Hai, I’m Niya Kendell Reynolds. Yes, my name has that dramatic ring to it—like I should be solving mysteries or starring in a high-stakes thriller. But, spoiler alert, my life is more of a chaotic sitcom than a sleek detective drama.
You're about to see my story unfold. There will be twists, suspense, moments when you question my life choices, and at least three instances where I trip over absolutely nothing.
Nah, I was just exaggerating. My story is straightforward, it begins very long ago. Look, I know I just made it sound like my life was an epic tale that started centuries ago, but let’s not get carried away—this isn’t Planet of the Apes. It all began ten years ago.
You might look at me now and think, Wow, what a beautiful lady! (Thank you, by the way—I’ll accept compliments in cash, check, or a standing ovation.) But back then? Oh, I was a walking checklist of every teenage nightmare. Chubby? Check. Pimples? Check. A height that could barely qualify for roller coasters? Also check.
Now, my height wasn’t too bad—I had some respectable centimeters on my side. But here’s the thing: I was born into a Burj Khalifa family. You know, the kind where genetics decided, “Everyone shall be skyscrapers, except for Niya.” My eighth-grade brother was already 180 cm—which, let’s be real, was probably illegal for a twelve-year-old. If he had kept growing at that rate, he might have been mistaken for a basketball player by the time he hit high school.
So, yeah—while others were gracefully growing into their glow-ups, I was just trying not to look like the before-picture in a makeover commercial.
So yeah, social life? Not really my thing. If there was a crowd, I was the one awkwardly standing on the edge, internally debating whether I should just pretend I got an urgent call and walk away.
But then there was Samantha [ Sam ] . The girl who was perfect in every possible way. If Cleopatra had a reincarnation, it was probably Sam—flawless looks, effortless grace, and the kind of aura that made heads turn in slow motion.
Now, you might expect she’d be the villain in my tragic teen story—the one who’d remind me daily of my "not-so-glow-up" phase. But plot twist: she was my best friend. And, thanks to her, I was famous in school too—
Not for my looks. Not for my personality. Not for any talent.
But because every single boy in the vicinity needed me as their personal love courier.
"Niya, can you pass this rose to Sam?"
"Niya, tell Sam I love her."
"Niya, hand this letter to Sam."
"Niya… Niya… Niya…"
I was less of a best friend and more of a full-time employee for Samantha’s fan club. I'd probably have been a millionaire if I had charged a commission for every love note. Did I secretly hope someone would actually approach me for once? Of course. But boys? Oh no. They were scientists in their own way—masters of morphology, studying facial symmetry and surface aesthetics like an ancient art form.
Inner beauty? Deep personality? Sorry, that was not part of the syllabus.
Sam always tried to cheer me up, saying, "Come on, Niya, you're beautiful on the inside—and that’s what truly matters. One day, the right person will see the treasure within."
Sure, but when? Hopefully before I applied for my retirement fund.
There I was—surrounded by people with epic love stories.
Proposals under starlit skies. Confessions straight out of a romance movie.
My younger sister? Oh, she casually dropped that someone offered her a diamond ring. I mean, excuse me? Was I living in the wrong universe?
Of course, not every love story was glamorous. Some were so artless they could be turned into a parody film.
One girl shared how she met her boyfriend in the worst possible way—both of them accidentally faceplanting into horse poop at the exact same time.
Romance? More like a biological hazard.
One day, I was deep into my gaming world—where I, Niya Kendell Reynolds, was an absolute legend.
I was acing every move, pulling off tactical plays like a seasoned pro.
And then—PING!
"Nice move!"
Some random person kept messaging me.I ignored it, because, honestly?
I was in THE ZONE.
But they KEPT messaging. Again…..and AGAIN…
"Wow, that was smooth!"
"You’ve got serious skills!"
"Hey, can you teach me that trick?"
OH MY GOD.
Could they not?!
I was busy being amazing!
But nope. They were relentless.
So, finally—after ten messages—I sighed and replied:
"What? What do you want?"
And that, my friend, was how I met Kenzo.
At first, our chat was just game talk—we exchanged strategies, bragged about our best moves, and occasionally mocked each other when someone failed spectacularly. And later it grew way deeper, we had a lot in common…our passion for cooking. Our weird food combo…chocolate ice cream + ketchup… I know it founds disgusting . But you should try.
