Morning came slowly, as if the sun itself was hesitant to rise. I opened my eyes, but for a few seconds, I wasn't fully awake. I lay still, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind float in that quiet space between sleep and thought.
And in that space…
there was only one thought.
What is she doing right now?
How do I even know her name?
It was ridiculous. I had thousands of things to think about — the exam, my work, my routine — but somehow, all of it faded behind this one simple question looping inside my mind like a stubborn song.
I got up, washed my face, did everything I usually do — but the thought stayed. Even while brushing, eating, packing my books… it stayed.
What is her name?
And how do I find out?
I tried to push the thought aside, at least until I finished the morning chores. But every few minutes, my mind wandered back to her — her calm face, the way she spoke in that soft tone, how she looked while writing, the quiet confidence she carried, the way she didn't hesitate to help me during the exam.
By afternoon, I found myself staring at my phone.
One name floated in my mind — Jayson.
He studied with her in 9th, he knew her from before. He was the only link between us.
But as soon as I thought of calling him, another thought hit me harder:
What will he think?
Why am I suddenly asking about her?
What if he misunderstands?
What if he laughs?
I put my phone away.
"No… not now," I muttered to myself.
But the thought didn't leave. It kept tapping on the inside of my head, quietly, persistently, like a reminder I couldn't ignore.
Evening came.
The sky turned orange.
And my patience ran out.
I picked up my phone again.
My hands hesitated over the screen.
I typed his number… erased it… typed again… held my breath…
What if Jayson reacts weird?
What if he asks why?
What if I can't answer?
But somewhere inside me, curiosity overcame fear.
I pressed call.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then a familiar voice answered, "Hello bro?"
For a second, my nervousness swallowed my words. I didn't know how to begin.
So I started with the safe topics — his exam, his prep, his job plans. We talked normally. I acted like everything was casual.
Only at the end — when I felt my courage slipping — I finally asked:
"Bro… that girl sitting beside me… she asked about you."
His voice changed slightly. "What did she ask?"
"Nothing special," I lied. "Just how I know you."
There was a pause.
My heartbeat grew loud.
I swallowed.
Then slowly, trying not to sound desperate, I asked:
"By the way… what's her name?"
For a moment, he didn't answer.
I stared at the wall, scared he might ask me why I wanted to know.
But then he replied calmly,
"Her name is Nikita."
The moment I heard it, something inside me lit up — like a spark had been waiting for that one word.
Nikita.
A simple name.
But suddenly the whole world felt different.
I repeated it silently, letting it settle inside me.
Nikita.
Jayson continued talking, but I wasn't fully listening for a moment. I was too busy absorbing the feeling of finally knowing her name.
Then he said something that pulled me back.
"She studied with me in 9th. But after some incident… she shifted to a new school."
I frowned slightly. "Incident? What happened?"
His voice dropped, turning softer, almost heavy.
"Her parents… are no more."
Silence filled the line.
For a second, I couldn't speak.
I didn't know what expression stayed on my face, but something in my chest tightened painfully.
Her calmness.
Her smile.
Her confidence.
Her way of helping others.
And behind all that…
she carried a trauma deeper than anything I had ever witnessed.
I admired her even more.
Not just for who she was now, but for everything she must have survived.
I stayed quiet for too long, lost in thoughts I didn't know how to process.
Jayson's voice brought me back.
"Bro? What happened?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, though everything inside me felt heavy and different.
I hesitated before asking the next thing.
"But… on the first exam day, she called someone 'father'."
Jayson sounded confused.
"I don't know anything about that. After she left the town, I didn't hear much. It's been four-five years."
I nodded to myself. That made sense — life scatters people in different directions.
"And her sister?" I asked.
He exhaled tiredly.
"That I really don't know. I only know she had one younger brother."
"Oh…" I whispered, realising how many unanswered questions still remained.
Jayson continued, giving me one more piece of the puzzle.
"She's from Sahirirajpur, around 4–5 kilometers from our college."
That made the picture even clearer — and yet more mysterious.
We talked for a few more minutes, shifting to random life things, our preparation, work, the usual. Then we hung up.
And I sat there quietly, my mind packed with new thoughts.
Nikita.
A girl who smiled so calmly…
studied so sincerely…
carried herself so simply…
yet carried a painful past I never imagined.
I didn't know what she was doing right now.
I didn't know what her days were like.
But I knew one thing:
I respected her more than before.
My mother called me from the other room, and I hurried to help her with chores. Even while doing the work, my mind kept replaying pieces of the conversation — the name, the incident, the mystery around her family.
Night came slowly.
I sat at my study table, trying to focus on my notebook.
But every few minutes, my eyes drifted away.
What might she be doing now? Learning? Talking? Sitting with her sister? Reading?
I forced myself to focus.
And with effort, discipline, and a little guilt, I finally completed my learning for the day.
The next afternoon, Shivis called.
The moment he asked, "Bro… any update about that girl?", something inside me lit up — excitement mixed with something undefinable.
I tried not to show it.
I didn't want to sound like some drama hero.
"I know a little," I said casually.
"Tell me, bro!" he insisted.
So I explained briefly — only the basics — her name, her old school, the village.
Not everything.
Some things felt too personal to share.
He listened silently.
After that, the conversation shifted back to our studies, our preparation, the next exam syllabus. We chatted for a while and then hung up.
But even after the call ended, I sat there quietly for a long time.
Not thinking about what to study.
Not thinking about the exam.
Not thinking about the village or the incident.
I was thinking about her.
About how silently she had walked through her pain.
How calmly she wrote her papers.
How naturally she exchanged sheets with me.
How she smiled without showing the weight in her heart.
There was a strange warmth inside me — not love, not attachment — but something like admiration mixed with curiosity, mixed with respect, mixed with an unexplainable pull.
The story wasn't changing fast.
Nothing dramatic was happening.
But inside me…
something had already begun to shift.
And I knew one thing —
the next exam wasn't going to be just another exam.
Because now…
"I knew her name now, yet somehow it felt like I had only opened the first page of a story I wasn't ready for."