I don't know why the classroom felt bigger today.
Maybe because Aashi wasn't here. Usually, her chatter filled the breaks between periods, tiny spark sounds that made even the dullest morning feel alive. But today—nothing. No humming, no whispering, no dramatic sighs about assignment deadlines. Just… empty desk, empty chair, and the strangely heavy silence I hated.
I dropped my bag beside my bench and sat down, rubbing my palms together out of habit. It wasn't cold, but something inside me felt restless. Maybe because I already knew who would walk in the moment the Hindi period started. Maybe because the weird part of my heart that I never understood had started acting up again. Maybe both.
The bell rang for the next period.
My eyes went straight to the door automatically.
Of course they did.
And right on cue—there he was.
Rayan.
Hair slightly messy like he'd run fingers through it five times on the way here, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, his notebook dangling from his hand like he didn't care if it fell.
He stepped inside with that slow, casual confidence he never tried to show off. It was just a part of him, stitched into him like the neat strokes of his handwriting.
He glanced at me first.
He always did.
"Hi," he said, low, like he didn't want the teacher to catch him talking but also didn't want to skip greeting me.
"Hi," I replied, trying not to smile stupidly.
He walked to my bench like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was. For him. For me. For us. Hindi class was the only time our sections mixed, and maybe that's why my heart sometimes confused the word "routine" with "something more".
Except… today felt different.
He didn't sit immediately. Instead, he looked at the empty seat beside mine.
"Where's Aashi? She didn't come?"
I shook my head. "She's sick today."
"Oh." His voice dropped a little. "That explains the silence."
I raised an eyebrow. "What silence?"
"You talk less when she's not around."
His eyes softened slightly. "Like… the room feels quieter."
I stared at him for a second too long.
Why do you notice things you're not supposed to?
Before I could reply, the teacher walked in and the class settled. Rayan finally sat beside me, pulling out his notebook with a sigh that brushed my shoulder lightly.
And instantly—I felt it.
That stupid, familiar flutter.
Something between nervousness and excitement, between worry and warmth. Something I had felt since Class 8 but kept pushing down like a stubborn spring that refused to stay pressed.
I opened my book and forced myself to look ahead.
Usually, Hindi class wasn't boring, especially because Rayan never let it be boring. I lean in and whisper jokes under his breath, making the most serious lines sound ridiculous. And he would roll his eyes and pretend to be annoyed.
I like when he roll his eyes....i like ...No..i should stop thinking...
Today, though, he was quieter.
Too quiet.
At least in the beginning.
It started somewhere around the second page of the lesson. I was writing notes when he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine for a second too long.
"You okay?" he whispered.
I blinked. "Yeah, why?"
"You just look… tired." He paused, glancing at my fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "And restless."
I gulped. "I'm fine."
"You're lying," he said softly, like it wasn't an accusation but a fact.
My heartbeat skipped.
Why do you read me so easily?
Since when?
How?
He didn't move away. If anything, he leaned a little more, his breath warm against the side of my face.
"You know you can tell me, right?" he said.
Quiet, gentle, annoyingly sincere.
I quickly looked down at my notebook because staring at him directly during moments like this was impossible.
"It's nothing," I muttered.
He nodded, but I could feel he didn't believe me.
---
Halfway through the period, the teacher started explaining a poem about unsaid feelings. Great. As if my life wasn't already giving me enough metaphors.
I tried focusing on the board.
But then—
Rayan slid his notebook a little toward me, keeping his hand on the edge so only I could see.
On the paper, he'd scribbled:
"You're unusually quiet today."
I suppressed a smile.
I wrote back:
"You're unusually observant today."
He read it and raised one eyebrow—his signature expression that meant I've always been observant; you're the one pretending not to see it.
He wrote again:
"Maybe. But I worry when you're dull."
My throat tightened a little.
I quickly scribbled:
"I'm not dull."
He replied:
"You are. But it's okay. I'll fix it."
I glared at him.
He smirked.
For a second, nothing else in the classroom existed—not the teacher, not the poem, not even the ticking fan above us. Just him. Just me. And the ridiculous flutter in my chest that refused to calm down.
