I attended a very popular and unique high school across the country which had strict rules that required all senior students to live on campus.
There was one more aspect about the school which kept all of us on our toes.
The administration had come up with a new rule, creating a huge social divide amongst the students, by making us go through very lengthy and rigorous examinations in multiple disciplines during freshman year, which separated the students into different categories based on how well we did in these exams.
Freshmen were scored on a hundred, and the aggregate score we got on the multiple tests determined which class we had to attend throughout the whole year.
Several categories of students represented the numerous classes in the school's classroom buildings.
My aggregate had landed me in the "middle class," which initially referred to the bourgeoisie before it was later changed to the "petite bourgeoisie."
"The petite bourgeoisie," were prime victims of bullying by the "Elite class."
They had made my years of high school a living hell, forcing me to own a diary.
I had invested in buying a diary because I had no one to talk to about the bullying, no special friends to share my experiences with, talk less about having loving parents who would be concerned about my well-being in high school.
Senior year of high school had been one of the worst years of my life wherein the whole school looked down on us the "petite bourgeoisie."
Even the teachers and the administrative staff bullied us to their fill.
My diary was my only friend.
It was a window to my thoughts, emotions, and experiences.
It served as a personal sanctuary where I could freely express myself and pen down my innermost thoughts.
It reflected my personality and worldview, offering insights into my hopes, dreams, fears, and struggles.
My diary was filled with vivid descriptions of the school campus and surrounding environment, allowing whoever picked it up to visualize the world through my eyes.
It included sketches and doodles that illustrated my creative side.
To add depth and authenticity, my diary contained personal mementos such as dried flowers, ticket stubs, rubber bands, and photographs.
These keepsakes held sentimental value and served as reminders of the significant moments in my life, especially that one time when a guy from the Elite class paired up with me for a science project.
My diary had a very weird cover that was black and messy, adorned with intricate patterns and embossed designs that reflected my lonely aesthetic preferences.
The coffee brown pages were aged and stained with different colors of ink, indicating my miserable history and my long-standing relationship with it.
My diary was a safe space where I could pour out my heart and seek solace.
That was why I didn't even think twice before kneeling on the spiraling pavement to pick up the small pocketbook that had been ruined by the rain.
Someone might have mistakenly dropped it in their quest to seek shelter in this raging storm, and from the look of things, it must have been a little girl.
The cover page was out, giving me a clear glance of the first page which gave me insights into the guy she was crushing on in her science class.
Though the guy's name wasn't included in any of the girl's writings, she had made a bucket list of the things she would love to do with him, and she had gone as far as planning their wedding and naming their kids.
It was hilarious, yet a beautiful and fulfilling sight to the eyes.
It brought me back to the time when I had fantasized about that guy from the Elite class who had helped me do the science project.
Long story short, it didn't end well because a fellow, "petite bourgeoisie," read my diary and reported me to the school authorities.
The school authorities confiscated my diary and tore it in front of the whole school during morning assembly, before punishing me severely for fantasizing about a guy who was never going to be in my league.
That day had made me the most popular girl around campus, all sorts of gossip whispering across the corridors, going as far as accusing me of harassing a male student despite my weight and ugly glasses.
The guy in question had ridiculed me in front of the whole school during assembly.
He was my only crush.
He was my first love.
He was also my first mistake.
I liked him because he was the only one who paired up with me for that science project.
Though he was good-looking and kind, I liked him mostly for the fact that he was an Elite student.
I thought being with him would be less lonely.
I thought being with him would stop the bullying.
Anyways, all those were just absurd dreams that didn't come true.
Lesson learned, I vowed to never have a boyfriend.
That was the day I made up my mind to remain single.
I couldn't trust any guy from high school, I couldn't trust anybody.
I was still trying to recover from my thoughts when Dwain rushed to my side with an umbrella, picking me up into his arms as he sheltered me from the rain which had become very intense.
I couldn't help but admire the way that raindrops adorned his hair, making it glisten like silver threads.
His eyes sparkled with joy, mirroring the reflection of the streetlights on the wet pavement.
I reached out and gently brushed a raindrop off Dwain's cheeks.
He smiled, his eyes searching the unspoken words in my gaze.
The rain washed away all the hesitation I had, leaving only raw emotions.
I stood there, amid the rain, my body slightly shivering from the cold, but my heart was warmed by the love in Dwain's eyes.
Who would have thought this day would come?
I couldn't imagine that after all those years of running away from a relationship; I had mounted the courage to look into a boy's eyes, not even a boy, but a man's eyes.
The air around me thickened with anticipation as we gazed into each other's eyes, a silent conversation passing between us.
I leaned into Dwain's touch, savoring the warmth that flowed from his arms.
He closed the remaining distance between us, his lips hovering just inches from mine as I let go of the diary in my hands.
I had been under the rain before, many times even, but this moment felt different.
It was like a turning point.
The world around me faded into the background as I surrendered to the magnetic pull between us.
Our breath mingled, creating a delicate dance of desire.
And then, in that fleeting moment, our lips met.
Time stood still as we melted into each other, our bodies swaying in the rhythm of the rain.
As the rain intensified, our bodies pressed closer together, as if trying to merge into one.
My fingers tangled in Dwain's hair, holding him tightly, never wanting to let go.
Dwain's hands caressed my back, tracing every curve as if etching the moment into his memory.
The kiss deepened, igniting a fire within me that could not be extinguished.
Our tongues danced together, a passionate tango that expressed our deepest desires, fears, and unwavering commitment to each other.
Just then, our foreheads touched.
Every touch, and every movement, conveyed a depth of emotion that words could never capture.
I could feel Dwain's heartbeat matching the rhythm of our entangled souls, each beat echoing unspoken promises.
It was a kiss filled with passion, longing, and the promise of a love that could withstand any storm.
Each drop of rain seemed to carry the weight of our love, washing away the doubts and fears that had plagued us.
In Dwain's kiss, I found solace, redemption, and the sweet taste of assurance.
Our lips kept moving in perfect harmony exploring the depth of our souls.
It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a language only we could understand.
In Dwain's embrace, I found healing, a sacred connection that transcended words.
Finally, we broke apart, breathless and longing for more.
He was making that face again, that face which always drove me crazy, crazy in love, that face that I loved seeing.
Frankly speaking, I was head over heels for Dwain, but I couldn't help myself from falling for his charms, over and over again, that was one of his superpowers.
His presence was the portrait of hidden celestial beauty.
"Thank you," I whispered, hiding my face in Dwain's chest, "thank you for making me feel special."
He chuckled, slipping a finger around my chin to move my face toward his unwavering gaze. "What's making you shy little nutshell?"
I hesitated to speak, sneaking my fingers around his hoodie and lifting myself to stand on my toes such that my mouth would brush his ears. "You make me shy."