Allow me to introduce myself, providing you a glimpse into my world.
While summer's magic weaves tales of budding romance, I find myself standing apart, untouched by such enchantment. It's an intriguing conundrum, one that occupies my thoughts. As the sun-drenched days and balmy evenings orchestrate connections, I can't help but wonder why this particular spell has eluded me. With tomorrow marking the start of my second year in high school, after the summer holiday, I stand on the threshold of anticipation and curiosity. The halls will buzz with students reuniting, sharing stories of their summer adventures. Yet, amid the excitement, I'm left contemplating why the sun's warm embrace hasn't guided me to the same narrative. In essence, I'm just an ordinary guy, blessed with hair reminiscent of cappuccino hues, hazel eyes that seem to harbor a multitude of untold tales, and a stature that commands attention at a height of around 6'1.
On the morning of August 7th, the echo of urgent calls broke through Miguel's slumber. "Miguel, Miguel," someone's voice cut through the air. But Miguel remained unresponsive, wrapped in the embrace of sleep. The figure making the call ascended the stairs, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile upon seeing her sleeping son. Then, determination set in, and she began to shake him gently. "Miguel, my dear angel, you must wake up. You're running out of time," she implored. "Mhmmm, just a bit more, please?" Miguel's sleepy mutter floated through the air.  "No, Miguel, wake up. It's already 10 past 7 AM. Your school starts in 20 minutes. Get up now," the mother's voice held a note of urgency. "What, 10 before 7 AM?" "No, it's—well, never mind. I know just what to do with you." With a touch of a smile, the determined Latina mother placed her hand under his right armpit and the other beneath his left foot. The ultimate attack commenced – tickling. And it was a victorious endeavor; the young boy was soon on his feet, hastily donning his clothes. He slipped into his Nike sneakers, barely paying heed to his untied shoelace, and darted out of the house.
"Okay, I've got 9 minutes to reach there. If I'm swift, I can just make it on time," Miguel contemplated. But destiny had different plans in store for him. His first challenge: a traffic light. In a twist of luck, it glowed red, threatening to cost him a precious minute if he chose to wait. "No no no no, this can't happen now of all times!" Miguel counted down the seconds, wrestling with his options. Waiting meant wasting time; he couldn't afford that. With resolute determination, he cast aside hesitation and scoured the streets – no cars in sight. He bolted across the road with success. However, fate soon showed its capricious nature. He tripped over his untied shoelace, his elbow and knee colliding with the ground. "God damn it." Pushing himself up, he was on the brink of standing when a peculiar color caught his eye – a vivid red. Glancing downward, he found a red stain on his pants. Its meaning was unmistakable. He let out a sigh, muttering, "What a lousy way to start the day." Yet, before he could rise completely, a voice broke through his thoughts. "Need a hand?" The stranger on a motorbike peered down at him. Miguel looked up and met a pair of green eyes offering assistance. "Yeah, thanks." He accepted the stranger's hand and something struck him as oddly familiar – a distinctive high school uniform.