Back in Class 3, the playground felt endless — a spread of dust, heat, and boys shouting like the world depended on their speed. Dhruv was running with a few of his friends, dodging hands, laughing, pushing, losing breath and finding it again. It was the kind of chaos only childhood understands.
He had just curved away from the denner when something made him slow down without realizing it.
On the far side of the ground, a girl was walking alone. He had never seen her before. Her curly hair bounced gently around her neck, catching bits of sunlight as she moved. Small silver earrings glimmered each time her head tilted. And there was something about her eyes — calm, deep, too steady for a kid — that pulled his attention without any effort.
Her walk wasn't loud, but it had a kind of quiet grace that didn't match the noise around them. Dhruv didn't know her name. Didn't know her class. Didn't know why she felt like a pause in the middle of all the running.
For a second, the game didn't matter.
Only that moment did.
Then a sharp smack landed on his back.
"You're OUT!" his friend yelled, laughing.
Dhruv snapped back into the noise, turned, and when he looked toward where she was—
She was gone.
Already out of sight.
As if the moment was meant only to be seen once.
He rejoined the game, running again, shouting again, acting like nothing had happened. But a soft mark had been made somewhere inside him — quiet, small, but stubborn enough to stay.
And even though she lingered in his mind for days, he never tried to find her.
Not once.
Not out of fear, or shyness — he simply didn't think the glimpse would ever matter.
He had no idea she would return into his story after six whole years.