I could hear them from my seat — a distant roar of voices from the auditorium. I stayed put in the doorway, jacket bunched under me like a poor shield. I hadn't planned to be there; I would find out who won, later. After what happened earlier, my words had run out of currency. I checked messages.
From: Ci‑N
The contest is at 11am. We'll pick you up now.
From: David
Where are you? You said you left?
From: Yuri
Answer my call! Please!
From: Ci‑N
Jay! Answer! We're worried!
The messages looked gentle and worried on the screen. Guilt washed over me. I should've checked them. My thumb hovered and then the screen went dark.
We hadn't practiced for weeks; in fact we'd only rehearsed properly yesterday — a frantic scramble of swapping clothes and memorizing lines until our throats were raw. Not a big production, just a last‑minute push. Still, everything felt like it had been built on a cliff. When it collapsed, my stomach lurched as if I'd lost something valuable even though, objectively, it had been thrown together.
"Why didn't you come?" Keifer asked and sat down beside me as if he'd materialized out of thin air.
I wiped my face with the heel of my hand and looked away.
"It's time to fulfill your promise," he said. His voice was casual, but his eyes had that fixed, certain look he got when he expected something to happen.
I looked at him. He dropped a trophy on his lap and a guitar leaned against the desk nearby. That sight — a simple metal cup and a familiar instrument — should have been ordinary. Instead, something loosened in my chest.
"You won?" I reached and he handed me the trophy.
It was cooler than I imagined and heavier; I felt steadier holding it, as if weight could lend sense back to the world. I forgot all my sadness, replaced by happiness that he won.
"Congrats."
"Don't forget to sing. No excuses."
What he said was simple, but there was an undercurrent to it that made my throat thicken.
I looked down. I didn't want to sing. I didn't want to do anything except vanish. But he'd said it — no excuses — and his smile dislodged something in me that wanted to be obedient in the small ways.
"I know you're angry at me. So…I will play a song for you"
He picked up the guitar like it belonged to him. He tuned with a quick, practiced sweep, and the room fell into a hush where even the hum of the fluorescent lights mattered. He started low and steady.
"I found a love for me."
The first line slipped into the quiet. His voice surprised me — not built for show, but honest and clear in a way I hadn't expected.
"Oh, darling, just dive right in and follow my lead."
He kept his eyes on me, not wandering the empty room or the ceiling tiles. My mouth went dry. He tilted his head and the overhead lights picked out a few loose strands at his temple; up close his face looked softer than it ever did across a classroom. When he said "darling" I felt the room shrink until it held only us.
"Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet."
It hit me then — not like an epiphany, but like someone gently turning the page on a book I hadn't realized I was inside of. This was the first time I'd seen him play guitar; his fingers moved with a natural ease I hadn't guessed at. The lines stopped being lyrics and became a direct line to me.
"Oh, I never knew you were the someone waitin' for me."
He set his jaw in that way he did when he refused to back down. The voice wavered with something real; he wasn't reciting, he was telling me. I wanted to say everything and nothing at once — that I'd been noticing him, that I'd been holding my breath in the same pattern — but the words collapsed behind my teeth.
"'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love."
I remembered the moment. The first time I saw him — that smug face, the smirk that lived half‑permanent on his lips, the teasing smile that always came right before he'd push my buttons. Those small, ridiculous impressions were the most valuable memories I had of him; I could never forget them.
"Not knowin' what it was."
His next chord rang out clean, and he let the silence hold for a beat, like he was offering me space to catch up. Vulnerability sat in the set of his shoulders. For all his jokes and bravado, he could still be achingly, beautifully open.
"I will not give you up this time."
He sang it like a vow. The words were small and heavy. My hands curled around the trophy until metal bit my skin. It didn't matter that he'd shouted at me for being late, that he'd been angry — none of it mattered now.
"Oh, darling, just kiss me slow."
I saw his mouth before I knew I was looking. He smiled that crooked smile that always made my heart go stupid. The urge to close the distance was immediate. For a second everything folded inward and then I saw the memory of our first kiss: stupid, clumsy, awkward and unhesitant. He'd kissed me back then without asking, when there was nothing between us, and I'd hit him afterward — half angry, half flustered — because it had been reckless and wrong and also exactly what I'd wanted. That memory sat under the new one forming now.
"Your heart is all I own."
He let the line hang like a fragile thing. For a moment I felt like someone had peeled back everything extraneous and let a core of truth sit bare between us. His fingers pressed a chord, then softened as if the motion itself were careful.
"And in your eyes, you're holding mine."
His gaze held me until everything else went hazy. I could feel his focus there, steady and intent, like he was memorizing the shape of me.
"Baby, I'm dancin' in the dark with you between my arms."
