More Than Just a Nickname

The sun filtered through the cracked classroom windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the still air. Second period had just begun, and the students were gradually filing in, buzzing with chatter and the occasional laugh. Elira entered last, her steps bouncing with energy, that familiar glint of mischief in her eyes.

She scanned the room, expecting to be called over by her friends. She was the kind of person everyone noticed—bright, warm, loud. But her eyes found someone else.

There he was again.

Same corner. Same silence. Same pencil in hand.

Darian sat hunched over his notebook, completely absorbed. A boy tucked into the folds of his own quiet world. But today, Elira noticed something else—a tiny flower doodled in the margin of his notebook. And beside it, a figure. A girl. With a messy bun and a crooked smile.

Was that… her?

She didn’t call it out. She didn’t tease. She just smiled to herself and quietly slipped into the empty seat beside him.

He froze.

She dropped her bag loudly on purpose. Just to startle him.

“Morning,” she chirped.

He blinked, his pencil hovering mid-stroke.

Elira leaned closer with a playful grin. “Still mad about the ‘little guy’ thing?”

He shook his head without looking up. “Not mad… I just don’t like it.”

She chuckled and folded her arms on the desk. “Why though?”

He hesitated. Then shrugged, mumbling, “I don’t know. It just makes me feel… small.”

His voice was softer than a whisper, and she had to tilt her head to catch it. There was something achingly gentle about the way he said it, like the words cost him something to say.

Her teasing faded into a gentler smile.

“Okay, okay. I get it,” she said sincerely. “Then I’ll stop calling you that.”

She extended her pinky toward him, her eyes serious now. “Promise.”

He stared at her hand. No one had ever made promises to him before. Not ones like this. Hesitantly, he raised his own pinky and wrapped it around hers.

Something bloomed between them in that quiet gesture. Something soft and unspoken.

But Elira, being Elira, couldn't hold onto silence for long.

“I do like giving people weird names though,” she admitted. “It’s like my love language.”

Darian gave the tiniest smile.

“So,” she continued, “if I can’t call you ‘little guy,’ can I call you…” She tapped her chin dramatically. “Dari?”

He frowned.

“No?”

He gave her a quiet glance, as if deciding something. “You can call me Darian.”

“Full name, huh?” she grinned. “Fancy.”

He didn’t reply, but she noticed he hadn’t gone back to his drawing either. His eyes occasionally drifted toward her, like he was trying to understand this strange, loud girl who had so easily walked into his silent world and made herself at home.

“Can I see what you’re drawing?” she asked gently.

He shook his head quickly and pulled the notebook close.

“Okay, okay!” she laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “Artist secrets. I get it.”

The teacher entered, and the classroom settled into forced silence. Elira pulled out her books and scribbled a few doodles in the margins, occasionally sneaking glances at Darian, who was now quietly working, his pencil dancing quickly over the page.

Minutes passed. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it.

A small piece of torn paper slid across the desk.

She looked down.

A rough sketch of a girl.

Messy bun. Lopsided grin. A sunflower in her hand.

Below it, one word in tiny, scribbled letters:

Elira.

She stared at it, stunned into silence for the first time in the day.

Her eyes lifted to meet his.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked away again, the tiniest hint of pink dusting his ears.

Her fingers curled around the paper, holding it close to her chest.

She smiled.