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क्यों रातों को मैं अब चैन से सो ना सकून
ऊओ ओ….क्यों आता नहीं मुझे दिन में भी चैन-ओ-सुकून
क्यों ऐसा होता है मैं खुद से ही बातें करूं
ऊ ओ….
क्यों तू जो बोले कोई सुने मैं ही सुनूं
दिल ये बेकरार क्यों है
इसपे धुन सवार क्यों है
तू बता…
तेरा इंतज़ार क्यों है
क्यू है ये खुमार क्यों है तू बतातू बता आ आ…
तू बता आ आ आ…
Vote: 55+
coments: 60+
———————————————
The sun had begun to melt into warm gold, casting delicate amber streaks across the sky. The quiet lane shimmered under its glow as Aditi and Prateek walked side by side, their shadows long and swaying gently with every step. The breeze was soft, but persistent, tugging at Aditi’s ponytail like a restless thought she couldn’t shake off.
Their bags hung loosely from one shoulder school felt far behind them now, but the weight of the day still lingered.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence wasn’t awkward it was the kind that existed between people who didn’t need to fill the space with noise. But Prateek’s eyes kept darting toward her bandaged wrist, the fabric now wrinkled at the edges, bloodless but still fresh.
Then finally, as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore, his voice cut through the hush like a gentle breeze against glass.
“Abhi bhi dard ho raha hai?”
His tone was casual deliberately so but the concern was threaded so clearly through it that Aditi’s heart skipped a beat.
She shook her head, eyes still on the uneven road. “Thoda thoda… manageable hai itta.”
But then her voice faltered, a flicker of guilt crawling through her tone like a whisper. She slowed down a little, her fingers brushing the edge of the bandage.
“subha jab flag pole gira tha to maine Vivaan ka haath zor se hata diya tha… voh bas help kar raha tha.” She looked down, biting her lip. “Mujhe laga phir se… reflex tha. Mujhse galti ho gayi.”
They stopped.
Prateek turned to face her, the golden light outlining the sharp worry in his expression. There was a beat of silence, then softly, but firmly he said, “Tu pagal hai kya?” His voice cracked slightly, caught between scolding and shielding. “Tu galat nahi thi, samjhi?”
Aditi blinked, startled, but he wasn’t done.
“Vivaan samajhne waalon mein se hai haa vo baat alag hai. Agar tu use kahegi na, toh voh khud hi tujhe samjhaayega. Tujhe apne reaction ke liye sorry feel karne ki zarurat nahi hai. Tu sirf… protect kar rahi thi khud ko.”
Her eyes dropped again, lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. A gust of wind stirred the hem of her kurti, and for a second, she looked smaller like a girl fighting invisible ghosts in broad daylight.
“I know,” she said quietly, voice trembling with restraint. “Par… kabhi kabhi na… lagta hai main sab bigaad deti hoon. Main chhoti chhoti baaton pe overreact karti hoon. Normal log jaise react nahi karti.”
Prateek’s eyes softened.
“Kya ‘normal’ log apne trauma ke saath daily fight karte hain?” he asked, stepping closer. “Jo tu kar rahi hai, voh bravery hai. Stupid bravery kabhi kabhi. Par bravery.”
Aditi gave a small laugh, but it sounded more like a broken sigh.
He nudged her shoulder lightly, trying to lift the air around them. “Agar Vivaan ko problem hoti na, toh voh 10 minute mein 27 dialogues bol ke drama kar leta. Tu jaanti hai usse.”
A smile tugged at her lips despite herself.
“Chuha kahi ka,” she mumbled.
“Certified,” Prateek smirked. “Aur tu… tu meri behen hai. Jis din tu khud pe doubt kare na, us din mujhe yaad dilaa dena ki main tujhe mirror dikha du.”
She looked up at him, eyes shining faintly.
“Tera mirror main hoon,” he added, tapping his chest with exaggerated pride, “aur main kehta hoon…poori gilehri hai tu.”
Then, with the air of someone pretending to be casual, he leaned slightly toward her and nudged her arm carefully, purposefully avoiding her bandaged wrist.
“Waise…” he started, drawing out the word like he was about to announce a scandal. “Kal tu bhi daud rahi hai na? Sprint race?”
Aditi nodded, keeping her gaze on the uneven road ahead. “Haan… thoda nervous hoon.”
Prateek clicked his tongue dramatically. “Pagal hai tu? Tu toh rocket thi pehle! Shuru hote hi ud jaati thi… dekhna, phir se hawa se baatein karegi kal.”
A small smile curved at Aditi’s lips. That voice equal parts annoying and familiar so often got on her nerves, but right now, it felt like safety.
He paused for effect, then added, “Main aur Ansh bhi race mein hain. Aur bata raha hu tujhe Ansh toh hamesha jeetta hai. Uska record bhi hai. Tu dekh lena… uski speed almost unfair hai.”
Aditi didn’t say anything to that. Just nodded slightly, her thoughts somewhere else. The name Ansh lingered in the air between them like a quiet note left hanging in a song.
Prateek gave her a side-glance, then gently patted her back not heavy, not teasing this time, but soft. Grounding.
“Tu bhaag rahi hai… bas wahi kaafi hai,” he said, voice lower now, earnest. “Tera bhai hoon na main… aur kal tu track pe utregi, toh sabse zyada cheer karne wala main hi hoonga. Pakka.”
Aditi blinked, her eyes shimmering not with tears, but something softer. Something warm.
“Thanks, bhaiya,” she whispered, the words carried away in the breeze but landing firmly in his chest.
But of course, Prateek couldn’t let it end there.
A beat later, he smirked, elbowing her just enough to provoke. “Waise… agar tu haar gayi na, toh ghar aake mujhe 100 rupaye dene padenge. Main bet lagane waala hoon tere upar.”
