Chapter 3: The Handshake
The rest of the morning passed strangely for both of them.
Classes happened. Teachers spoke. Students scribbled in notebooks. But for Luca and Anaya, everything was filtered through the memory of that almost-handshake—of how close his hand had come to hers, of how her fingers had hovered in the air waiting for him.
Every time their arms brushed while writing, something inside them flinched.
Every time their eyes accidentally met, they looked away just a second too late.
Every time the teacher walked past, both pretended to focus harder than ever.
It was ridiculous.
And impossible to ignore.
The moment kept replaying in their minds like an unfinished sentence.
I almost…
He almost…
We almost…
By the time the recess bell rang, the tension had grown thick enough to touch.
The class exploded into movement—chairs scraping, bags dragged, groups calling each other. Within seconds, nearly everyone rushed out with their lunchboxes, chasing the best spots near the corridor windows.
Except for two people.
Luca didn’t stand.
Anaya didn’t move.
Both pretended to be busy—she arranged her books without looking at them, he checked his pen even though it wasn’t broken. Their excuses were weak, but neither of them cared.
The room emptied. The noise faded.
Only their breathing remained.
Anaya was the first to look up.
Luca was already watching her.
Something tightened in the air—soft, fragile, but inevitable.
She swallowed, then gently pushed her lunch aside. Her fingers twitched once before she slowly lifted her hand again… the same hand she had raised earlier.
But this time, it wasn’t hesitant.
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It was sure.
Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
“Friends?”
Luca didn’t freeze this time.
The storm inside him had settled into a quiet calm—like rain that had finally decided where to fall.
He looked at her hand for a second, then at her eyes.
No teacher interrupting.
No noise.
No confusion.
He raised his own hand… slower than her, but steady.
Their palms met.
Warm.
Surprisingly warm.
A spark—not lightning this time—just simple, human, unexpected warmth.
And then the classroom door burst open.
“OOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!!”
Half-eaten lunchboxes, groups of students returning early, kids peeking in—the entire class had somehow appeared at the door at the exact moment their hands touched.
Someone gasped loudly.
Someone whispered, “I KNEW IT.”
Someone else whispered, louder, “Second day and already—??”
Anaya immediately pulled her hand back, cheeks turning soft pink.
Luca looked away, jaw tight but ears burning.
The whispers grew.
“They sit together every day—confirmed.”
“She went back to sit with him—obviously.”
“Yesterday lightning, today friendship? Bro.”
“New girl moves fast.”
“No, HE moves fast.”
“Both same.”
Anaya bit her lip.
Luca clenched his pen.
Neither spoke.
Neither needed to.
Then—
CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!
Their teacher walked in, smacking her hands together in her usual “silence now” rhythm.
“All right, enough noise! Sit down, all of you!”
Students scrambled to their seats, still stealing glances at the last bench.
The teacher placed her register on the table and cleared her throat.
“Okay, today we begin our classroom cleaning rotation.”
Groans echoed.
She pointed toward the last bench—right at Luca and Anaya.
“We will start from the back this time,” she announced.
“Last two benches will clean first. Today—it’s you two.”
A wave of “OHHHHHHHHHHH” rose again.
Someone whispered, “Perfect pairing, ma’am.”
Teacher glared. Silence returned instantly.
She continued, “Back benches clean today. Tomorrow, the next ones. Then we’ll go front-to-back so everyone does equal work. No complaints.”
Her voice softened at the end.
“Good luck, you two. Your turn is after school.”
She walked out.
The class burst into whispers the moment she left.
Luca stared ahead.
Anaya stared at her desk.
Both pretending nothing happened.
But the warmth of that handshake…
It stayed on their palms long after.
Teachers kept coming and going. And like this the school ended.
Luca stood up first, walking toward the pile with his usual calm detachment. Anaya followed.
She grabbed a soft duster. He picked up another cloth.
They walked back together — silently, but not awkwardly.
Something warm lingered in the space between them.
“Um,” she said softly, holding the duster out toward him. “Should I clean the desks or the windows?”
He glanced at her — quiet, thoughtful. “You choose.”
She tapped her chin lightly and pointed at the desks. “Okay… desks it is.”
She moved ahead, dusting the surfaces gently, while he leaned closer to the window, wiping the glass with slow, even movements. Outside, raindrops streaked across the pane, sliding down in crooked lines.
For a few seconds, all that existed was the sound of rain, soft breaths, and wooden desks being cleaned.
Then it happened.
Anaya reached to hand him the duster so he could clean the far corner of the window. She shifted forward just as he stepped back to move around her—
And their hands brushed.
Not lightly.
Fully.
Warm palm against warm palm.
Both froze.
Her breath hitched. His fingers twitched.
Their eyes lifted at the same time, locking in the quietest, most fragile second of the day.
The world softened.
The edges blurred.
For a moment, it felt like it was just the rain, the cold window, and them.
Then—
“Bro give me the broom fast! I need to clean my bench!” a boy yelled behind them.
The spell snapped.
They both stepped back immediately — but not out of discomfort. More out of sudden awareness.
Anaya laughed under her breath, flustered but trying to hide it.
Luca looked away, clearing his throat lightly as if to reset his heartbeat.
They continued cleaning, quieter now but unable to fully erase the warmth lingering in their fingers.
When the cleaning duty was finally over, the teacher inspected the room, nodded in approval, and dismissed them.
Anaya turned to Luca as she placed the duster back on the table.
“So…” she started, her voice soft.
“Friends… and cleaning partners.”
He shrugged lightly, but his eyes held a softness she hadn’t seen before. “Looks like it.”
The rain outside had stopped, leaving the world damp and shining.
As they walked back to the last bench for their bags, her shoulder brushed his just once — accidental, but somehow deliberate.
They didn’t speak again.
They didn’t need to.
The tension was subtle.
The unmistakable warmth.
The undeniable bond.
Something had shifted — not loudly, not dramatically, but like the beginning of a drizzle that promises a storm later.
