I still don't understand how it happened.
How could we both just walk off like that? How could we not even notice that everyone else was still behind us?
I keep replaying that afternoon in my head—the sunlight on the road, the faint sound of cars passing, and his voice, light and teasing beside me. Maybe that's why I didn't hear Aashi calling. Maybe that's why I didn't look back.
I remember thinking, how can two people be so lost in talking about nothing and yet feel everything at once?
It was strange—so simple, so ordinary, yet something in that moment shifted quietly, like wind brushing past the curtains. I didn't see it then. I just felt warm, happy… safe.
I didn't realize I was smiling until Aashi tapped my shoulder.
"Hello? You both planning to leave us forever or what?"
I laughed, pretending I hadn't heard her. Rayan laughed too, that soft, boyish laugh that made everything feel lighter. We looked at each other, then away, and I don't know why but my heart felt like it tripped a little.
Even now, thinking about it, I feel that same flutter.
What is this?
Every day since then, I've been asking myself the same question. And every time, I answer it the same way—No, it's not what I think. It can't be.
He's my friend. That's it.
A very close friend. A friend who understands every little thing I say. A friend who somehow knows when I'm pretending to be fine. A friend whose smile can ruin my whole day's attempt to stay mad.
That's it, right?
But then I catch myself thinking about the smallest things—the way his hair falls on his forehead, the way he says my name when he's teasing me, the way he looks serious only when he's listening. And I hate it. I hate how easily he occupies my thoughts, how his absence feels louder than his presence.
Like today.
He wasn't in school. Again.
I sat in Hindi class, pretending to focus while Aashi nudged me with a grin.
"He's absent again, huh?" she whispered.
"So what?" I said, flipping my notebook a little too quickly. "I'm just saying it's weird. Every time there's a Hindi period, he disappears. Coincidence?"
I rolled my eyes. "Maybe he's just busy."
"Busy missing you?" she laughed.
I threw my pen at her.
"I'm complaining, not missing him."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, smirking.
But the truth is—I was missing him.
I kept staring at the empty seat where he should've been, the way sunlight fell across it. I kept hearing his voice in my head. Every time someone laughed, I turned, half expecting it to be him.
After school, I finally gave up pretending and texted him.
"Why don't you come today? Let me guess—urgent work again? Always urgent, always on Hindi days."
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.
"Of course not. Why would I skip the only chance to sit with you?"
I stared at the message, smiling without meaning to.
"That's not an answer, huh? Flirting, huh? I'm mad at you."
"Mad? For missing me?"
"For skipping class."
"Next time, I'll inform you before I disappear."
" you better tell me .....Otherwise…"
"Otherwise what?"
"Otherwise I'll punch you."
He sent a laughing emoji.
I wanted to stay mad, but I couldn't.
And that's the problem. I can never stay mad at him.
Sometimes, when I walk home alone, I think about that day we crossed the road together. He'd said, "Stay behind me. I'll keep an eye on the traffic."
I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until we reached the other side.
It wasn't a big thing. But it was something—something small that felt too big to explain.
Now, every time I pass that road, I remember that moment. And every time, I smile like an idiot.
I tell myself it's just because he's a caring person. He cares for everyone. That's why.
But deep down, I know that's not true.
He's different with me.
And I hate that I notice it. I hate that my heart keeps collecting these small things—his words, his laughs, the way he remembers the tiniest details I forget.
Sometimes I think maybe this is love.
And then I shake my head and laugh because no, that's stupid. It's not love. I'm too young for that. I'm just… I don't know. Attached? Fond of him?
Yeah, that sounds better.
But then I remember class 8. I remember the first time he smiled at me for no reason. I remember thinking it was nothing, and yet somehow, I still remember it after all this time.
I remember every little moment that shouldn't have mattered—but did.
So maybe it's been there all along.
Maybe I've been in love with him since then, and I just didn't realize.
But I can't say it out loud.
Not yet.
Because the moment I do, everything will change.
And right now, I just want to stay like this—half-aware, half-denying, fully lost in something I don't even have a name for.
So for now, I'll just keep calling it "nothing."
Just a feeling.
Just a friendship.
Just… him.
---
*Chapter 9.....Afterwards…*
When I reach home that evening, everything feels unusually quiet.
The street outside hums with the sound of rickshaws and children yelling, but my room—my small, warm, familiar room—feels like a different world altogether.
I throw my bag on the chair, fall face-first on the bed, and let out a sigh that sounds heavier than it should. The sunlight is fading through the window, painting the walls orange, soft, and peaceful.
My phone blinks once.
It's him.
Rayan: "Reached home yet?"
Me: "Yeah. Tired."
Rayan: "Don't skip dinner. You always say tired and then sleep without eating."
Me: "You sound like my mom."
Rayan: "Then listen to me like you listen to her."
I smile at the screen, rolling onto my back. The fan spins lazily above me, the air smelling faintly of chalk dust and the perfume Aashi gave me last year. Everything feels ordinary—except the way my heart reacts to one simple message.
Why does he have to care like that?
Why does he have to say things that make me smile when I'm trying so hard not to?
Me: "Okay, okay. I'll eat. Happy now?"
Rayan: "Very. Don't make me call you to check."
He always says things like that—half serious, half teasing—and somehow, it always leaves me speechless.
I keep staring at his chat, scrolling up through the messages.
The old jokes, the stupid arguments, the little things that would look meaningless to anyone else… but not to me. To me, they're pieces of something I can't name yet.
I whisper into the empty room, "You have no idea, do you?"
My voice sounds small, like it doesn't want to disturb the moment.
I close my eyes and let my phone rest on my chest.
For a second, it's like I can still hear him laugh, the echo of his words mixing with the soft whirr of the fan.
I tell myself again—it's nothing. Just friendship. Just care.
But my heart doesn't listen.
Maybe it already knows what I'm too afraid to admit.
That somewhere between jokes, arguments, and late-night messages…
I fell for him.
Quietly. Deeply.
And I'm still pretending not to notice.
---