved by Michelangelo. And then… *oh God, nipples.*

“Are you okay?”

The voice snapped me back. I looked up, and there he was.

*Him.*

The crosswalk boy. The mystery. The ghost who’d haunted my dreams. Up close, he was all sharp jawline and messy brown hair, his eyes the color of moss after rain. And he was *holding my arms*, steadying me like some kind of knight in shining armor. If knights wore ratty sneakers and smelled like cedarwood.

I was frozen like an ice ball which will roll over off a slight push. I kept looking at his eyes but he was moving, getting closer and furtherther spontaneously.

My mouth finally moved. “Your… torso. It’s very… structured.”

*Structured?!* I might as well have said, “Hello, I’m a deranged cavewoman.”

He smirked. “Structured, huh?”

Before I could combust, my stomach unleashed a sound so primal it could’ve been featured on *Planet Earth*.

“Gotta go!” I wrenched free and sprinted away, his aura chasing me down the hall.

In the bathroom stall, I buried my face in my hands. *Of course* I’d humiliate myself in front of him. *Of course* he’d witness my stomach’s betrayal. And *of course* I’d looked like a sentient laundry pile during the whole ordeal.

My eyes were searching for him while heading back to class from the toilet.

Dia leaned over, her eyes sparkling with gossip. “Okay, spill. Why do you look like you just fought a bear?”

I opened my mouth to trauma-dump the whole mortifying collision, but she cut me off, shoving her phone in my face. A photo filled the screen: Mrs. Varma standing beside a tall, brown-haired boy in the cafeteria.

“That’s him! Mrs. Varma’s son. His name’s Zuchek. He’s half-Asian, half-German, plays guitar, and he’s *literally* perfect. Look at his smile—”

My blood turned to ice.

The boy in the photo wasn’t generic. Wasn’t plain toast.

He was *him*.

The crosswalk boy. The brick-wall abs. The guy who’d witnessed my stomach’s symphony of doom.

“Dia,” I croaked, my voice strangled. “That’s… that’s the guy I ran into today.”

She had a long pause… then blinked. “Wait, *your* mysterious crosswalk guy is… Zuchek? Mrs. Varma’s son?”

I nodded, my throat tight.