"Why can't I get him out of my head? What's wrong with me? I've never liked someone like him before—and I will never," I muttered, slamming my notebook shut as if it were his fault.
The next day was Teacher's Day prep. Shree and I had been roped in as anchors (classic), while Shubh—the so-called official topper of our class—was hosting the games. To describe him: dark complexion, claims he's 5'7" but I'm 5'6" and definitely taller than him (math not mathing, sir). A bit chubby, quiet, and usually glued to his books as if they supply oxygen.
But then—(Flashback time).
During the interschool debate competition, Shree, Ada, Subh, and I went together. The rules were chaotic—four team members, but only one speaker allowed. I tried convincing Ada to drop out so Akayy could join (don't ask me why, I still don't know). My persuasion failed miserably, and she came along anyway.
We chose Shree to speak since she excelled at debates. When Ada went to the washroom, Subh and I waited in the corridor. I casually asked if Akayy had a crush on someone. He said yes. My heart skipped. When I asked who, he simply shrugged—he didn't know.
Then Subh opened up unexpectedly about his life. He told me about losing his elder brother before he was even born—how his family should have been three brothers but ended up only two. Despite being naturally quiet and reserved, someone who rarely shares personal details, he confided in me.
Later, Shree quietly mentioned he'd also lost his father during COVID. That explained so much—his demeanor, the quiet intensity, why he never sought sympathy or overshared.
When Ada and Shree returned, Subh abruptly changed the subject. Out of nowhere, he asked, "What's your type in a guy?"
I replied, "Someone taller than me and nice, that's it."
He smirked. "Should I ask Akayy then?"
I froze, flustered, blurting out, "I like someone who's clean-shaven, not with a beard."
That day ended with laughter, moments of connection, and somehow, I gained a new friend.
(End of flashback)
Back to the present: Subh, Shree, Vayu, and I were planning games and titles for Teacher's Day. This should've been the head girl and boy's responsibility, but they were busy with... whatever nonsense occupied them. So naturally, we stepped up to save the school. Shree and I teased poor Shubh with our "evil girl-thoughts" about boys, but quickly assured him he wasn't one of them.
Vayu had joined us too—essentially a taller, slightly bulkier version of Subh. I'd met him on my first day, and somehow, we'd become friends over time.
The four of us were enjoying our chaotic planning when Akayy walked in, laptop in hand, lost in his world. Predictably, he ignored me. I ignored him. But then, like he couldn't help himself, he started showing everyone what he was working on—me included. I didn't respond. He persisted, asking questions until I finally gave in. Why does he keep doing this to me?
After surviving countless debates, arguments, and mutual blackmail to finish our work, we headed to the auditorium. Akayy was practicing a song for the teachers, sitting focused on the sofa with an intensity that made me... oddly nervous. I sat nearby, feigning casualness. Then, of course, he started singing while looking directly at me. Why?
And then—the tragedy struck—our vice head girl barged in with her goat-like voice, joining him mid-song. My ears nearly exploded. I was trapped in an awkward third-wheel situation, caught between admiration and irritation.
I left shortly after, but couldn't stop replaying it all in my mind—his little gestures, how he notices details, the way he behaves around me—somehow, he kept me captivated.
And just like that, the next day arrived.
Teacher's Day was just beginning, and I had no idea what the day—or the people in it—would make me feel.