The words created a small scene in my head — two people in a quiet world — and it felt not only possible but ordinary. A silly, fierce hope rose in my chest that this could be more than a single, dramatic night.
"Barefoot on the grass while listenin' to our favourite song."
He breathed before the next line like he was about to give me something private. His voice softened further and something inside me unclenched at the tenderness.
"When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath."
There was a small laugh trapped in the shape of his mouth; vulnerability made him almost ashamed and that made him human.
"But you heard it, 'Darling, you look perfect tonight'."
The sound of a gasp was only in my head — a memory of what it would be like if this weren't private — and that made the moment feel magnified and fragile all at once.
"Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know."
He said it not like a joke but as if he'd decided something big and ordinary in the same breath. Strength on him didn't mean closed shut; it meant steady, reliable in the ways that mattered.
"She shares my dreams, I hope that someday, I'll share her home."
He exhaled the last word like a wish made small and plausible. I caught myself imagining a place with his things and mine, a ridiculous, tender image that warmed my chest.
"I found a love to carry more than just my secrets."
When he said "carry" it landed soft and chosen, not heavy or dutiful. A tremor of relief moved through me as if a few private things might finally be safe in someone else's hands.
"To carry love, to carry children of our own."
The line made me laugh through tears because it was absurd and so intimate. I could see the domestic chaos and the ordinary love in it.
"We are still kids, but we're so in love."
This line landed like a dare. For a second everything was bright and young and entirely ours.
I forgot everything. The plan. The pain. Everything.
"Fightin' against all odds."
There was a fire in his voice. It matched the stubborn light I'd seen in him before — impulsive, unwilling to back down.
"I know we'll be alright this time."
The sentence hit like a tether dropping into place. For once the doubt in me quieted.
He is singing like the plan doesn't matter to him anymore. Like he forgot about it. Like he really meant every word he said. Like he… loves me.
"Darling, just hold my hand."
The invitation felt smaller than a confession and bigger than the room. I imagined his fingers interlacing with mine; my knees steadied on the thought.
"Be my girl, I'll be your man."
He sounded like someone making a comfortable exchange — a bargain I could happily accept. It felt right in a way that let me stop bargaining with myself.
"I see my future in your eyes."
When he sang that, the world tilted and something unclenched inside my throat. I let my walls fall without thinking. For once I didn't map consequences; I just let the feeling settle.
"Oh, baby, I'm dancin' in the dark with you between my arms."
The final chorus rose and his playing grew more certain. The room seemed to lean toward him.
"Barefoot on the grass while listenin' to our favourite song."
The last chord lasted like a held breath. He watched me then as if waiting for an answer that couldn't be put into words.
He finished and didn't look away. He finished, and for a beat he just looked at me. My face must have been transparent; his gaze cradled me like something precious he'd found. I wanted to disappear and also to shout. My palms felt slick. My heart kept stumbling like a bird striking a window.
Before I had time to think, he leaned forward—deliberate, certain—and his hand bracketed the back of my head. The world narrowed to the smell of his shampoo, the rasp of his breath, the heat of his mouth. He kissed me. The first press of lips was quick, testing; the second was deeper, insistent and asking permission without words. I didn't pull away. I realized, with a small, dizzying clarity, I hadn't wanted to.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against mine for a second and the room seemed to hold its breath with us.
"Now, it's your turn," he said, voice low and steady.
"H-huh?" My words came out thin and ridiculous.
"You should sing now. In front of everyone. No excuses."
He wore that crooked smile like a challenge.
I had no choice. Or maybe I did, and this time I wanted to say yes. I handed him the trophy.
"You can keep it. I won for you anyway," he said lightly, like the trophy mattered less than what had just been given between us.
God, why is he like this? I'll die of diabetes one day.
We went down to the hall. Everyone was as usual, busy with their chaos. They stopped when they saw me. Silence. I looked down, embarrassed.
"Section E. Our unofficial president made a promise," Keifer announced, loud and theatrical. "She said if I win, she would sing."
A chorus of ooohs rippled through the crowd. My stomach dropped. The atmosphere shifted, heavier, expectant.
"You guys are the worst," I muttered.
"Yet you love us," someone called back.
"Unfortunately," I shot.
"Fortunately for us," Keifer replied, grin obvious.
I rolled my eyes, but it didn't hide the flutter in my chest.
Then everyone shouted in unison: "Sing! Sing! Sing!"
"Fine. Fine." I sighed, half exasperated, half resigned.
I took the guitar from Keifer and sat on a chair near the stage, the strings cool under my palms, suddenly more real than my pounding heart.
KEIFER'S POV :
She took my guitar. Wait — she knows how to play guitar? I didn't know. She closed her eyes and started singing.
"I found a love for me."
She sounded perfect — not the polished perfection of some performer, but real, as if she were saying the words to herself as much as to me. My stomach flipped.