Then, one day, Kenzo dropped a bombshell:
"I’m transferring to your school."
I felt my soul leave my body.
SH*T. I was NOT prepared.
Was he going to judge me? Was he expecting some flawless, charming girl?
For a brief moment, I considered sending Samantha in my place.
She rolled her eyes. "Bro, Niya, don’t hide yourself. That would be a betrayal for him."
So, I took a deep breath and went to meet him.
And wow.
He was way too handsome, Yes, okay, I admit it—Kenzo is handsome. Straight out of a K-drama, like he just casually exists for cinematic slow-motion moments.
I mean, seriously—the effortless messy hair that looks perfectly ruffled, but not in a just-woke-up way. Nope. More like a "a gust of wind just made him look even hotter" way.
And his jawline? Please. It’s so sharp, he could probably slice bread with it
When I finally stood in front of him, my social skills crashed like a Windows update.
"Uh. H-hi. Um. Yeah. Hi."
Kenzo smiled. "Glad to finally meet you in person!"
And what did I do?
NODDED LIKE A MALFUNCTIONING ROBOT AND RAN AWAY.
That’s it. That was our first meeting.
Of course, Kenzo kept trying to talk to me. Of course, I kept running away.
Life online? Way better than life offline. But secretly? I admired him.
And that admiration turned into a huge crush.
Kenzo soon became famous—especially among the girls.
Kenzo, casually grabbing his books.
A girl dramatically leans against his locker, batting her lashes. "So, Kenzo… do you believe in love at first sight?"
Kenzo: (closes his locker, still unfazed) "I believe in locking my locker first. That’s about it."
"Omg Kenzo, do you play basketball?"
"Kenzo, your hair is so nice! What shampoo do you use?"
"Kenzo, what’s your height? 180 cm? You’re literally perfect ……………………………….etc
Meanwhile, I was in the background, watching, silently.
I even followed him home—not in a creepy way! Just, you know…observing…
Even though I had a bicycle, I walked.
Whenever Kenzo approached me, it was as if my brain just decided to abandon ship. My ability to function like a normal human? Gone. Coordination? Deleted. Dignity? A myth. It didn’t matter where we were—hallway, cafeteria, park—if Kenzo walked toward me, my clumsy instincts kicked in like clockwork.
One time, he casually leaned against the lockers and smirked at me. “Clumsy, you’re always running away from me. What, scared I’ll catch you?”
Of course, instead of a chill response, I tripped over absolutely nothing and dropped every single book I was holding.
Another day, in the cafeteria, Kenzo sat across from me, casually spinning his fork, looking way too attractive for someone just eating lunch.
"So, Clumsy, what’s today’s plan? Tripping over a chair or dropping your food on me?"
I rolled my eyes, trying to eat normally. “Excuse me, I am perfectly capable of—”
And then?
I knocked over my entire drink—right onto Kenzo’s lap.
Kenzo raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed, dabbing his shirt with a napkin. “Yep. That tracks.”
At this point, my clumsiness became a daily event, and Kenzo? Oh, he loved every second of it.
"You’re seriously the cutest disaster I’ve ever seen."
"I am NOT a disaster!"
"Mmm. Sure. But you are my disaster."
My brain short-circuited.
And at last he ended up calling me, CLUMSY BABY ……..but it was a bit sweet.
The routine continued, secretly watching him after school ………—until one awful day.
My father got transferred.
I was devastated. I gathered autographs and phone numbers from my besties.
But Kenzo’s contact—that was the one I needed the most. Summoning all my courage, I walked up to him and mumbled,
"Uh, farewell… I’m leaving."
He didn’t even hesitate—took my diary, wrote his contact, and said, "Goodbye, Clumsy. Keep in touch with me."And with that, I left.
I was sad to say goodbye to Sam, too.
She hugged me. "Listen, no matter where you go, I’ll always be your best friend. Distance doesn’t change that."
I laughed. "Yeah, yeah, dramatic much?"
So we shifted to the new place . The first thing I decided was to send a message to Kenzo. Then came my greatest tragedy. I lost the diary.
