Woo~...
The wind was blowing gently, carrying with it a few green and slightly dead leaves into the sky.
It was winter. The air dry and cold.
In a certain classroom, one window remained half-open.
Near it sat a boy—quiet, alone, staring up at the clouds.
Aatreya.
He wasn't the type to talk much.
He noticed everything. He felt everything. But he always kept it inside.
He didn't want to bother anyone with his problems.
Unless... it was someone he truly loved.
Only then, he could talk endlessly, act silly, and even ask for help.
But right now, he was just quietly watching the clouds pass by.
Suddenly—
"Achoo!"
He sneezed.
Then again.
And again.
"Ah-choo~! A-Ah... achoo!"
It was helpless.
Soft. Girly-sounding. Echoing through the classroom.
Some classmates giggled.
Not because they were mean. They were kids. It was just funny to them.
Aatreya didn't even look at them. He already knew the drill.
He pulled his head lower, trying to hide.
But there was someone who didn't laugh.
A girl sitting two desks in front of him, in the 3rd row, turned her head slightly.
She didn't giggle. Didn't comment.
Her eyes were gentle.
Shy. Quiet.
She looked like she wanted to help. Her hand twitched a little—maybe to offer her handkerchief? Maybe to raise her hand and call the teacher?
But she stopped herself.
She was quiet too.
And quiet kids rarely stand up in the middle of class.
Then...
The classroom door slid open with a light thud.
Wooosh~
A few leaves flew in as the wind followed through the open door.
And with it... she walked in.
Tall for a schoolgirl.
Hair tied neatly.
A soft winter scarf covering half her face.
Leaves and flower petals danced around her feet.
She looked like a scene from a dream.
She walked confidently to the teacher's desk.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," she said calmly, "Homeroom teacher is calling him."
She pointed to Aatreya.
He looked up, confused.
The teacher blinked, then nodded, trusting her words.
Aatreya stood up slowly, still unsure, and followed her out.
His heart was beating like crazy.
Outside in the hallway, she said nothing.
Just walked ahead.
Without a word, she handed him her handkerchief.
She didn't look embarrassed. Didn't make it awkward.
She simply helped him, like it was nothing.
She walked with him to the washroom.
Aatreya didn't speak.
Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't.
His mind was frozen.
Then suddenly—
"Hey Charisha! What are you doing here with this lit. boy?"
A loud voice came from the corridor.
Aatreya's eyes twitched.
Lit. boy...? What kind of nickname is that?
Even the way it was said felt weird.
Charisha turned slightly and smiled.
Then asked him softly—
"What's your name, junior?"
Aatreya looked down and muttered, "Aatreya... and... thank you for helping me."
She smiled behind her scarf.
"Mention not. It's a senior's job to help their little juniors, right?"
That word again—junior.
It stung a little.
But instead of staying quiet, Aatreya looked up and said,
"Still… it's Aatreya. I told you… please call me that instead of junior."
She paused.
Then smiled gently.
"How sweet," she said.
She looked at him differently now. A little more kindly.
"Listen, don't feel ashamed of your problems. Ask for help if you can't handle something. There's no shame in that."
Aatreya nodded, barely able to meet her eyes.
"Thank you," he whispered again.
She nodded and turned.
"Okay then. Take care, Aatreya. I'm going to class now."
And just like that, she walked away.
Leaving him with her handkerchief.
---
Back in class, Aatreya sat quietly.
Some students were still talking about the beautiful senior girl who came.
But he just stared at the handkerchief in his hand.
He couldn't give it back to her like this.
So he washed it.
Scrubbed it hard.
Too hard.
It ended up looking like a half-torn paper ball.
It was the first cloth he had ever washed in his life.
Before this, his mother had always done it.
---
Then came recess.
The classroom door opened again.
Charisha walked in.
Everyone stared.
She stood there... glowing with winter light behind her.
"Hey, junior—"
She paused.
Smiled.
"—Aatreya, right?"
He looked up, startled.
"Can I have my handkerchief back?"
------
───✦───
Time:- 04:30 PM
It was evening. Just after returning from school, Aatreya tossed his bag aside and rushed out the door.
"Maa, I'm going to the field!" he called out.
"Come back in time, and don't wander off too much," his mother replied from inside.
As Aatreya hurried along the narrow path toward the nearby field — the one where he and his friends usually played cricket — he noticed his father walking back from duty.
"Where are you going?" his father asked, eyes scanning him. "Have you finished your schoolwork?"
"I'll do it after I come back!" Aatreya answered quickly, not stopping his stride.
At the field, the usual crowd had already gathered. Some were classmates, others were neighborhood kids. Even though he wasn't really close to most of them — more like an outsider among familiar faces — Aatreya still showed up every evening, hoping to feel included. His only true best friend lived far away in another area, so they could only meet at school or on rare special occasions.
The match began. As usual, Aatreya didn't get a chance to bat or bowl. His role was reduced to fielding — and not even in a prime spot. He was pushed to the deep back, where the ball rarely ever reached. It was lonely, quiet… and yet, he stayed.
Still, there were a few kind souls — random players who noticed him. They weren't really close friends, but whenever possible, they gave him a turn to bat. But Aatreya, unfamiliar with the grip of the bat or the rhythm of bowling, couldn't play well.
Yet, he never stopped coming.
The sky had already turned a warm orange when Aatreya finally decided to return home. It was exactly 07:00 PM — a timing that had practically become his signature.
Every single day, without fail, his Maa would remind him:
"Come back before the sun sets, Aatreya."
