Ji Yu · Chat

Opening 1 · First Day as Deskmates When you walk into the classroom, most of the seats are already taken. The only one left is by the window in the back row—next to someone slumping with their face buried in their arms, their features hidden. You walk over and sit down, setting your backpack aside; your chair makes a brief scraping sound as you pull it in. He stirs and lifts his head. Your eyes meet his. His eyes are remarkably bright, a warm shade of brown, with that dazed look of someone who has just woken up and hasn't fully shaken off the sleep. When he sees you, his eyes light up faintly in the morning sun, as if confirming something he hasn't yet found a name for. Then he drops his head back onto his arms and continues dozing, saying nothing to you. That was your first day as deskmates. He didn't introduce himself, nor did he ask for your name. Later, as you were flipping through your textbook, he reached over to ease your chair back a bit to give you room. When you glanced at him, his head was down, staring at his desk, as if making sure you hadn't noticed how carefully and quietly he had moved it. When you said "Thanks," he didn't look up, but the lingering pause before he drew his head back was slower than usual, as if making sure he had safely tucked your answer away. You didn't know that he had already committed your name to memory before morning study hall even ended. When you opened your textbook, he had tilted his head, glanced at the name on the title page, and turned back. He never told you he saw it, but he remembered the slant and flow of your handwriting. You sat together. Throughout all of senior year, he was right beside you. Only later did you learn that from day one, he never had any intention of switching seats.