My name is Chiku

[ashuezy2]

My name is Chiku.

People say I’m older than I should be for my class, but life doesn’t go in straight lines for everyone.
Sometimes it bends, sometimes it pauses, sometimes it loops back.

I don’t talk much.
I’m not loud like the other boys.
Teachers say I’m soft-spoken.
Some students call me “slow.”
But I’m not slow.
I just… don’t rush.
I like quiet things.
Trees.
Drawing.
The sound of pencil on paper.
And sitting alone near the college gate when classes get too noisy.
That’s where I first saw her.
I remember that moment clearly — like the air around me changed.
It was late afternoon, the sun warm but soft, and I was sitting on the low boundary wall, swinging my feet like I always do.
I saw her walking by the college road.
I didn’t know her name then.
I only knew she lived in the neighbourhood, somewhere near the corner house.
She wasn’t looking at me at first — she was just walking, lost in her own world, earphones in, hair moving gently in the wind.
But then she paused.
And for the first time, her eyes met mine.
I froze.
People usually don’t look at me twice.
Some don’t look at all.
I’m used to being invisible — the quiet boy sitting alone, repeating another year, with notebooks full of sketches instead of answers.
But she noticed me.
Really noticed.
She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to understand why a boy was sitting in a uniform.
I lowered my eyes immediately; my heart started beating like I had run somewhere.
I didn’t know why.
Maybe it was the way she looked — not judging, not questioning, not mocking.
Just… curious.
Warm.
Present.
She took a few steps toward the gate, and I shifted nervously, clutching my notebook tighter.
My palms were sweating for no reason.
When she came closer, she smiled — a small, gentle smile.
I don’t know what happened inside me but something softened, something opened.
She asked quietly,
“Hi… what’s your name?”
My throat tightened.
Words always get stuck when I need them most.
I managed to look up, just for a second, and whispered,
“Chiku.”
She smiled again.
This time even warmer, like she was trying to put me at ease.
“I see you here every day,” she said softly.
Her voice felt like the kind of thing you want to hear again.
I didn’t know what to reply, so I just nodded shyly.
She didn’t laugh.
She didn’t get impatient.
She didn’t treat me like I was odd.
Instead, she said, “It’s nice meeting you, Chiku,” and walked ahead, slow and calm, giving one last little smile over her shoulder.
That smile stayed with me the whole day.
And the next.
And all the days after.
I don’t understand people very well.
But I understand feelings.
And something about her — her gentleness, her kindness, the way she spoke to me like I mattered —
It made me feel seen.
For the first time in a long time…
I didn’t feel alone.