Hello, readers.
So, after that smile—the one that changed everything—my world began to spin a little differently. It was no longer just about liking her. It was something deeper, which I couldn't quite describe. Every morning felt brighter, every class felt shorter, and every random moment suddenly served a purpose: to see her again.
A new session had begun: Class 8th, with new books, new classrooms, and the same old chaos. I wasn't sure if she remembered me from the previous year, but I couldn't stop myself from looking for her among the crowd. And when I saw her name on the section list, only a few rows away from mine, I swear I smiled like an idiot. Same school, same campus—it felt like destiny was giving me another chance.
The first week of the new session was uneventful. Teachers were busy explaining rules and giving long lectures on discipline, while I was busy looking out the window for her during breaks. Then, one day, fortune decided to help me again. The English teacher entered the classroom and announced, "You will all be paired up for a reading activity." I'll combine students from both sections to make it more interactive."
And guess who I was paired with? Yes, her.
When her name was called next to mine, my heart skipped three beats at once. She, too, appeared surprised, but with a small smile on her face. I couldn't believe we were sitting at the same desk. My mind was screaming a thousand thoughts, but my mouth had forgotten how to speak.
"Hey," she replied softly, adjusting her glasses. "You are Ansh, right? "From Section B?"
For a moment, I was unable to move. The way she said my name felt surreal. I nodded, trying not to sound overly excited. "Yeah… and you are..."
"Riya," she added, smiling.
Riya. That was her name. It sounded even better when she said it herself. We spent the next twenty minutes reading from a boring comprehension passage, and I honestly didn't understand a word. All I could think about was how close she sat, how lightly her pen tapped against her notebook, and how her perfume smelled faintly of jasmine.
As we were packing up after class, she said, "You aren't that bad at reading. I expected you to make a mistake after that funny excuse with the bottle last year.
I blinked, realizing she'd remembered. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. "You… "Remember that?"
"Of course," she replied, laughing. "Who forgets things like that?"
That laughter again. It was still the same, but I was sitting close enough to feel it.
From that day forward, we talked more. Small things at first—homework, teachers, random gossip about classmates. I tried not to be too obvious, but each conversation brought me one step closer to achieving a long-held dream.
Soon, we began eating lunch together with our small group of friends. She'd share her tiffin, which could be noodles or parathas, and I'd pretend I wasn't looking forward to it every day. She teased me about my handwriting, and I teased her for being overly serious. We gradually developed a habit of laughing together.
Days turned into weeks, and I began to notice more — how she tied her hair differently on Mondays, how she hummed songs under her breath when bored, and how she always helped others even if they didn't ask. She wasn't just beautiful; she was also kind, which hit me harder than anything else.
But things weren't always so simple. There were days when she would suddenly go silent, staring at her notebook, lost in thought. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but I didn't want to appear overly eager. So I remained silent, waiting for her to speak first.
Rain began to fall one afternoon after school. Everyone ran to the covered area, laughing and shouting. Riya and I were among the last to exit the classroom. She did not have an umbrella this time. I did.
"Come on," I said, opening it for both of us. "You'll be drenched."
She hesitated for a second before smiling softly. "Thanks."
The walk from the school gate to the bus stop felt like a movie scene. The sound of rain, the smell of wet soil, the tiny drops hitting the umbrella—it all seemed surreal. We didn't say much, just walked side by side. Her hand brushed against mine, and I froze. She did not move it away. I didn't, either.
For those few minutes, I forgot everything: my grades, my worries, and even my fear. There was only her, walking beside me under the same umbrella.
When we got to the stop, she looked at me and said, "You know, you aren't what I expected. You're… different."
I smiled, hoping not to blush. "Different good? Different bad?"
She smiled. "Different goods."
That night, I was unable to sleep. I played that one line over and over in my head. Different is good. Maybe it didn't mean much to her, but it seemed like the beginning of something. This is something new. Something authentic.
And that's how it started: a quiet friendship that didn't require words to feel special. I had no idea what the future held, but for the first time in my life, I was not afraid to hope.
Because sometimes the best stories don't begin with a confession, but with a shared umbrella in the rain.
— dead