Aditi gave him a slow, incredulous glare. “Jyada nahi ho raha tera bolu papa se ki tu bet lga raha hai. Beghar hona chahta hai kya??”
He threw his head back with mock horror saying “Aree! Adu yarr m to majaak kar raha tha…itna kya serious ho rahi h.”
Their house gate finally came into view, washed in the glow of the setting sun. The warmth of the moment stretched between them like the golden hour itself fleeting, quiet, perfect in its imperfection.
Their footsteps slowed. The teasing lingered.
And just before she stepped inside, Aditi paused, turned back, and muttered under her breath, “100 rupaye tu khud ready rakh liyo bhaiya. Kal main jeetungi.”
Prateek taken back with her sister’s words “Par ab main kyu du tujhe paise! Ab to khatam na bet wali baat”
Aditi grinned like a puppy got biscuits and Said “Vo to tune khatam kari na main to abhi bhi vivaan se bet lagaungi”
And as the door clicked behind them and the sun dipped just a little lower, the day finally exhaled. For a moment, the world felt simple again.
———————————-
The room was bathed in the golden hush of evening light, a quiet halo cast by the bedside lamp. Shadows stretched across the walls, dancing gently like the past that refused to stay buried.
Aditi sat on the edge of her bed, knees pulled close to her chest, her fingers slowly tracing the faint scar just above her thigh,the one that had faded, but never really disappeared. Her shorts had ridden up slightly, but she didn’t notice. Her gaze was locked on that healed wound, the silence so heavy it felt like it could bruise.
Her face was still, emotionless. But her eyes… her eyes were screaming.
Knock knock.
The door creaked open with that familiar softness only Samaira ever used, like she never wanted to startle her.
“Aditi? I need fashion advice, yaar,” Samaira chirped, strolling halfway into the room. She paused with playful flair, a hanger in each hand one holding black joggers and a sleek tank top, the other a denim skirt paired with a cropped tee.
Aditi startled slightly, then hurriedly pulled down her shorts. She straightened her back, masking the tremor in her fingers by tucking them under a pillow. Her lips stretched into a small, sarcastic smile.
“Wow. The great Samaira didi is actually asking me for advice? Kya baat h Aman Bhaiya ne date ke liye pooch liya kya?”
Samaira scoffed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “Very funny, vo poochega na date ke liye to bhi nhii jaungi uske sath. I have to wear something presentable for Sports Day tomorrow. mujhe samajh nahi aa rah should I show up like a responsible senior, or should I look like a model?”
She approached the bed with a signature toss of her hair, plopped down beside her sister, and held both outfits out in front of her like a serious contest judge. But then she paused. Her eyes, always quick to notice more than people let on, settled on Aditi’s face.
She noticed the tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers were clenched tight under the pillow. The slight redness that still lingered in her eyes.
Samaira said nothing at first. Instead, she slowly set the clothes aside and turned to her sister with quiet tenderness. Gently, she reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair away from Aditi’s face. Her fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, as if trying to touch the pain itself.
“You were staring at it again, weren’t you?” Her voice dropped into a whisper. Soft, but unshakably certain.
Aditi froze, then looked away quickly, her forced smile cracking at the edges.
“No, I wasn’t,” she replied, trying to sound breezy. “I was just… thinking about the race tomorrow. You know. Pointless nervous stuff.”
Samaira reached over and took her hand. Aditi instinctively tried to pull away, but Samaira didn’t let her. Her grip was firm, but kind.
“Don’t lie to me, Adu,” she said gently. “Not when you’re shaking like this.”
Aditi finally let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her shoulders sagged just a little, her defenses slipping through her fingers like sand. She stared at her knees, her voice barely audible.
“It still feels there… sometimes. Like it’s not really gone. Like I’m not over it. Like… maybe I never will be.”
Silence followed. Not the heavy kind. The sacred kind. Samaira didn’t speak right away. Instead, she squeezed Aditi’s hand, grounding her. Reminding her she was real. Present.
“You don’t have to be over it,” she said softly, her voice wrapping around Aditi like a blanket. “Scars don’t mean you’re broken. They mean you survived.”
She smiled then, eyes gleaming with quiet pride.
“And I see the way you show up every single day. You laugh, you crack jokes, you scream at me when I eat your fries… You’re still here. Still fighting. That’s strength, Aditi. That’s the strongest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Aditi’s eyes filled slowly, the warmth of those words slipping beneath the surface of everything she’d been holding in. She leaned against Samaira’s shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper, muffled by the fabric.
“Sometimes I just wish I could forget it all… Be normal again.”
Samaira tilted her head, resting her cheek gently on Aditi’s hair.
“You are more than normal, idiot,” she whispered with a soft laugh. “You’re you. Brave. Dramatic. Loud. And way stronger than you think.”
A pause. Then she pulled back slightly and raised an eyebrow, tone teasing, just enough to lift the mood.
“Also, I still need your opinion. Black joggers or denim skirt? Think wisely. Your school’s reputation depends on this.”
A choked laugh escaped from Aditi’s lips, the tears softening into giggles.
“Definitely joggers. Aap gir jayengii skirt main.”
Samaira gasped in exaggerated horror. “ha agar kutta peeche pada to!”
They both burst into laughter, the kind that made your stomach ache and your chest lighter. For a moment, the room didn’t feel heavy. It felt like home.
As Samaira stood up and made her way toward the door, she turned back, resting one hand on the frame.
“And Aditi?” Her voice was gentle, steady. “Anytime you need to cry, scream, rant, or hit someone… you come to me. Okay? I’m your sister. You’re not alone anymore. Not even for a second.”
Aditi nodded slowly, her eyes still glassy but there was a small, honest smile now. The kind that meant something had shifted inside her.
The door clicked shut softly.
