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The reason was a celestial event: a pretty girl's smile. It had a gravitational pull, a total inversion of Vos's world. She was sitting in the exact place the sun loved best, directly in the front row. Through the restless canopy of leaves outside, sunlight splintered, falling in perfect, tiny gold mosaics on her shoulders and the dark silk of her hair. The moment she smiled, the sun seemed to hit its brightest note, completing the illumination.

From that second on, Vos was no longer entirely present in his own body. The rational, back-row part of him sat stiffly, watching from his secluded distance, while the rest of him, the newly awakened part, had flown across the room. It simply hovered there, close to her space, orbiting the heat of her presence. Half of his concentration followed the teacher's lesson back to class, but the other half, the necessary, vital half, followed the girl.

His assigned place, that old curse of the back desk, had instantly become a blessing. It offered him the perfect, unimpeded view for peeking. She had a delicate, beautiful profile, short dark hair, and, he noted with a strange sense of kinship, wore glasses just like his. The one unavoidable truth was her size: She was tiny compared to his height. He caught himself in a ridiculous, sweeping fantasy of walking beside her: His six-foot-five frame would be standing tall and protective, a majestic figure guarding his small girlfriend.

Nonsense, he thought, giving his temple a rough thump. The thought was utter nonsense, ridiculous, and intrusive. His focus had dissolved into static. Vos could not hear the teacher, could not read the board, and only longed for the end of the school day. He wanted time to accelerate. He wished the gentle current of the clock would suddenly crash down like an enormous, furious waterfall. The faster he got home to hunt for her identity, the better.

That evening, his usual routine was obliterated. He tossed his backpack aside and threw himself at the computer, ignoring the flashing icons of games and group chats. His mission was singular: find her Facebook profile. He was certain that rushing up to her in person like a familiar acquaintance would make her think he was absolutely mad. That realization brought a miserable groan to his throat: He was already a pathetic simp.

But the detective work was brutal. He could not just type in a name. He had to be subtle, observing her friends for clues. He finally noticed her consistent closeness to Beatrix, a girl he actually knew, who sat two rows up. The connection was a lifeline. Vos navigated to Beatrix's profile and began the grueling scroll through her extensive friends list. It was a long shot; he did not even know if this celestial girl used her real name online. The search was the first star he had to jump on, and it was much further away than he ever imagined.