The clock showed 7:50 AM.
Sambhavi clutched her bag tighter, her ponytail swinging wildly behind her as she dashed through the corridor of St. Mary’s Convent School. Her shoes clicked sharply against the marble floor while her heart pounded—not from the sprint, but from the nervous anticipation of starting Class 4 in a new building. The corridors felt longer, the walls colder, and everything somehow... bigger.
"I’m late. I’m late. Oh God, please let the teacher be late too," she mumbled under her breath, adjusting her uniform skirt as she hurried past the towering rows of classrooms.
Just then, time slowed. Literally.
From the entrance of the boys’ hostel side corridor, a boy walked in. His hair tousled like he didn't care. The sun peeked through the windows, catching the light behind him. And in that frozen moment, Sambhavi felt the wind whisper secrets to her heart.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes locked onto him.
Her heart skipped a beat—not because she was out of breath, but because he just walked past.
She had never seen him before. Who was he? Was he new too?
As he casually walked past her—without even noticing her—Sambhavi stood there, transfixed, like a character in one of those Bollywood slow-motion scenes. The moment lasted only a few seconds, but to her, it felt like a soft eternity.
“Which class does he belong to?” she whispered to herself, cheeks already warming up.
Still dazed, she walked into her classroom—Class 4A—and froze at the doorway.
There he was.
Sitting at the second bench from the window. Backpack half-unzipped, scribbling on the wooden desk with a pencil, completely unaware that he had just made someone's world shift.
Sambhavi bit her lip to suppress the blush spreading across her face. She sat down three benches away, diagonally behind him, sneaking glances whenever she could. The butterflies in her stomach were in full motion.
The first day had no real classes—just introductions and roll calls. One by one, students stood up, spoke their names, hobbies, and hometowns.
Then it was his turn.
He stood up, confident but casual.
"Hi, I’m Rahul, I came from Bendra. I like cricket... and I guess I like drawing too."
Rahul.
From Bendra.
His name echoed in Sambhavi’s mind like a song on repeat.
She smiled quietly, scribbling the name "Rahul" in her notebook, pretending it was just practice cursive.
And that’s how it began.
Not with a conversation, not with a hello—
But with a glance,
A name,
And a blush that refused to fade.
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