I remember the first day I noticed her. It was the second week of Year 7, and I still felt like a stranger in the crowded hallways. Lunchtime was the worst—everyone seemed to know exactly where to go, and I wandered aimlessly. That is when I saw Mia. She was standing by the canteen, not in the queue, just leaning against the wall near the drink fridge. She had a book in her hand but she wasn't reading it. Her eyes scanned the crowd, and when they met mine, she smiled. I didn't know her name yet, but that smile made me stop.

I hesitated for a moment, then walked over. "Hey," I said, feeling awkward. "Are you waiting for someone?" She shrugged and said she was just waiting for the line to get shorter. But we both knew that wasn't true. She was waiting, period—maybe for a friend, maybe for the bell, maybe for something else. We started talking about the book she was holding, and before I knew it, the line was gone and we were the last ones there. She said, "Want to sit together?" and that was it. That day, I found a friend.

Looking back, I realise that waiting is a strange kind of gift. Mia wasn't waiting for me specifically, but she was open to connection. In those first few weeks, I was so focused on finding my way that I forgot to look for the people who were also looking. That canteen wall became a meeting point for us for the rest of the term. We would meet there before the bell, during lunch, after school. It was our spot, and the waiting was part of the routine.

We started talking about the book she was holding, and before I knew it, the line was gone and we were the last ones there.

Later that year, I became the one waiting. One afternoon, Mia was late—really late. I stood by the canteen, watching the minutes tick by. I felt a knot in my stomach, wondering if she had forgotten or if something was wrong. But when she finally came running, out of breath and apologising, I realised that waiting for someone shows how much you care. It is not just about the person arriving; it is about being there, ready to welcome them.

Now, whenever I see someone standing alone by the canteen, I think of that first term. A simple wait turned into a lasting friendship. That experience taught me that sometimes the best connections start when you stop and wait—not for something, but for someone. And if you are the one waiting, it means you are giving them a gift: your time, your patience, and the promise that they matter.