And in the quiet that followed, Aditi sat still for a long moment. Her fingers no longer trembled. The scar still remained… but it didn’t hurt quite the same
——————————————–
Next Day…
The school ground was alive.
Bright, fluttering banners danced in the wind, streaks of color crisscrossing the blue sky. The buzz of whistles, excited cheers, the thud of racing footsteps, and the melodic laughter of students filled the air. Food stalls lined one end of the field, the aroma of hot samosas and cotton candy adding a festive chaos to the atmosphere. Everything screamed energy and excitement except one person Aman.
Slouched dramatically on a wooden bench, dressed in his usual crisp but grumpy glory, Aman looked like a man defeated by fate. His arms were crossed tightly against his chest, eyebrows drawn low in betrayal, lips pressed into a permanent pout. He stared into the void like a heartbroken poet who had been dragged to a children’s birthday party by force.
Beside him sat his Rajveer, Kiran, and Samaira’s parents Shweta and Amit, along with Kriti and Sanjay who were all too used to Aman’s sulky moods by now.
Aman leaned slightly toward Kiran, his voice hushed but theatrically mournful, like he was delivering a tragic monologue.
“Chachi ji… mujhe shanti ke do pal chahiye the,” he whispered as if narrating a crime against humanity. “Aur yeh Jhansi ki Rani mujhe yahan kidnap karke le aayi. Please… kuch toh kijiye…”
Kiran laughed, her eyes twinkling as she patted his arm, entirely unaffected by his dramatics. “Acha hi kiya beta tumne. Warna yeh toh kabhi ghar se nikle hi nahi. Thank you, Samaira,” she called out sweetly toward the girl standing just a few feet away.
Aman let out a long-suffering sigh, as though Kiran had just sided with his enemy in court.
Shweta leaned in with a kind smile. “Haan beta, thoda hawa-pani badlega toh mood bhi change hoga. Dekho sab kitne khush hain. Tum bhi thoda smile kar lo.”
“Smile?” Aman repeated with dry horror. “Yahan? Is battlefield mein? Jab main ghar par Vivaan ka room saaf kar leta hoon zyada shanti milti.” He buried his face in his palms. “Mujhe wapas ghar jana hai”
Samaira, standing nearby in her sleek black joggers and a crop top phone in one hand, a straw poking out of a juice box in the other didn’t even turn to look at him. She had been watching the races, eyes focused, but clearly eavesdropping like a professional.
“If you’re done whining like a 5-year-old on a sugar crash,” she said coolly, “shut up and clap for your brother.”
Aman’s head snapped up. “I am clapping,” he grumbled, though his hands hadn’t moved an inch.
Samaira turned slightly now, just enough to toss him a look the look. The one that silently screamed “don’t test me.” She took a deliberately loud slurp from her juice and added with a smirk, “If your face was any longer, we’d need a permit to park it.”
Aman rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out. “You dragged me here on a Sunday. The only day which I enjoy kyunki usme mujhe tumhari shakal nahi dekhni padti”
“Oh please,” Samaira scoffed, stepping closer now, mischief in every bounce of her ponytail. “Samaira ko dekhne ke liye na achhe achhe bhi line lagakar khade rehte hain.”
Amit and Sanjay were now chuckling quietly behind their hands, and even Rajveer was struggling not to smile.
“Beta,” Kriti added gently, “Tum dono har event mein ladte ho ya sirf Sports Day special hai?”
“Yeh toh hamara warm-up hai,” Samaira replied cheerfully, bumping her shoulder into Aman’s just to annoy him further. “Main aur kar sakti hoon agar chahiye toh.”
Aman recoiled as if physically wounded. “Touch mat karo mujhe. Tumhari energy mere aura se clash karti hai.”
“Tumhara aura kabada kar dungi jyada bakwass ki to,” she shot back instantly.
The family burst into open laughter.
Aman folded his arms tighter, muttering under his breath, “Mujhe ghar wapas bhej do… mujhe sona hai jakar…”
Samaira, grinning like a villain who’d just stolen her nemesis’ last French fry, leaned in one last time.
Excitement crackled through the crowd students clustered on mats, teachers lined the boundaries with clipboards, and parents filled the benches, eyes fixed on the track. The announcer’s voice rang crisply through the loudspeakers, calling out the next event: the Senior Boys 100m Sprint.
Near the starting line, a line of athletic boys stepped into position. Among them stood Ansh, his red house T-shirt clinging slightly to his lean frame. His gaze was sharp, focused. Beside him stood Prateek in blue, his jaw clenched with determination. The two boys exchanged a silent nod competitive but respectful, a promise that they’d give it their all.
In the audience section, Aman, who had been lounging for most of the morning, suddenly leaned forward with mild curiosity. “Okay, okay… now this I might watch,” he muttered to Kiran, raising a brow. “Let’s see if Ansh finally runs faster than he lectures.”
Kriti laughed under her breath while Samaira, standing beside them with her arms crossed and a juice box in hand, rolled her eyes. Without even glancing at him, she murmured, “At least he’s prettier than you. Let him enjoy his moment.”
Aman gasped dramatically and placed a hand over his chest. “Excuse me. I invented pretty.”
“You invented pain,” Samaira replied coolly, brushing past him as though he were a streetlight on a crowded road.
Aman turned to Kriti ignoring Samaira. “Chachi ji, chuhe ko dekhiye waha,” he said, motioning toward the track where Ruhaan was crouched dramatically with his phone held up like a film director. “Aisa lag raha hai abhi kood ke Ansh ke gale pad jayega!”
Just a few meters away from the finish line, Vivaan, Priya, Shagun, and Ruhaan were stationed in their volunteer bibs. Shagun clapped enthusiastically, yelling, “Woooo Ansh bhaiya! Let’s gooo” Priya’s voice rang out next, barely holding her phone steady as she screamed, “Move it, sports boys!”
