we're getting married!

In a noisy sixth-grade art class, where paintbrushes clattered and laughter bounced off the walls, sat two very different souls. Alexis, the loud and endlessly funny boy whose jokes could fill any silence, and Goretty, quiet, reserved, and happiest lost in her sketches. Fate, or perhaps the teacher’s clever seating chart, placed them at the same table. The logic was simple: the loudest boy next to the quietest girl might balance each other out. Alex tried to talk to her that first day, cracking jokes and making ridiculous comments about his “masterpiece” of a stick figure. Gore just looked at him, blinked, and said… nothing. But every time he made another joke, a soft snicker would escape her lips, a sound that only encouraged him more. Through the years of middle school, they shared class after class, always orbiting around each other without ever colliding. They never really talked, but there was a quiet familiarity between them, like two songs played in harmony without ever touching the same note. Then came eighth grade. One ordinary lunch period, chaos struck. Alex, in a fit of mischief, tossed his milk carton toward a friend. It missed—spectacularly—and hit Gore instead. The cafeteria gasped, his friends howled with laughter, and Alex froze. Red-faced and horrified, he trudged over to her table to apologize, mumbling something about bad aim as she gave him a tiny, amused smile. It was the first time they’d truly spoken. After that, life pulled them apart. They went to different high schools, and years passed without a word. But memories have a funny way of lingering, echoes of laughter in art class, the snicker she couldn’t hide, the awkward apology that somehow felt like the start of something unfinished. Then, just before senior year, a notification changed everything. A friend request. Alexis. Gore accepted without thinking. Messages followed, tentative at first, full of “Do you remember when…” and “Wait, we had that class too?” They stayed up late, reminiscing about the small, strange ways their lives had brushed against each other. What began as nostalgia turned into long conversations, teasing, laughter that felt effortless. The quiet girl and the loud boy had found their rhythm again, but this time, it was a duet. When they finally saw each other in person, it was as if no time had passed. Alex was still funny and loud, and Goretty still smiled softly at his jokes, but now her laughter was full and free, no longer hidden behind silence. He looked at her like she was the most unexpected and wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. Years later, when he proposed, Alex couldn’t help but joke, “I knew you were the one ever since I hit you with that milk carton.” And Gore laughed, tears in her eyes, because somehow, that ridiculous, clumsy moment had been the beginning of everything. From two kids sitting across an art table to two hearts standing side by side, their story had always been quietly writing itself. Some loves begin with fireworks. Theirs began with silence… and a flying milk carton.