The bell rang, and the sound snapped the chatter of the people in the room. Ava quickly threw her belongings into her bag, her fingers nervously snapping the worn zipper of her backpack. She could feel the redness on her neck as she looked at the clock. It was late again. Mrs. Johnson would look at her in a certain way, a way that involved no words and said it all.

She put the bag on her back and rushed into the packed corridor, trying to avoid as many people as possible. She glanced at the lockers on her left, one of which contained the number 211. It was the only locker that seemed to matter these days, though.

He was there. He was there. taring at his locker with his head tilted in a smile as he talked with friends. His dark hair, low on his forehead, would fall over his face, and he’d brush it back with an apathy that Ava had come to know so well now. She observed him from the side, avoiding eye contact to much. She wasn’t completely a ghost, but she wasn’t part of the crowd as far as Ryan was concerned. For him, she was just another face in the hallway—someone he would share the same hallway with but would not know.

While to the likes of Ava, Ryan was not just any man. It wasn't the fluttering in the stomach that his smile gave her or the way her heart would beat fast when he was nearby. This was in the manner in which he assisted Mrs. Murray, the librarian, who appeared tired most of the time during the free period, in carrying books. How he would laugh from head to toe when he found something very funny. He would open the door for people while everybody around just stood still.

Ava reached her locker, a right turn from Ryan's. She couldn’t help but shake as she tried to unlock it. It was silly how her body would fail her as soon as he got close. She attempted to concentrate on the numbers: 24, 16, and 32, but she wasn’t there. Somewhere closer to Ryan.

“Need help with that?”

The voice was familiar. Warm, even. Ava turned, and for a moment her heart skipped a beat. Ryan was standing there, and his crooked grin somehow made his face look less imposing and intimidating.

“Oh… uh…” His voice caught in her throat, and she felt her throat as if it were clogged. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

Ryan laughed, the laugh smooth and quiet. “You sure? They have been struggling with that lock for quite some time now.”

Her fingers slowly turned the dial,  and to her relief, the locker door opened. She blushed shyly, trying to bring the focus off the redness on her cheeks. “Got it.”

“Well done,” he said, pretending to salute her, and then walked over to his friends.

Ava took a breath, resting her head in front of her locker. He could still look at her, and she could still feel it, though he was back to joking with the other boys. It was like being in the sunlight for a moment, then being thrown back into darkness.

Time passed, and each school day was the same, with books thudding, lessons whispering, and pens scratching paper. By lunch, Ava had succeeded in coaxing the memory of the hallway encounter to the back of her mind—but it hummed softly there and would not be silenced.

She was on her own under the old oak tree in the courtyard with her sketchbook laid on her legs. This was her usual place to go and hide from everyone. The gentle wind blew through the curtains, ruffling her loose hair as she sat, her eraser and pencil in her hand, moving over the paper. Today it was a sketch of a man and woman’s hands—the hands are drawn halfway, with fingers locked. She didn’t want to include them, but for some reason, they appeared on the paper.

“Hey.”

The voice startled her. She looked up, and there he was for the second time today, Ryan, standing there with his hands in his pockets, in a pair of faded jeans.

“May I join you?” he said, gesturing to the grass beside her.

Ava blinked and felt her heart beating fast in her chest. “Sure.”

He sat down, and for the first time since they arrived, the room felt too small and too big at the same time. He looked over at her sketchbook and said, “You’re a talented artist.”

Ava looked at the drawing and suddenly jumped up, blushing. She wanted to close the book and conceal the emotions that had found their way into her work. But instead, she shrugged and attempted to make it seem like it was nothing. “It’s just a hobby.”

Ryan moved closer and looked at the drawing more closely and seemed interested. “It’s more than that. I mean, look at the detail. That’s amazing.”

Ava looked down, the compliment making her feel warm all over again, and bit her lip. “Thanks.”

Then they both sat in silence for a while, the sound of the leaves whispering in the wind being the only thing that could be heard. It was impossible for Ava not to sneak a peek at him, admiring the way the sunlight reflected on his eyes, which were more hazel now.

“So,” he said, after a while, “I was thinking... there is this art exhibition in the city center.” I learned about it from my sister. You should check it out. I think you’d like it.”

Ava looked at him, surprised. “You... want me to go?”

Ryan smiled in a way that erased everything from the earth's face. “Yeah. Maybe we could go together.”

For a moment, everything appeared to come to a standstill, and Ava could feel the heat of his words in her chest. She just nodded, unable to form words, but she wanted him to know that she understood; she wanted him to know that her heart was beating faster.

For the first time, she didn’t just feel like a part of the mass.