Vivaan, already filming Ruhaan’s phone with exaggerated flair, shouted, “Brooo, run like it’s the last samosa!”
Ruhaan whispered like a dramatic sports commentator, “This is it the final war. Singhaniya versus Mishra.”
The whistle blew. The entire crowd seemed to hold its breath.
Ansh sprang forward like a bullet, legs slicing the air in perfect rhythm, his form tight and efficient. Prateek was right behind, driving his feet harder with every second, eyes locked on the finish line. Their rivalry was fierce but filled with admiration.
The crowd roared around them. Voices rang through the field cheers, laughter, shouts.
Back in the family section, Aman tilted his head and clapped lazily. “Proud of you, Ansh,” he said with a teasing smile. “You ran like you’re escaping Samaira’s lectures.”
Without hesitation, Samaira turned and jabbed an elbow into his side, making him flinch. “Zyada bologe to track par hi sula dungi,” she muttered under her breath.
Aman straightened immediately, rubbing his ribs. “Violence isn’t the answer, Jhansi Ki Rani…”
Samaira walked ahead, smirking. “No,” she said without looking back, “but it is the solution.”
Near the track, Ruhaan continued filming with his usual flair while Vivaan twirled in a fake victory dance, despite not having participated. The finish line drew closer, and with one last surge of strength, Ansh leaned forward and crossed it just ahead of Prateek.
Ansh dropped to a jog, panting hard, while Prateek slowed just behind him. Their chests rose and fell rapidly, faces red with exertion and heat. They exchanged a fist bump and a shared laugh.
“Well run,” Ansh said, clapping Prateek on the back.
“You too,” Prateek replied, still catching his breath. “You flew like a jet.”
The juniors Priya, Shagun, and several others stood cheering proudly, clapping and whooping for their seniors. Cameras flashed. The field buzzed with energy.
The morning sun cast a warm golden hue over the field, but a fresh breeze cut through the heat, making the yellow flags near the tent flutter like they were cheering on their own. The crowd had barely settled after the boys’ race when the announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers again, pulling everyone back into the moment.
Next up: Senior Girls 100-meter Sprint!”
On the starting line, girls in their house-colored T-shirts lined up, each stretching, bouncing, and adjusting their shoes. Among them stood Aditi yellow T-shirt hugging her frame, joggers dusted from the morning rush, hair tied tightly back into a no-nonsense ponytail. She looked nervous, yes but more than that, she looked like a live wire of energy, barely restrained.
Vivaan and Shagun were already on their feet near the sidelines. Vivaan had climbed halfway onto the bench, waving his arms like a maniac. “WOOO! BESTIEEE! You look like a champion already!”
Priya cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “You got this, Aditi! We’re right here!”
A few meters back, Shagun stood by the tent flap, hands clasped tightly in front of her mouth, fingers crossed, eyes glued to her best friend. Her hopeful face was the kind of silent prayer that didn’t need words.
Samaira, who had been snacking idly a moment ago, suddenly straightened. Her smirk vanished, replaced by sharp focus. Her entire body tensed like a wire pulled tight.
Aman, lounging beside her until now, arched a brow at her sudden shift. “Oh wow,” he muttered, watching her closely, “now you look nervous.”
Samaira didn’t even glance at him. Her voice was low but firm. “She’s running. I don’t care about you I just want her to be okay.”
Aman’s cocky grin faded. He nodded slightly, voice matching her quiet seriousness. “She will be. She’s stronger than most of us.”
Near the starting line, Aditi adjusted her footing. She bounced on her heels once… twice… then drew in a deep breath that seemed to center her in place.
From just behind her, Priya called out gently, “We got your back. Just run, okay?”
Shagun added from the edge of the field, “Don’t think about anything else. We’re here with you.”
Then, Vivaan now nearly vibrating with excitement screamed across the grass, “GO BESTIE! YOU MADE IT LOOK EASYYYYY!”
The whistle blew. And they darted forward.
Aditi shot off the line like a released arrow. Her legs moved with practiced precision, her arms pumping in rhythm, her breath coming fast and focused. The wind pulled at her shirt, her ponytail lashed behind her like a yellow ribbon caught in a storm. Her face was fierce eyebrows drawn, jaw set, eyes only on the finish line.
Samaira stood frozen. Her heart thundered in her chest, but her voice cut through the crowd like fire.
“GOOOOO ADITI!” she screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth. “BURN THE TRACK!”
Even Aman had half-risen to his feet, leaning forward, brows furrowed with unexpected tension. “C’mon Aditi,” he said under his breath. “You’ve got this…”
The sun glinted off her skin. The crowd seemed to dissolve around her. Aditi wasn’t thinking. She wasn’t hearing. She was flying.
Every stride felt like a leap off the earth. Every second, she pushed harder, faster. Sweat beaded at her temples, but her face stayed locked in focus. There was only the track, the finish line and that bright burst of hope thudding in her chest.
And then with one final push she crossed it.
First. For a moment, there was silence. No one moved. As if the field itself held its breath. Then… The explosion.
Screams and claps erupted like fireworks. Teachers cheered, juniors jumped and hugged each other. Priya let out a cry of joy and took off running toward the track, laughing through her tears. Shagun was already half-sprinting, and Vivaan fell off the bench in the process of trying to do a cartwheel.
From the tent area, Samaira’s shoulders dropped as she exhaled deeply then laughed, her eyes misty. “You little rocket,” she whispered to herself, filled with the kind of pride that glowed in the chest and made everything else blur.
As Aditi finally slowed down, panting and shining with sweat, her friends reached her, wrapping her in a massive, sweaty, laughing group hug. She grinned, chest heaving, her hands still trembling from the rush.
She did it
Amidst the whirlwind of cheering, applause, and shouts echoing across the field, Aditi stumbled a little from the final burst of her sprint but quickly caught her breath. Her lungs burned deliciously, her legs ached, and yet… she had never felt more alive.