Did she sing those same lines because I started them, or had she chosen this song for me all along? The thought lodged in my chest and refused to move.
"Oh, darling, just dive right in and follow my lead."
She kept her eyes closed on that line, trusting the sound more than the room. When she opened them and looked at me, my breath hitched.
"Well, I found a boy, handsome and cool."
She changed the lyric. For a second I thought I'd misheard. She'd sung "boy" — for me. Heat crawled up my neck. The world narrowed until it was only her face, lit with concentration.
"Oh, I never knew you were the someone waitin' for me."
She sang it soft, like a confession. I didn't notice applause or the hum outside; all I could register was the way her lips formed my name without saying it.
"'Cause we were just kids when we fell in love."
The line made me think of the small stupid things — the shove of her hand when she was annoyed, the quick, private laughs. Those memories stacked and turned tender in ways I hadn't expected.
"Not knowin' what it was."
She faltered once and I felt the urge to steady her, to reach out and smooth whatever tremor had slipped through. Protectiveness rose up like a reflex.
"I will not give you up this time."
Hearing her own ownership of that line — like she'd decided this was real for herself — did something to me. The petty plans and snide fights fell away. I wanted to be the one she trusted with the messy parts.
"Oh, darling, just kiss me slow."
Her gaze dropped to my mouth and the room narrowed to that small arc of space. My pulse thudded so loud I could feel it in my throat.
"Your heart is all I own."
She said it like a fact, not performance. I wanted to answer with big clumsy promises, but instead I found myself memorizing her jawline, how the light softened the planes of her face.
"And in your eyes, you're holding mine."
She held my gaze like a dare. Everything else dissolved. I felt pinned in the best possible way.
"Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with me between your arms."
The image she painted was suddenly possible. I could see the scene and want it, plain and ridiculous and perfect.
"Barefoot on the grass, while listenin' to our favourite song."
She smiled there, a private thing that made me imagine us without trophies or audiences. Ordinary and quiet, like a life that could be lived.
"When I said I looked a mess, you whispered underneath your breath."
Her voice softened at the memory. The little private fixes — a whisper, a hand on a shoulder — felt like treasures.
"But I heard it, 'Darling, you look perfect tonight'."
Her laugh in the middle of that line was tiny; I grinned like an idiot. She'd turned my small, dumb compliments into lyrics and somehow made them important.
"Well, I found a man, stronger than anyone I know."
She sang "man" and I felt something fierce unfold. I wanted to be that person for her — steady, reliable — and I wanted to be chosen.
"He shares my dreams, I hope that someday, I'll share his home."
She slid "his" into the lyric like an invitation. The idea of inclusion — of a space with both our things — felt dangerous and wonderful.
"I found a love to carry more than just my secrets."
When she said "carry," I pictured all the tiny things people trust someone with: notes, jokes, the dumb things you're embarrassed about. I wanted to be the one who kept them.
"To carry love, to carry children of our own."
(A/N : here, carry children means holding not that carrying. Just in case for dirty minds)
The domestic image made me laugh inside. It was goofy and tender; I wanted it in a way that scared me.
"We are still kids, but we're so in love."
She sounded defiant and soft at once. That stubbornness matched something in me; I wanted to protect it.
I forgot everything. The plan. The pain. Everything.
"Fightin' against all odds."
Her voice sharpened. I felt an answering flame in my chest — willing and oddly proud.
I have realized that the plan doesn't matter to me anymore. I love her. That's the truth. I love her and she's the only person I want. Forever.
"I know we'll be alright this time."
She sang it with a confidence that calmed a hundred small anxieties. I felt something settle in me and knew I wanted to believe it.
"Darling, just hold my hand."
She reached across the lyric and I imagined our fingers tangling. My knees steadied at the thought.
"Be my man, I'll be your girl."
She swapped roles with a laugh and a shine in her eyes; it felt like a pact.
"I see my future in your eyes."
She looked at me like she already saw it. The image of a messy ordinary future suddenly fit in my chest.
"Oh, baby, I'm dancin' in the dark with me between your arms."
The final chorus rose and she played with a calm confidence that made my chest ache.
"Barefoot on the grass while listenin' to our favourite song."
She held the last chord and opened her eyes. Her small smile was private, and it landed straight on me.
When she finished the room held a breath, then the usual chaotic noise crashed back. Her cheeks were flushed and she smiled at me. I didn't clap. I just stared and felt the thing inside me settle into a dangerous, delicious certainty: she was the only one I wanted. No matter what. I wish she hopes the same.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Girls, if anyone wants to use this song to confess, they can. I actually thought of this version song imagining if I confess by this song to my imaginary lover. Iykyk, delulu world. But it's impossible cause no one can have all the qualities I want. So, I'm forever single.
#SinglesForever