21/04/2026
A Non-fiction Short Story Activity in ELT 228: 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐏𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞
Course Instructor: 𝗠𝗿. Kier Garcia, 𝗠𝗔𝗘𝗻𝗴
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗢𝗬 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬𝗘𝗗 𝗔𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗟
𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑦 𝑁𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑙 𝑈. 𝑆𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑔𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑛
They say I am easy to love.
Not that I say it out loud. It sounds wrong when spoken, like a line rehearsed too many times. Still, it lingers in the way I remember things—carefully, almost too carefully, as if memory itself needs protecting.
I knew early that I was different. While the others talked loudly about girls, I learned to stay quiet, to listen, to watch.
Especially him.
He was the kind of boy who didn’t need to try. Teachers trusted him. Classmates followed him. Even silence seemed to lean in his direction. Standing beside him felt like standing near something warm—something steady.
We spent afternoons together after class, or at least that’s how I remember it. Books open, pencils moving, his shoulder close enough that I could feel it without looking. He laughed when I corrected his answers, and I pretended not to notice how often he stayed.
We teased girls just to blend in. Called out names we didn’t mean. Laughed longer than necessary. It worked. No one ever looked twice.
He understood me. That part, I’m certain of.
He stayed when things felt heavy. When words were difficult. When the air itself seemed too much to carry. He made everything feel lighter, like the world could be folded into something smaller, something manageable.
I wrote letters I never meant to give him. Colored paper, careful handwriting, sentences rewritten until they felt right. I hid them where no one would think to look.
But things don’t stay hidden forever.
One afternoon, someone reached into my bag without asking. Paper slipped out. Hands passed it around. The room shifted in a way I couldn’t quite name.
I remember laughter.
Or maybe I just remember the sound of chairs moving.
He looked at me then.
Not angry. Not distant. Just… different.
Later, he sat beside me like he always did. Said something I held onto for a long time. The kind of words that stay even when everything else fades.
After that, we spent more time together. I think we did. Walking slower after class. Sitting longer than necessary. Saying things that didn’t need to be said.
No one interrupted us.
No one ever does.
The letters disappeared at some point. I checked where I kept them, again and again, even when I knew they wouldn’t be there. Still, I remember every word.
I remember his voice too.
Clearly.
Always clearly.
Sometimes, when the classroom empties and the light thins against the walls, I sit in the same place and wait. The air feels the same. The silence settles the same way.
And if I listen closely enough, I can almost hear him laugh again.
So I stay a little longer.
Just in case he does too.
Disclaimer:
This non-fiction short story is based on real-life experiences and observations, with certain details modified for narrative clarity and privacy. Any names, identities, or identifying circumstances have been altered or fictionalized where necessary. This work is intended solely for educational purposes.