Then, through the haze of movement and celebration, she looked up instinctively.
And there he was.
Ansh, near the participant’s tent. His red t-shirt clung slightly to his chest, damp with sweat from his own race earlier. A few strands of his usually neat hair curled messily across his forehead. The Head Boy calm, disciplined, always sharp-edged in his focus looked strikingly… human in that moment. Real. Unfiltered.
His gaze was already on her. And when their eyes met, something shifted.
His lips curved, slowly, into a smile not the polite one he wore in assemblies, not the careful one he gave in school corridors. This was that smile. The one that reached his dark eyes, warming them like sunlight hitting cold marble. It wasn’t big. It wasn’t loud. But it was honest.
It carried pride.
And just when she thought she imagined it, he lifted his hand. A small, simple thumbs-up. Casual. Effortless. But somehow… it felt monumental.
Aditi’s breath caught sharply in her throat.
She hadn’t realized it until now how much she had wanted to see that very expression on his face. How somewhere, quietly inside her, she had hoped he was watching. That he noticed. And the way his eyes were shining now, like her victory had somehow lit something in him too it made her chest feel oddly full. Warm. Safe. Seen.
Before she could stop herself, her lips curved into a smile a soft, dimply, utterly innocent smile. A gift, just for him.
It lasted only a second before she blinked and looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly hyper-aware of how fast her heart was pounding. She grabbed her water bottle, fiddled with the cap, nodded at Priya who was rushing toward her but everything was a blur.
Her heart… was a mess.
It wasn’t the race. She knew that. She’d run harder ones before. This fluttering in her chest, this tremor under her skin it was something else. Something she couldn’t name yet.
Behind her, their families clapped and cheered. Samaira screamed her name again. Priya was already crying. Teachers stood with their hands over their hearts, murmuring about how proud they were. Photos were taken. Medals were being arranged.
But none of that reached Ansh.
He was still watching her. Quietly. Unmoving. As if trying to commit that exact moment to memory the flush on her cheeks, the joy glowing off her skin, the barely-there smile she’d offered him like a secret.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t wave again.
He just stood there, in the golden light of the late afternoon sun, heart pounding louder than the applause, feeling like this girl this chaotic, sunshine-filled girl in a yellow t-shirt and muddy shoes had no idea how effortlessly she had just turned his entire world a little softer.
The sun had begun its slow descent, mellowing into a soft amber glow that kissed the school grounds in golden warmth. Long shadows stretched across the field as the last event concluded, and a gentle breeze fluttered through the colorful decorations strung above the prize distribution stage.
The platform itself was festive and full of life bright marigold garlands draped over its edges, fluttering multicolored balloons anchored to poles, and a bold banner overhead that read:
Annual Sports Day Prize Distribution Ceremony.
Aditi stood just off to the side, her chest still rising and falling with shallow breaths. She was trying to keep her hands steady, casually wiping her damp palms on her yellow jersey. Her hair was tied in a slightly messy ponytail now, a few loose strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. Sweat clung to her forehead, but there was a brightness in her eyes a fire that hadn’t dimmed since she crossed the finish line.
Nearby, Ansh stood his posture as composed as ever. He wore his red house t-shirt tucked neatly into his track pants, sleeves slightly rolled. The gold medal around his neck glinted as he adjusted his collar for what must have been the fifth time. His jaw was set, expression calm. But anyone who really knew him like Ruhaan,would notice the tight grip he had on his t-shirt, and the subtle way he kept shifting his stance.
Then came the announcement. The voice of the announcer rang through the mic, sharp and celebratory. “From the Senior Girls’ sprint…First Place: Aditi Mishra! And from the Senior Boys’ sprint…First Place: Ansh Singhaniya!”
The crowd erupted. House flags soared into the air like a wave of wild color. Shagun, standing on top of a bench, screamed so loudly it startled a few teachers. Her arms were flailing in the air, and her eyes shimmered with pride. Ruhaan, not one to stay calm, let out a dramatic howl—jumping in circles and nearly dropping his phone in the grass. Meanwhile, Vivaan was practically losing his voice. “OH MY GOD, THAT’S OUR GIRL! CHAMPION ADITI!!” he bellowed. “AND LOOK AT OUR BROOOO…HEAD BOY ON FIIIREEE!”
Laughter and cheers exploded all around.
On stage, Aditi took her steps with graceful purpose, back straight, her medal catching the sunset as it swung gently from her neck. Her shoes were caked with dust and her jersey stuck slightly to her back, but nothing could dull the quiet confidence she wore now. Her cheeks were flushed not just from the race, but from the rush of being seen, celebrated.
Just behind her, Ansh walked up, holding his own medal and trophy with dignified pride. His strides were deliberate, his expression calm, yet his ears were tinged with a faint red a rare betrayal of emotion.
As they reached the center of the stage, they stood side by side under the soft hues of dusk and the burst of applause. Teachers nodded approvingly from the front rows. Some parents dabbed their eyes, whispering to each other about how grown-up these kids suddenly looked.
The principal stepped forward, holding the microphone, and smiled broadly. “Two of our finest students. Not just athletes but leaders, role models. Give it up once again for Aditi and Ansh!” The crowd went wild.
Aditi turned slightly to the side, her fingers brushing the medal hanging from her neck. From the corner of her eye, she could feel Ansh standing next to her, tall and silent. She glanced at him for a moment just a second and caught his eye. He met her gaze. Not a word was spoken, but in that charged second between them, something passed. Pride. Respect. And something softer… something unnamed.
