The first light of morning slipped through the curtains in soft, golden threads. Outside, the city was already awake—rickshaws clattered down narrow streets, milkmen called out in the distance, and the sharp honk of a car cut through the hum of traffic. It was an ordinary Monday morning, but mornings often carried secrets. For most, it was just another day. For one girl, it would quietly become a memory she could never forget.
________
"Isha, wake up. You'll be late. Drink your milk or you'll end up skipping breakfast too."
Her mother's voice was its usual mix of firmness and affection.
Half-asleep, Isha sat up, obeyed, and then moved through the routine she knew by heart. Uniform pressed, shoes tied, hair woven neatly into a braid, bag ready on her shoulders. Everything looked as it always did, yet her heart carried a peculiar anticipation
In the car, she rested her cheek against the cool glass of the window, watching the blur of buses and hurried pedestrians. But her gaze didn't linger on them. Something restless stirred inside her, a quiet sense that the day was holding its breath.
It doesn't take much to change the course of memory—sometimes, the smallest detour is enough.
At the school gate, Kira was waiting.
"Hurry up, the bell's already rung," she teased, tugging Isha along.
The first two periods crawled by in familiar monotony—teachers lecturing, classmates whispering, the occasional burst of laughter. Nothing remarkable, nothing to mark the day apart.
Then came the third period. A substitution.
"Class 10-A, move to 12-A for this session," the teacher announced.
Isha followed Kira into the new classroom. The boys of 11-A were already there, bent over their notebooks, their pens moving steadily across the page. The room hummed with a strange seriousness—the scratch of pens, a few low murmurs, sunlight spilling across wooden desks.
Isha slid into a seat near the back. The golden light streamed through the tall windows, brushing everything in a soft glow.
Kira leaned closer. "Look," she whispered.
Isha's eyes followed—and then stopped.
In a crowded room, sometimes one face silences everything else.
His head was bent over his work, but the sunlight had found him, tracing the edges of his face in quiet brilliance. A watch glimmered faintly on his wrist as his hand moved fluidly across the page. He looked calm. Composed. Entirely absorbed in his own world.
Isha couldn't look away.
"Kira… do you know his name?"
"No," Kira murmured, then quickly leaned toward another girl. A moment later she turned back. "Vihaan."
The name lodged itself in Isha's mind like a secret. She repeated it silently, her heart lifting in a strange, unsteady rhythm. Every gesture of his—the way he tapped his pen, the casual adjustment of his watch—seemed magnified, impossible to miss.
_____
VIHAAN..
His attention stayed fixed on his work. The numbers filled the page, problems demanded solutions, and yet, at the edges of his awareness, he felt something. Eyes. A brief, steady gaze. He glanced once, just enough to notice the girls who had entered, then returned to his notebook. Routine mattered more. Still, the faint awareness lingered.
The bell rang. Books closed, chairs shifted, voices rose again. As Isha stepped out of the room, her eyes brushed his for the first time. A second, no longer—and yet time seemed to falter.
During the interval, she saw him again. He was walking down the corridor with a friend, laughing at something casually said. She wanted to look away, but her gaze refused to leave. kira with a mischievous girn said "Ahm Ahm Done starring".
Isha said nothing,her chest tight with the strange exhilaration of having his name—Vihaan—now linked to something real.
By the end of the day, the anticipation hadn't faded. Standing by the stage with her friend Alya, she relived it all—the glow of sunlight, the shine of the watch, the brief collision of eyes that had left her breathless.
And then, once more, after school when she was waiting for her best friend alya near stage then alya came and told her full story that what happened, she waited for some minutes more with alya. Then,there he was. Vihaan stood in line with the others, waiting to leave. Their paths crossed in silence, but the nearness was enough to quicken her pulse.
"Alya," she whispered urgently, "did you see him? The sunlight, the way it hit his face… he looked perfect."
Alya grinned. "More than perfect. And you… you're mesmerized."
Isha laughed nervously, but her mind was already spiraling with unspoken questions. How could a single glance hold so much weight?
VIHAAN
He stood in line, scanning the crowd absently. His eyes drifted across familiar faces, pausing briefly before moving on. Nothing unusual, nothing remarkable. And yet—an odd awareness remained, as though something unspoken had brushed against him.
The final bell rang, and the school emptied. For most, the day had ended like any other. But for Isha, 11th November had etched itself deep. A name, a glance, a heartbeat out of rhythm—enough to transform an ordinary Monday into something unforgettable.
Back home, she sat in her room, the quiet evening pressing around her. Again and again, her thoughts circled back—the sunlight on his face, the gleam of his watch, that one second of connection.
She couldn't name it. Attraction, curiosity, or something far more elusive. All she knew was that she had noticed him—and that noticing had already begun to write a story inside her.
In night she wasn't able to sleep cause whenever she closes her eyes she sees his face... Sunlight drifting on his face , the smartwatch he wearing... Everything was in her mind. Then finally after one hour later she drifted to sleep.
AUTHOR
The heart doesn't need grand gestures to begin a story. Sometimes, a single gaze is enough to mark the first page. And for Isha, 11th November was the beginning.
SO YAY IT WAS THERE FIRST MEET....