The weekend passed slowly. Freddy tried focusing on his books, but Bushrah kept slipping into his thoughts — the way she stood apart, her calm presence, the half-smile she'd given him like a secret passed in silence.
Monday morning came with a haze of sunlight and the usual classroom noise. Freddy slid into his desk near the window, glancing around until his eyes landed on her.
Bushrah.
She sat three rows ahead, head down, sketching something in her notebook. Freddy leaned slightly, trying to see, but she was careful, guarded — like everything about her.
"Still thinking about her?" Maido whispered, nudging him from the side.
Freddy blinked. "What? No—I mean… not really."
Maido grinned knowingly. "You're not the first one. A lot of boys are curious about Bushrah. But she doesn't let people in easily."
"Why not?"
"She's... complicated. Smart. Focused. Doesn't like games or small talk. People say she's cold — I think she just sees through things."
Freddy nodded slowly. That made him want to know her more.
During lunch, he walked near where Bushrah usually sat under the mango tree by the fence. She was there again, alone with a book. He gathered his courage and sat a few feet away.
"You always sit here?" he asked casually.
Bushrah didn't look up. "When it's not too noisy."
Freddy hesitated. "What are you reading?"
She showed him the cover — a novel in English, something deep, probably too serious for most students. "Do you like reading?" he asked.
Bushrah finally looked at him, curious. "Do you?"
"I grew up with stories. Not books like that… more like fireside tales."
She closed the book softly. "Then you understand how words can feel more real than people."
He smiled. "Yeah. I think I do."
They sat in quiet after that — not awkward, just silent. Freddy didn't need to fill it. She didn't need to explain anything.
Before she left, she said something that stayed with him.
"People think silence means you're hiding. Sometimes, it just means you're listening."
Freddy watched her walk away, his heart strangely full. She was like rain in a dry season — quiet, rare, and impossible to ignore.