Then Aditi looked away quickly, smiling down at her shoes, dimples peeking out without permission. Her heart thumped once, twice, and then faster, as if trying to make sense of the moment. Meanwhile, Ansh looked straight ahead again, but the curve of his lips betrayed him. He was smiling too. And though surrounded by hundreds of people, he felt like the only person he was standing next to… was her
The call for the group winner photo echoed through the buzzing crowd, and by sheer luck or maybe something more, something like destiny,they ended up side by side. The air felt lighter for a moment, a slight stillness in the chaos surrounding them.
“Smile!” the school photographer’s cheerful voice rang out.
Ansh took a deep breath, turning slightly towards the camera. His lips curved into a nervous but genuine smile. The edges of his eyes crinkled softly, the slightest flicker of emotion that escaped his usually composed demeanor. There was something different in the way he held himself next to her, something calm.
Aditi stood beside him, a natural smile curving her lips, her dimples appearing as she glanced at the camera. Her smile was bright, full of warmth, like the sun breaking through clouds. For just that fleeting moment, the noise, the sweat, the crowd it all seemed to fade into the background. There was a soft, steady feeling to just being there next to him, as if the world paused for a heartbeat.
But off-stage, any sense of calmness was immediately shattered.
Vivaan and Ruhaan had completely abandoned the official press photos. They crouched behind a marigold-laced flowerpot, each holding a polaroid camera that they had “borrowed” from the media club. Their eyes twinkled with mischievous energy.
The two burst into laughter, drawing a glance from a nearby teacher, who they quickly saluted and pretended to adjust the official angles.
Meanwhile, Shagun, camera in hand, stood beside Samaira, clicking away. She waved the freshly developed snaps, eyes glued to the stage.
Samaira, leaning in with a mischievous grin, whispered, “Dono kitne mast lag rahe hain sath mein na? Jaise ik dusre ke liye hi bane ho.”
Shagun barely looked up from the camera, letting out a cute hum of agreement, “Hmm. Picture perfect.”
Behind them, Aman stood with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the stage, his sharp eyes narrowing as he watched his usually reserved cousin. His lips tightened, then parted with quiet surprise. “Ansh ki yeh smile pehli baar dekhi hai maine… kya baat hai.”
Samaira’s teasing tone rose immediately. “Tum bas jealous ho.”
Aman rolled his eyes, a playful scoff escaping him. “Haan, kyuu nahi tum yha jo ho mera dimaag khane k liye.” He glanced at her, then back to the stage.
Samaira shot him a wide grin. “Tum kaho to coffee lau mast holi khelte h.”
Vivaan, overhearing the banter, popped his head up from behind a flowerpot. “STOP IT, YOU MARRIED COUPLE…kahi aur jaker kalesh karo!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a dagger.
Ruhaan, laughing from the side, added, “main mic ka intezaam karu kya??”
Under the shade of the nearby tents, Shweta, standing with her hand resting on her cheek, nudged Samaira gently. Her voice, soft and filled with emotion, barely carried over the noise. “She looks so grown up… and happy.”
Samaira’s gaze softened as she looked at Aditi, her voice warm. “Hamesha se thi.bas khud pe bharosa nahi rakh paati thi.”
Back at the stage, the photographer clicked one final shot, the sound of the camera snapping echoing in the space
The sound of laughter, cheers, and the soft breeze carrying the scent of fresh grass mingled with the excited chatter of students. Priya felt her heart race as she weaved through the crowd, each step taking her closer to the boy standing alone by the sidelines. His second-place medal hung loosely around his neck, and he wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand, looking unbothered by the attention he was receiving.
There he was, Prateek, her eyes drawn to him in the midst of the chaos. He stood so still, so quiet, almost as though he were completely out of place in this moment. Priya swallowed hard, the nervousness building up inside her like a knot she couldn’t undo. She moved closer and, taking a deep breath, reached out to poke his arm just once.
He turned at the touch, his eyes widening in surprise, his breath caught momentarily when he saw her standing there. Priya bit her lip, her heart drumming in her chest as she shifted on her feet, trying to stay calm, though she felt anything but.
“Priya?” Prateek’s voice was soft, his gaze lingering on her, still surprised by her presence.
With trembling hands, Priya slowly pulled the small, neatly folded white handkerchief from the pocket of her jacket. The fabric was painted with delicate blue strokes, spelling out his name in a careful, flowing script. In the corner, there was a clumsy little panda wide-eyed, half-eating a leaf, and half-smiling in the way only a hand-painted panda could.
Prateek blinked, his expression frozen for a heartbeat as he processed what she had just handed him. His fingers brushed the handkerchief gently, as if testing its reality. His eyes flickered between the cloth, the panda, and her.
“Yeh… kyuu?” he asked, his voice small, confusion tinged with something deeper.
Priya’s breath hitched. The words she had prepared suddenly felt hollow, lost somewhere in the whirlwind of emotions that swirled between them. She fidgeted with the sleeve of hert-shirt, biting her lip as she tried to find a way to explain. Her voice wavered, but there was earnestness in her gaze, a vulnerability she hadn’t intended to show.
“Kya matlab kyu?” she stammered, trying to keep it light. “You won the second prize… it’s your reward. Aur… you ran really well. I was… um… I’m proud of you.”
There was a moment of silence a long, pregnant pause where they both seemed to stand still in the middle of the chaos. Prateek stared at the handkerchief, his gaze lingering on it as though it were a rare treasure, something fragile and precious. Slowly, almost reverently, he took it from her hands, as though afraid it might vanish if he wasn’t careful.
“You painted this?” His voice dropped, soft and uncertain, as he unfolded the fabric, running his thumb over the delicate strokes.
Priya nodded, her face flushed with a mixture of shyness and relief. “M-maybe. I mean, haan. Just thought you’d like it.”
His fingers grazed over the panda’s little face, and his eyes softened as he took in the detail. There was something in the way he looked at it at her that made her chest tighten, her heart tripping over itself. She could feel her own breath hitc in her throat as she waited for his response.
