The next day dragged on forever.
Every class, every bell, every explanation about formulas or history dates — it all blended into a dull blur. Not because I was excited, but because I was already thinking about what would happen after school.
The project.
With her.
When the last bell finally rang, the classroom erupted in chatter. Everyone began talking about partners, plans, and who was going to do all the work.
> "Don't forget, the project's due next month," the teacher reminded us before leaving.
A whole month. Great. Thirty days of teamwork.
I packed up my notebook slowly and walked toward the library, wondering if Meera would even show up on time.
---
The library sat at the far end of the building, where most students rarely went. It was quiet there — still air, shelves stretching up toward the ceiling, dust motes dancing in the sunlight.
Silence was familiar. Silence didn't demand anything.
Until—
"Hey, Mr. Quiet!"
Her voice sliced through the calm like a thrown pebble. A few students turned their heads, frowning. I did too, only because I had to.
Meera stood in the doorway, slightly breathless as if she'd jogged the whole way. Her hair had loosened from its tie, falling around her face. The late afternoon light made the brown in her eyes look almost gold.
"You're late," I said.
"Only by five minutes."
"Six."
"You were counting?"
"…Maybe."
She smiled. "Then you were waiting for me."
I sighed. "Let's just start."
---
We took the corner table near the window — the one no one else liked because the sunlight hit the page too directly.
Meera dumped her bag on the table, pulled out a messy stack of notes, and sat with a grin. I opened my notebook — neat, labeled, color-coded.
"Wow," she said, staring at it. "Do you photocopy your brain or something?"
"Just organized."
"Organized is an understatement. Your handwriting looks like it was printed."
"Yours looks like a storm," I replied before I could stop myself.
She laughed, brushing hair behind her ear. "At least it's a creative storm."
For a while, we actually worked — I drafted points, she brainstormed ideas, occasionally doodling tiny flowers in the margins. The silence was awkward but not unbearable.
Then she looked up suddenly.
"Hey, can I ask something?"
I glanced over. "What?"
"Do you hate working with me?"
I blinked. "No."
"You sure? You look… like you'd rather be anywhere else."
"I usually work alone," I said honestly. "It's not about you."
She tilted her head, studying me. "So you just don't like people?"
"Not exactly. I just… need quiet to think."
Her expression softened. "That's fair."
I expected her to tease me again, but she didn't. She just went back to writing, her brow furrowed in thought.
---
After a while, I realized something strange — Meera wasn't what people said she was.
She wasn't loud or shallow. She just talked when others didn't. She filled silences so they wouldn't feel awkward.
And she listened, too. Every time I spoke, her eyes focused like she actually cared to understand.
I caught myself staring once.
She looked up immediately. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I'm thinking."
"About me?"
"…About the project."
"Liar," she said with a grin.
I looked away, pretending to check my notes. "Focus."
She laughed softly. "You're bad at pretending you don't care."
I ignored that, but my ears felt warmer than before.
---
By the time we wrapped up the outline, the sunlight had turned orange through the library windows.
The librarian switched on the dim lights overhead.
Meera stretched, yawning dramatically. "Done! At least for today."
"Not bad," I said.
She smiled proudly. "See? I'm not that bad a partner."
"I never said you were."
"You didn't have to. Your face said it."
I shook my head, almost smiling. "Your imagination's too active."
She laughed again, softer this time. "Maybe. But thanks… for not acting like everyone else."
I looked at her, confused. "Everyone else?"
"You know. People who decide who I am before I even speak." She gave a small shrug. "You don't do that. You just… look, and wait."
"I just don't like being wrong," I said quietly.
Her eyes lit up, amused. "So, you're waiting to decide whether you like me or not?"
"Something like that."
"Challenge accepted," she said, grinning.
---
We left the library together. The hallways were mostly empty, echoing with the soft squeak of our shoes.
She walked beside me, swinging her bag lazily. "You know, you're not as scary as I thought."
"I wasn't trying to be scary."
"Well, mission accomplished." She glanced sideways. "You're more like… a silent wall with thoughts."
"That's a weird description."
"But accurate."
I chuckled under my breath, surprising even myself.
Outside, clouds were gathering, grey and thick. The wind smelled like rain.
"Think it's gonna pour?" she asked.
"Probably."
"Great," she groaned. "I didn't bring an umbrella."
"Then go home fast."
"What about you?"
"I'll manage."
"Then I'll manage too," she said with a playful shrug. "If you can survive the rain, so can I."
She turned toward the gate, then paused. "Hey, Mr. Quiet?"
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow, same time? Library. We've got a month to make this perfect."
"Fine."
She smiled. "It's a project date."
Before I could respond, she waved and ran ahead, hair flying behind her.
---
I watched her go until she disappeared beyond the trees.
The rain started soon after — soft at first, then steady.
For some reason, I didn't rush to leave.
The sound of the rain hitting the pavement felt strangely peaceful.
And for the first time in a long while, silence didn't feel lonely.
---