The neon-green sticky note stayed on Arya's desk long after Meher had left the room. It felt like it was glowing, mocking his fear. For someone who had spent his entire life trying to be a "C-grade" background character, the idea of a National Scholarship felt like a joke.
But that evening, Arya didn't go to the cafeteria. Instead, he found himself in the old library wing, tucked behind a shelf of architectural history.
He opened his sketchbook to a fresh page. Usually, he drew landscapes or strangers, but today, his pencil had a mind of its own. He started sketching a hand—Meher's hand—holding that bright yellow scarf.
"You're overthinking the grip. Keep the lines fluid."
Arya jumped, nearly dropping his charcoal. Meher was leaning over the bookshelf, a playful grin on her face. She was holding two cups of steaming coffee.
"Do you follow everyone you challenge, or am I special?" Arya asked, his heart doing that familiar nervous dance.
"Only the ones who look like they're about to give up before they even start," she replied, sliding onto the chair opposite him. She pushed a coffee toward him. "Black. No sugar. Just like your sketches."
Arya took a sip, the bitterness grounding him. "Meher, look at me. I'm the guy who barely passes Physics. That scholarship is for students from the top tier—people with fancy portfolios and expensive tablets. I just have a pencil and a cracked phone."
Meher leaned in, her gaze turning serious. The extroverted, bubbly girl was gone; in her place was someone who saw right through him.
"Arya, those 'top tier' students have technique, but they don't have a soul. I've seen your work. You don't just draw buildings; you draw how it feels to live in them. That's what the judges want."
She reached out and tapped the sticky note he had pasted on his sketchbook. "The twist is, the scholarship isn't just about drawing. You have to submit a 'Vision Project'—a design that solves a real-world problem. And I know you've been secretly mapping out a plan for the city's old slums, haven't you?"
Arya was stunned. He had never told anyone about his dream of converting abandoned urban spaces into sustainable housing. How did she know?
"I told you," she whispered, a soft smile touching her lips. "I listen. Even when you're being silent."
For the first time, Arya didn't look away. The silence between them wasn't awkward; it was charged. He realized that Meher wasn't just pushing him toward a career—she was pulling him out of his own shadow.
"I'll do it," Arya said, his voice finally steady. "But on one condition."
Meher raised an eyebrow. "Oh? The introvert is making demands now?"
"I need a muse," Arya said, his face turning slightly red. "I need you to help me with the presentation. I can draw, but I can't speak to people the way you do."
Meher laughed, a bright, melodic sound that filled the dusty library. "Deal. We'll be the perfect team: your vision, and my loud mouth."
As they sat there, planning late into the night, Arya realized his life was no longer average. The sketch was starting to take shape, and for once, the lines were clear.