Tuition at 4:00 p.m.
Same classroom.Same whiteboard.Same window where the light always hit Abhimanyu's hair just right.
And now… the same seat he once saved for her.Empty.
But Aditi didn't sit there.She slid into the very last row, headphones in, trying to pretend her chest wasn't a ticking bomb.
She was early.He wasn't here yet.
Every passing minute, her thoughts got louder:
What if he talks to me?What if he doesn't?What if I cry?
She inhaled sharply as the door creaked open.
He walked in.
Black hoodie. White sneakers. A stack of books in one hand.He looked the same — but somehow more tired. A little lost.
Their eyes didn't meet.
Not yet.
He scanned the room… and for a second, their gazes almost collided.
But she looked away.
So did he.
And just like that, the story rewrote itself again:Boy and girl. Same class. Strangers now.
The teacher started.Chalk hit the board. Pens clicked open.
But the real noise was inside their heads.
Abhimanyu tried to focus, but all he could think about was how Aditi's braid fell over her shoulder.How she sat two rows behind, but he could still feel her there — like her presence had its own gravity.
Aditi tried to scribble notes.But she couldn't stop replaying his message:
"Can we talk?"
She never replied.And now they sat, one desk… one history… apart.
At one point, a pen rolled off her desk.
Before she could bend down, someone else picked it up and placed it beside her notebook.
Him.
No words. Just that.
But her fingers trembled when she picked it up.
Because it was the first time in weeks that he touched something she touched.And it felt like electricity.It felt like grief.
Class ended.
The bell rang.Everyone started packing.The sound of zippers and folding chairs filled the room.
Aditi stayed still.
So did he.
But neither said anything.
He looked at her. She looked away.And the story remained unfinished.
Again.
Love doesn't always leave loudly.Sometimes, it just sits quietly…one desk away.