No contacts. No connections. No way to reach Kenzo…. I was devastated
Years passed. I graduated, landed a fantastic job, had a total makeover.
Love? Meh. Never happened, never cared. Then one day—DING!
"Hey, Clumsy."
I froze.
Kenzo?! For a solid minute, I just stared at the screen, unable to process how he had magically reappeared into my life.
"Ooooh, you actually REMEMBER ME? Wow. Thought you moved on and started a new life without me."
I scrambled to type, my fingers shaking from pure adrenaline.
"KENZO?! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN??"
"Where have I been? Where have you been? You literally ghosted me for YEARS."
"EXCUSE ME?? I LOST MY DIARY!"
"Oh sure, the classic lost diary excuse. How convenient.
We talked so much and Later, Kenzo said something that changed everything.
"Niya, I loved you back then. I still love you now. I waited all these years for you."
He dropped the truth so casually, like it wasn’t about to ruin my entire sense of reality.
"You know," Kenzo said, smirking through the screen, "I slowed down on purpose, Clumsy."
I froze. Did he knew that I was following him back then after school?
"EXCUSE ME??" I typed back, eyes wide, pulse racing.
"Yeah. Thought it was cute. Watching you try to be sneaky."
"KENZO—YOU KNEW?! THIS WHOLE TIME??"
"Oh, absolutely."
I sat there, absolutely stunned, my past self flashing before my eyes.
"YOU NEVER SAID ANYTHING?!"
"Nope."
"WHY??"
"Because it was funny watching you pretend you were stealthy."
I screamed internally.
"So—you let me embarrass myself for years?!"
"Mmm, no. I let you follow me. You were cute."..and I felt heartbroken when u felt. And moreover I thought you would catch up in online ….but you never showed up. …….
Meeting up after years apart felt surreal. I had replayed this moment a thousand times in my head, imagining every possible reaction, every possible thing I could say. And yet, when I finally stood in front of Kenzo, all of those rehearsed words?
Gone. Completely wiped from my brain.
He was standing there, effortlessly cool, looking even more annoyingly handsome than I remembered—like time had refined him rather than aged him. And me? I was trying not to trip over my own nervous energy.
"So, Clumsy Baby finally decided to show up," Kenzo said, smirking in that infuriatingly smug way that made my stomach flip.
"Shut up. It’s been years, let’s at least pretend to be normal," I muttered, crossing my arms.
"Define 'normal,'" he teased, leaning slightly closer. "Because if we’re being honest, normal for you usually includes knocking something over."
I glared at him.
"I have matured."
Oh?" Kenzo raised an eyebrow, "So, no tripping today? No coffee spills? No walking into door frames?"
"I—THAT WAS ONE TIME—"
"Mmm," he hummed, tilting his head like he was examining me closely. "Gotta say, Clumsy Baby, you look different. Gorgeous, even. But don’t worry—I won’t let the glow-up distract me from the fact that you’re probably one sneeze away from chaos."
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the way my heart was hammering against my ribs.
We stood there, in that strange space between old familiarity and new reality, and for the first time, I realized how much I had missed him.
"You know," I started, shifting slightly, "I... actually liked you back then."
Kenzo’s smirk faded for a split second, replaced by something softer, something warmer.
"Oh?" he murmured, taking a step closer, "So Clumsy Baby had a crush on me, huh?"
"Don’t make me regret telling you."
"Too late," he laughed, eyes gleaming, "You just made my entire year."
Before I could counter his teasing, he reached forward and pulled me into a hug—warm, firm, familiar.
And just like that, the years apart didn’t matter anymore.
I relaxed into him, soaking in the way he fit so perfectly against me, his breath light against my hair.
"I missed you," I admitted softly.
"I missed you more," Kenzo whispered.
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he tilted my chin up, his fingers grazing my jaw, his eyes searching mine with that intense, knowing gaze.
"Ready to stop running from me now?" he teased.
"I was never running—"
"Mmm," Kenzo murmured, closing the space between us, "Sure, Clumsy Baby. Keep telling yourself that."
And just like that—we kissed.
Soft at first.
Then deeper.
Like time had waited for us to finally figure things out.