“It’s… adorable,” Prateek murmured, his voice quieter, more genuine than before.
Priya’s cheeks burned at his words. “I-I mean, it’s not that cute…just a panda. You know… for motivation,” she muttered quickly, trying to brush it off, but the way he was looking at her made everything feel different.
Prateek tilted his head, the corners of his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “A panda with motivational powers? Interesting concept.”
Priya couldn’t help but roll her eyes, even as a blush crept across her cheeks. “Don’t tease, okay?” she said, the smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
He chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners, before carefully folding the handkerchief and tucking it into the pocket of his trousers. His smile softened as he looked at her, and this time, there was no teasing. Only something real.
“Thank you. Really. No one’s ever given me something like this before,” Prateek said, his voice almost a whisper, as if the moment were fragile. He met her eyes again, and there was something raw, something sincere in his gaze that made Priya feel like she was standing on the edge of something she couldn’t name.
Priya felt her heart flutter, a quiet warmth spreading through her chest. She looked down, unable to keep the smile from growing on her face. “You’re welcome…” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper, like she was afraid to break the spell that had been woven around them.
The silence between them thickened, charged with an electric tension neither of them knew how to handle. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Prateek broke the stillness with a quiet, teasing voice.
“By the way… if 2nd prize gets a panda… what does the winner get?”
Priya blinked, startled. “I…I don’t know… I didn’t think that far—”
Prateek leaned in just a fraction, enough that Priya’s breath caught in her throat. His voice dropped, playful yet sincere, and there was a glimmer of something mischievous in his eyes.
“Great. Means I’ll try harder next time… just to see what you come up with.”
Still holding the handkerchief in his hand, he looked down at it, a thoughtful expression overtaking his face, as though the idea of next year and the chance to win again had planted something in his mind. Priya could only watch, her pulse racing as she stood frozen in place, heart pounding in her ears.
For a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The cheers from the crowd, the flutter of the flags, everything seemed distant. It was just the two of them, caught in a silent exchange that spoke volumes, their shared connection so palpable it felt like it had been there all along.
Finally, Prateek’s voice broke the quiet, but this time, there was something more behind it.
“Priya…” he said, his tone low and quiet, a trace of something serious beneath the playful edge.
She turned, blinking fast, a soft question in her eyes. “Hmm?”
He stepped closer, so close that she could feel the heat from his presence, but not in an intrusive way. It was tender, almost shy. Slowly, he lifted his second-place medal from around his neck, his fingers brushing the ribbon before he leaned forward and gently placed it around her neck.
“Next time…” he whispered, his words heavy with meaning, “… I’m getting gold. But not just to win only because I want you to be the first to see it. And this one…” He smiled softly, his eyes flickering to the medal resting on her collarbone. “…this is yours. A promise.”
Priya’s breath hitched as her hand instinctively touched the cool metal, holding it in place, as if she needed something to anchor her to reality. Her heart was racing, and her breath was shallow, her mind struggling to keep up with everything that had just happened.
“Prateek…” she whispered, barely able to form the words, her voice catching in her throat.
He smiled, a soft laugh escaping his lips, and for a moment, the tension between them broke. It wasn’t teasing this time. It was something real, something deeper.
“Okay, okay,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes, “artist ma’am ke saath ek photograph mil sakti hai kya?”
Just as Priya stood there, her hands still clutching the medal, her thoughts a mess, Shagun who had been watching from a distance with a knowing grin suddenly appeared with her Polaroid camera.
“Wait!” Shagun gasped dramatically, holding it up like it was the most important thing in the world. “poochna kya hai isme phorographer samne hai aap bhaiya pose mariye.”
Priya’s eyes widened in panic. “Shagun…no, no, please…”
Ignoring her protests, Shagun smirked and wiggled the camera. “tu chup kar.”
Prateek chuckled as he moved closer to Priya, stepping beside her once again. His smile softened, and for once, there was no teasing in his eyes. He just looked at her quietly, the weight of everything between them hanging in the air.
And as Priya nervously adjusted her t-shirt, cheeks flaming, he gently reached up and adjusted the ribbon of the medal, his fingers brushing lightly against her neck. She froze, heart racing.
“Perfect,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving hers.
Priya’s voice came out a little too high, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. “Y-you didn’t have to…!”
He smiled, his eyes glimmering with sincerity. “I wanted to.”
Click.
The camera whirred, and the photo slid out, capturing the moment like a memory frozen in time. The world around them seemed to blur, the only thing real was the connection they had shared in that moment.
Shagun, grinning like a mischievous angel, shook the Polaroid and waved it in the air like a treasure.
“One more, one more…please” she said with a wicked grin. “Look at each other this time. Please. mast aesthetic wali ayegi.”
Priya’s eyes went wide. “WHAT…”
Prateek laughed, but it wasn’t the teasing kind. It was something softer, more gentle. He turned to her, his voice low, his gaze steady and sincere.
“Just look,” he said, his tone soft and filled with warmth. “I promise I won’t bite.”
Priya hesitated, but then, just for a moment, their eyes met. And for that second, everything felt like it stopped. The world faded, leaving only the two of them shy, unsure, but with something undeniably real between them.
Click.
A second photo, captured in a golden, quiet moment, sealed between them as the world continued to move on around them.
Later, once the photos had developed and dried in Shagun’s careful hands, she waved them like rare treasures.
Shagun practically bounced up, holding two glossy photo cards like they were limited-edition treasures. Her grin was the definition of “I did something and you’re going to thank me for it forever.”
“Here!” she announced with dramatic flair, handing one to Prateek and the other to Priya. “One for each of you. Handcrafted by me. chalo ab thankyou bolne ki jaroorat nahi.”
