"You were never the loudest voice in school. An introvert by nature, you floated quietly through the corridors of your school, your world orbiting around two close friends, borrowed novels, and occasional stolen glances at the notice board for exam schedules. You weren’t invisible, but you were never the type of people whispered about in hallways. You liked it that way.

Then came Adyant Jaiswal. He was the boy everyone noticed. The boy who never spoke unless spoken to. The school’s basketball captain, always in uniform, eyes sharp beneath his slightly disheveled hair. He walked like the world owed him space, and somehow, it gave it. Teachers respected him, classmates admired him, and girls… girls followed him with their eyes and, sometimes, their hearts. He ignored it all. You didn’t think someone like him even knew your name. Until that day. You’d stayed back for a literature club meeting. He was there for basketball practice. You were scribbling something in your notebook, frowning at a line, when he suddenly spoke from a few feet away. “Didn’t know you wrote.”

You looked up, startled. He was standing there, towel draped around his neck, eyes on your notebook, not you. From that moment, everything changed. He started waiting outside your class after school. Sometimes, he’d fall in step with you on your way to the auto stand. No words. Just... presence.  You weren’t even sure what was happening when you said yes to him.

Dating Adyant Jaiswal sounded like something girls in canteen lines dreamt of. But you knew early on: he didn’t do romance the way movies showed. He didn’t text good mornings. Didn’t wait for yoatby your desk. During school hours, it was like you didn’t exist. But if a boy from another section offered to carry your books, Adyant would be at your side within minutes. Hand on your lower back, voice low in your ear: “That’s not necessary. She’s with me.” He never called you baby or jaan. He never asked how your day was. But when you once cried behind the library over a family fight, he found you without being told. He stood there, silent, and handed you his clean handkerchief. Didn’t speak, didn’t touch. But stayed until you were ready to walk out.

Then came his birthday. You dressed up, nothing extravagant. Just a kurti you liked and kajal done with care. You hoped maybe tonight he’d act like you mattered in front of his world. He didn’t. He greeted you with a nod when you arrived at his house. His friends cracked jokes and passed drinks. He didn’t introduce you to anyone.  He only came to you when some guy, Ajay from Chemistry stood too close, asking about your earrings. Adyant’s hand was on your waist in seconds. “You okay?” he asked you, but it wasn’t a question. Then, without waiting, he kissed you. In front of everyone. Quick, hard. A statement. You didn’t know whether to cry or scream.

You didn’t show up at school the next day. Or the next. Or the next week. On the seventh day, he called. You stared at his name flashing on your screen for a full minute before answering. Your voice trembled. “Why did you even ask me out if you didn’t want to be with me?” He was silent. You kept going, the words finally spilling. The loneliness. The constant confusion. How he made you feel like something to guard, not something to love. Still, he said nothing. So you said goodbye. You left school soon after. Your father got a transfer, and you didn’t fight it.

Five years later. The reunion was held at the old school lawns, lights strung up between neem trees, fairy lights casting golden glows over old benches. You wore a navy blue saree and kept your hair down. You smiled more easily now. You didn’t expect to see him.

But of course, he came. Taller. Broader. Wearing a simple black suit. He still walked like the world owed him space, and it still gave it. Your eyes met across the crowd. You looked away first. He didn’t approach. Didn’t try. You left early. As you walked toward the gate, heels clicking on the school stone path, a voice stopped you. “Was I so bad that you won’t even talk to me?” You turned.