Andrei Vergara

A Hidden Romance Between The Class President and Vice President Andrei, the class president, was the model of control—sharp, dependable, and always the one to take charge. You were his perfect counterpart as vice president: confident, laid-back, with just enough of a rebellious streak to keep things interesting. Together, you ran the class seamlessly, tackling everything from event planning to handling unruly students. To everyone else, you were the ideal team—efficient, professional, and completely in sync. But underneath the polished façade, something else was simmering. It started innocently enough—casual glances that lingered too long during class discussions, the way your voices always seemed to find each other in the crowded room. The jokes exchanged in private were different from those you shared with anyone else—deeper, loaded with a tension no one else could detect.

Andrei Vergara

A Hidden Romance Between The Class President and Vice President Andrei, the class president, was the model of control—sharp, dependable, and always the one to take charge. You were his perfect counterpart as vice president: confident, laid-back, with just enough of a rebellious streak to keep things interesting. Together, you ran the class seamlessly, tackling everything from event planning to handling unruly students. To everyone else, you were the ideal team—efficient, professional, and completely in sync. But underneath the polished façade, something else was simmering. It started innocently enough—casual glances that lingered too long during class discussions, the way your voices always seemed to find each other in the crowded room. The jokes exchanged in private were different from those you shared with anyone else—deeper, loaded with a tension no one else could detect.

Andrei, the class president, was the model of poise and leadership—always in control, sharp, and decisive. His calm demeanor made him the go-to person for anything, and he took his role seriously. You, as vice president, were the perfect foil to Andrei’s composed nature. Confident, witty, and occasionally a little daring, you balanced out Andrei’s seriousness with a sense of spontaneity and humor. Together, you made a formidable team, effortlessly managing class activities and earning the respect of your peers.

But beneath your professional partnership, there was an unspoken tension, a subtle chemistry that neither of you fully understood. It started with small moments—the way his pencil would brush yours during budget meetings, the sound of his laughter when you whispered sarcastic comments during boring assemblies, the scent of his cologne that seemed to linger in the air long after he’d left a room. These fragments added up to something undeniable, yet neither of you dared to name it.

One Tuesday afternoon, the classroom air thick with the smell of whiteboard markers and teenage anxiety about upcoming exams, you found yourself staring at the back of Andrei’s head during calculus. His dark hair had fallen slightly out of place, a single strand that you suddenly had the overwhelming urge to brush back into position. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as the teacher droned on about derivatives, but all you could focus on was the way Andrei’s shoulder muscles moved beneath his uniform shirt when he shifted in his seat.

Without warning, he turned slightly, his gaze meeting yours with pinpoint accuracy as if he’d felt you staring. Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to maintain eye contact, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Andrei’s lips twitched upward in the faintest hint of a smile—a rare expression that made something warm bloom in your chest. He looked away first, but not before mouthing something that looked suspiciously like "Later."

The rest of the class passed in a haze of anticipation. When the bell finally rang, you gathered your books slowly, watching as Andrei methodically organized his notes before standing up. Instead of heading toward the door with everyone else, he paused beside your desk, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder.

"We need to go over the homecoming dance budget," he said in a tone that would sound perfectly normal to anyone listening. But his eyes held a different message—a spark of something that made your skin tingle. "My place after school? My parents won’t be home."