---
When the teacher called on me to answer a question, I jumped slightly.
"(My name)? What does the poet want to express in the second stanza?"
I opened my mouth and began explaining—at least, I hoped I was explaining. My voice came out steady but my mind was anything but steady.
Because Rayan was watching me.
Not in a normal, casual way.
In a too-focused, too-soft, too-attentive way that made every nerve in my body feel awake.
When I finished, the teacher nodded.
"Good. Sit."
I sat.
Rayan leaned closer, whispering:
"You explained that really well."
I shrugged, pretending it was nothing.
But my cheeks felt warm.
"Maybe because you're the only one who listens to Hindi teacher seriously," he added.
I nudged his arm. "Shut up."
He chuckled. Low. Warm. Way too close.
And then something strange happened.
A moment of silence.
Not awkward.
Not heavy.
Just… warm.
Like we were sitting in our own little world.
---
During the last ten minutes of the period, the teacher told us to complete an exercise quietly. Everyone bent over their notebooks. A predictable silence settled in the room.
Except my heart wasn't silent.
It was beating like someone knocked twice from the inside.
I stared at the question for a whole minute without reading it. Because all I could think about was how much space Rayan filled by simply existing next to me. How easily he slid into my day, my routine, my comfort.
How stupidly natural it felt to have him beside me.
How I had felt this since Class 8.
And how I pretended not to.
Because if I admitted it…
everything would change.
And I wasn't brave enough for that.
Not yet.
I tried writing.
But then—
Rayan softly nudged my elbow.
Without looking at me, he whispered:
"Don't get lost again."
I frowned. "I'm not lost."
"You're always lost. But only in your thoughts."
I didn't say anything.
He continued writing for a while, then spoke again, even softer:
"I like it, though."
I turned to him. "What?"
He didn't look up. "When you think deeply. Your face gets a little… softer."
I froze.
He kept writing like he didn't just drop a small bomb.
"And you blink slower," he added casually.
"Stop observing me!" I whispered, half embarrassed, half panicking.
He finally looked up, eyes meeting mine with that quiet mischief.
"I can't help it."
My breath caught.
Before I could reply, the bell rang. The class ended. Chairs dragged, bags zipped, voices filled the room.
Rayan stood up slowly, watching me pack my things. Everyone else walked out quickly, but he waited like always.
When we stepped outside, the corridor split—his side to Section A, mine to the left right here were i stand .
Usually, he said a quick bye and left.
But today, he didn't.
Instead, he asked, "Done packing?"
I blinked. Yeah
He nodded, turning to leave.
But then—
he stopped.
Looked over his shoulder.
And said something that left me frozen:
"bye and stop thinking ."
I stared at him, confused. Nervous. A little breathless.
"What do you mean?" I whispered.
He shrugged, stepping backward toward his corridor.
"You know what I mean."
And then he walked away.
Leaving me with a racing heartbeat and a question I was terrified to answer.
---
Arnav passed me in the corridor at the same moment, mumbling something to one of his friends.
Dark humor. Savage glare. Textbook in one hand.
Topper energy on maximum.
He didn't see me, but for a second, I remembered last week.
Aashi teasing him, and him replying with:
"Try again when you learn to roast at my level."
And her shouting, "Arnav you idiot!"
And him saying, "Thank you, but I can't accept compliments."
They were chaos. Cute chaos.
I smiled a little.
But the smile faded as soon as I looked at the empty staircase ahead.
Because my brain, my stupid dramatic heart, my heart is just a dumb organ, everything suddenly replayed that moment in class—
"You blink slower when you're thinking."
"I can't help observing you."
"Am i hiding?"
Hide what????
He is my friend just like Arnav... right?
No....it can't be ....
What does he think I feel?
Does he know?
Did he always know?
Since Class 8?
My stomach flipped.
I took a deep breath.
But it didn't help.
Because no matter how much I denied it, the truth was simple:
I had always loved him.
I just never realized it.
Or maybe… I always knew.
I just never admitted it.
And now—
he was beginning to see it.
And that terrified me
almost as much as it thrilled me.
---