Prateek took his with a puzzled brow, but the moment his eyes landed on the image, something shifted in his expression. It was a candid shot he was looking at Priya, head slightly tilted, a small smile on his face that he hadn’t even realized he’d worn. Priya, on the other hand, was staring at the camera, eyes wide, caught mid-blush like a heroine in the middle of realizing she might be in love.
He didn’t say anything for a beat. Then, quietly, he murmured, “Thank you, Shagun.”
Priya was clutching her photo a little too tightly. It was softer almost dreamlike. The two of them locked in a gaze, the second-place medal glinting between them, chaos in the background blurring into a golden haze. Her breath hitched just looking at it.
Prateek looked down at his photo again, then up at her. There was something deeper in his smile now. Not teasing. Not smug. Just… full.
“I’m gonna keep this one safe,” he said, voice quiet but certain. “When I win gold next time… we’ll take another, okay? Same place. Same you.”
Priya blinked. The words felt too big for her chest.
“Same me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
He nodded. Not even a hint of hesitation.
“Exactly you.”
For a second, the world tilted. She turned entirely pink, her fingers curling around the edge of the photo like it might slip away with the wind if she wasn’t careful. Her throat was dry, her heart absolutely not following school health guidelines.
Behind them, Shagun leaned toward Priya, whispering through her palm like she was narrating the climax of a drama.
“Tu toh gayi, meri jaan. Officially.”
Priya didn’t even glance at her.
“Don’t talk to me,” she muttered, flustered beyond repair. “Ever again.”
But she was smiling. That kind of soft, helpless smile you give when you’re hopelessly caught in something… or someone.
And Prateek? He was still looking at her like he already knew she’d be the reason he’d run faster, aim higher, and keep showing up at the same place… just to find her there again.
Just as the moment between Prateek and priya was gaining a super soft romantic turn, a shrill, overly sweet voice sliced through the room like a blunt knife.
“Ohhh wow! Oh my God, Prateek! You won second place! Congratulationsss!”
Charu. Wearing that same sugarcoated smile that could give sucrose a complex, and her phone already in selfie mode, she bounced into their space like a badly timed ad.
Prateek, completely caught off-guard, blinked.
“Ohh…uh, yeah! Thanks.” His voice cracked like a 13-year-old’s. The fear had set in.
“Common, Prateek! I mean, ek selfie toh banti hai na mere saath bhi?” She was already walking toward him with the confidence of someone who thought she was the main character in a high school rom-com.
Prateek, already standing stiff as a lamp post, tried to keep his soul from leaving his body as Charu’s hand crept suspiciously close to his shoulder.
“Charu, thoda door se lo na,” he said, leaning sideways like a malfunctioning scarecrow, “tab better angle aayega. Lighting bhi… symmetry bhi…”
But Charu was deaf to social cues and basic physics. “Arey it’s okay! Aise hi achhi aa rahi hai, dekho,” she beamed, sticking closer like a sticker that refused to peel off.
Across the lawn, Priya was watching. Correction Priya. Was. Boiling.
She narrowed her eyes like a sniper, her glare burning a straight hole through Charu’s head.
“Yeh chirkut si kahin tapak kyun nahi jaati,” she muttered venomously under her breath.
Shagun, who had been silently observing, gave a deadpan nod. “Agreed. Iss mein toh chirkut bhi extra lag raha hai.”
Meanwhile, Charu was now boldly placing her hand on Prateek’s shoulder in the name of aesthetics.
“Molest kar rahi hai ye mere Prateek ko,” Priya whispered furiously. Her jaw clenched. Her hands balled into fists. The moral support Shagun offered in the form of an unopened juice box did little to help.
Prateek, on the other hand, was desperately arching his back away from Charu, whispering, “Charu… thoda… door… bas… angle chala gaya…tum udhar ho jao na…” But Charu’s clingy optimism was unmatched.
And then…SNAP. Not the phone. Not the photo. But Priya’s patience.
She stormed forward like a lioness protecting her territory, marching straight between them. The sheer force of her stride physically separated Prateek and Charu like Moses parting the Red Sea.
Charu’s phone slipped from her hand mid-selfie and crashed onto the grass. the gasp she let out sounded like someone had cancelled her Netflix subscription.
“Kya hai Priya?! Dekh ke nahi chal sakti kya?!” she shrieked, picking up the phone.
Priya blinked at her with feigned innocence, voice sugary sweet and laced with claws. “Ohh, I’m sorry, Charu. Maine tumhe dekha hi nahi. See, mujhe samne dekhke chalne ki aadat hai… neeche toh main rarely dekhti hoon.”
Boom. Charu.exe stopped working. Shagun spat out her juice and choked from laughter. Prateek had to turn around and pretend to cough just to hide his grin.
“Whattt..?!” Charu’s pitch went so high a dog barked in the distance.
But Priya was already brushing invisible dust off her shoulders and flipping her hair with all the elegance of a K-drama lead. “Mujhe abhi jaana hai, you know… Incharge Ma’am ne bulaya hai. Official kaam. Sorry! Baad mein continue karte hai, okay?”
And with a final smirk, she walked away, each step echoing ‘Queen behavior’.
Prateek, seizing the golden escape route like a war prisoner released on bail, jumped in. “Ohh haan! Mujhe bhi bulaya gaya tha… urgently. Super urgent. Buh-bye, Charu!”
He bolted after Priya like his life depended on it. (It probably did.)
Shagun, now casually walking behind them, added with a grin, “Bhaiya, mujhe bhi le chalo. Aapki aur bhi photos leni hai na mujhe… Priya ke liye frame banane ka socha hai.”
Charu was left behind with a cracked screen, a crushed ego, and a front-row ticket to a love story where she was never cast.
***************************************
That’s all for this chapter, Bubbles… 💫
I truly hope you enjoyed reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Thank you so, so much once again for being here and giving your love to the story.
It means more than words can say. 💗
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