Zara noticed everything.
"You smile differently now," she said one day as we walked home together.
I rolled my eyes, but I didn't deny it.
Having a crush didn't feel like the movies. There was no dramatic music or sudden confidence. Mostly, it felt like wondering if he'd sit near me, or replaying conversations in my head afterward.
Sometimes it felt exciting.
Other times, it felt confusing.
I worried about caring too much. About embarrassing myself. About growing up too fast. But when I thought about Ethan's shy smile, the worries softened.
At home, I opened my notebook again and wrote about how growing up wasn't about rushing. It was about learning—slowly, awkwardly—who I was becoming.
Being thirteen didn't mean having answers.
It meant learning how to ask questions.