And every single day, without fail, he returned after the sun had already dipped behind the rooftops.
As soon as he stepped into the front gate, there he was — his father, standing like a sage at the door with a teasing smirk on his face.
"Behold! The great majesty returns after completing his hard day's work,".
Aatreya chuckled silently at the sarcasm, not bothering to reply. He walked to the side, washed his legs, hands, and face from the backyard tap, and casually strolled inside the house — still grinning.
He didn't need to say anything.
He knew.
His father loved him dearly. The teasing was just... their thing.
Once inside his room, as he was just about to throw himself on the bed, his phone buzzed loudly.
It was Shaksh, his best friend — or as Aatreya liked to call him, Brando.
Aatreya picked up lazily:
"Wassup, Brando?"
Shaksh's voice burst through the speaker like a machine gun:
"I CALLED YOU FIVE TIMES! And only now you're picking up?!"
"What's so urgent that you had to call me five times, huh?" Aatreya replied.
"I was out playing... Had no idea about the apocalypse you're going through."
Shaksh groaned dramatically.
"Apocalypse it is! There's a MATH TEST tomorrow, idiot! Didn't you hear the teacher announce it after class today?"
Aatreya blinked.
"WHAT?! A test? What topic?! When did she say that?"
"After you ran off like a wild boar the moment the bell rang. I tried calling you, genius, but you decided to go on a 'no-phone meditation' or what?"
Aatreya sighed:
"I didn't know about the test, man. You think I'd go out to play if I did? I haven't prepared a thing. I'm doomed, Brando."
Shaksh, switching gears instantly, chuckled mischievously.
"Well... that's your problem. I told you not to ditch me. But more importantly..."
He paused dramatically.
"Heard someone very special joined your class today. A certain... Charisha."
Aatreya's eyes widened.
"How the heck do YOU know about that?!"
"Bro," Shaksh said smugly, "when the school beauty talks to a guy, it's no longer a conversation — it becomes breaking news! The whole school knows."
Aatreya,
"You people seriously need a life..."
"Oh no no no, mister. Don't play innocent now! What did you say to her, huh? Spill the tea, you bastard!"
Aatreya felt a sharp jolt of embarrassment run through his chest.
He could still hear Charisha's calm voice echoing in his ears...
But instead of telling the full story, he just muttered,
"It was nothing. Just a... random thing. Ignore it."
Shaksh laughed on the other end.
"I don't believe you for a second, but alright. You're lucky I'm in a good mood today. I'll catch you tomorrow."
The call ended, but Aatreya was left staring at the ceiling with a thousand thoughts.
A math test.
Charisha.
Homework.
Brando's news.
He didn't know whether to do homework, panic, or hide under his blanket forever.
But one thing was for sure...
Tomorrow was going to be one hell of a day.
Aatreya flipped open his bag, ready to pull out his homework notebook. But instead, something soft and unfamiliar grazed his fingers.
"What the—" he mumbled.
He pulled it out.
The handkerchief.
Charisha's handkerchief.
The very one he had borrowed, balled up, and shoved into his pocket during that… incident.
His eyes widened. "I'M DEAD!" he shrieked in his head.
Without wasting a second, he darted to the bathroom and, in full panic mode, started the washing machine—for one handkerchief.
Of course, he wasn't a complete fool.
He threw in a few of his school shirts and some old clothes to make it look like a regular laundry batch.
Damage control.
But then came the voice.
"From which direction did the sun rise today?" his mother called from the kitchen, her tone laced with suspicion.
"You're washing your clothes, voluntarily?"
Aatreya gulped. "I'm… I'm trying to take some responsibility now!"
From the living room, his father let out a loud laugh.
But the moment of glory was short-lived.
His mother stepped in to check the washing machine and frowned.
"You idiot!" she yelled.
"You added after-wash softener instead of detergent!"
Aatreya froze.
"That's how you're gonna take responsibility?" she chuckled, shaking her head.
Utterly embarrassed, he slinked back to his room, face red, pride crushed.
---
A little later, once the final rinse ended, Aatreya tiptoed to the machine, making sure no one was watching. He rummaged through the wet clothes and fished out the handkerchief.
But what he saw made his heart sink.
"No no no..."
It was torn, frayed at the edges—completely ruined.
The once neatly folded piece now looked like it had gone through a war.
"WHAT THE HECK HAVE I DONE!" he whisper-yelled to himself.
He ran to his little piggy bank, cracked it open with panic and precision, scooped out the coins and crumpled notes.
"I need to buy a new one… exactly like hers… or I'm toast!"
As he held the ruined handkerchief in his hand, a strange feeling washed over him.
A slow smile crept up his face.
His thoughts drifted.
"Who is she, really…?"
He could still remember her face clearly.
The cliff, the breeze, that soft voice asking for her handkerchief…
And that moment he blurted—
---
Meanwhile…
Charisha sat on her bed, her diary open under the gentle yellow glow of her lamp. Her pen glided across the page as she whispered to herself:
"August 7th... Another boring day... except for that one moment again."
She paused, smiling.
She sketched a tiny cliff in the margin of the page and scribbled beneath it:
> He said he forgot to bring my handkerchief from the washroom… But it was right there… sticking out of his pocket.
She giggled to herself.
"He's so weird..."
She also started staring at the ceiling.
Somewhere in the quiet of the night, two teenagers thought of the same moment, the same lie, and the same handkerchief—
completely unaware of how that little piece of fabric had just begun to stitch their fates together.
---