chapter 2:Thesketchbook
Zoya didn't speak much on her first day.
But she noticed things.
The way people looked at Ayaan Mirza — not with friendliness, but with caution.
He wasn't loud, didn't joke, didn't blend in.
He simply existed like background music — quiet, constant, and somehow… sad.
---
The next morning, she walked into the art room.
Ayaan was already there — sketching.
He didn't glance up when she sat beside him.
"You're early," she said softly.
"So are you."
Silence.
Then she peeked at his sketchbook. Just a glance.
Stunning.
Detailed lines, human expressions, raw emotions — it wasn't just art.
It was observation turned into feeling.
She didn't say anything.
Ayaan noticed her looking, but didn't stop her. He just turned to a new page.
"Do you draw people?" she asked quietly.
"Only when I can't stop myself," he replied.
Zoya smiled faintly. "That's... intense."
He shrugged. "Some people write to release. I draw."
---
The teacher came in, handing out materials for their first sketch concept.
"Draw something that means truth to you," she said.
Zoya paused. Her mind was blank.
But Ayaan was already sketching again — fast, focused.
---
Later, when class ended, Zoya reached for her bag and glanced at Ayaan's sketchbook again.
The page said:
> "Truth isn't always beautiful."
Below it was a drawing — of a girl sitting alone by a window, her hands clasped like a prayer.
It wasn't her exactly.
But it felt like her.
She didn't ask.
He didn't explain.
But in that moment, a silent thread wove between them.
Strange. Unspoken. But real.