The exam hall felt unusually warm as time slipped by, the ceiling fans humming tired circles above our heads. Everyone was bent over their papers, scribbling fast, trying to catch the last marks floating in the air.
But my mind was far from formulas or definitions.
It was beside her.
Beside the soft sound of her pen.
Beside the quiet rhythm of her breathing.
Beside the gentle confidence she carried without trying.
Every few minutes, I glanced sideways — not to copy, not to cheat — just to confirm she was real, sitting inches away from me.
She looked focused, calm, almost effortless in the way she wrote. Her handwriting flowed like she already knew the answers before reading the questions. And whenever I whispered a doubt, she gently tilted her sheet toward me, without a complaint, without hesitation.
Once, I whispered:
"You let me copy every time… do you allow anyone else too?"
She paused her writing.
Turned her head a little.
And whispered back, barely audible:
"You're the only one."
Just four words.
But they struck like lightning in my chest.
The room didn't change.
The exam didn't stop.
But inside me… something shifted.
Why me?
Why only me?
She wasn't a girl who opened up easily.
She wasn't someone who laughed with strangers.
She wasn't someone who trusted quickly.
Yet she trusted me — in her quiet, soft way.
And the more I tried to ignore it…
the more I felt it.
After an hour, I leaned closer again and whispered:
"Why do you always let me copy?"
She smiled — a small, shy, sideways smile — and whispered:
"Because… you're not shy at all. You ask without fear."
I almost laughed quietly.
Me? Not shy?
I was drowning in shyness right now.
But before I could reply, she added:
"And you never stop either. You just… ask."
I whispered back, "And you never say no."
Her smile deepened a little, but she looked down quickly, pretending to focus on her paper.
Her sister glanced between us once. I straightened immediately, pretending like I was the most serious student in the room. She returned to her writing, and the small bubble between me and Nikita remained safe.
Minutes passed.
Pens scratched.
Time melted.
But in those small stolen moments, I found myself thinking things I wasn't ready to think.
In fifteen days, I might leave this city.
My uncle wanted me to prepare in a new place — a place far from these streets, these classrooms, and… her.
If I left…
would I ever see her again?
Would she even remember me?
Would she still sit beside me next year?
Would she still smile?
Would she still tilt her head gently to say come here?
Or would this — today, this beautiful confusion — be the last exam where we sat side by side?
Those thoughts tightened something inside my chest.
I wasn't ready for distance.
Not from her.
Not now.
Not when I had just started understanding the rhythm of her small gestures… the hidden meanings inside her silences… the warmth in her voice when she whispered a single word.
My fingers tightened around the pen.
I wrote an answer wrong and scratched it out quickly.
I tried to focus on the paper…
but my focus kept drifting back to her.
Should I tell her I might leave?
Should I ask her something before the exam ends?
Or should I stay silent, let life move on, pretend nothing is happening — both inside me and between us?
The thoughts twisted inside my head, heavy and sharp.
Just then, the bell rang — a sharp vibrating sound that cut through the tension inside me. Students sighed loudly, some stretched their backs, some rubbed their eyes. The invigilator began collecting answer sheets.
Nikita capped her pen and gently placed it inside her pouch. Her sister stood up first, adjusting her top. Nikita followed, and the moment she pushed her chair back, a part of me panicked —
This moment was ending.
This closeness was ending.
And I still hadn't said anything.
She slung her bag on her shoulder, ready to leave.
I looked at her one last time before she walked out of the classroom.
And inside me, a quiet voice whispered:
Don't let this end here.
The corridor outside the exam hall felt strangely cold when I stepped out. Students rushed past me, talking loudly, comparing answers, arguing over the confusing questions. But their voices sounded distant, like I was standing behind a glass wall.
All I could think about was her.
The way she stood up with her sister.
The way she walked out without looking back.
The way she smiled faintly when she said I was the only one she let copy.
Her scent of mild shampoo lingered in the air long after she disappeared.
Shivis walked toward me with a grin, slapping my arm lightly.
"Bro, tell me everything right now!"
I shook my head. "Nothing happened."
But even I didn't believe my own words.
We walked to the bike. The sun had begun sinking behind the buildings, painting the sky with a soft orange glow. The wind felt warmer on the way home, brushing against my face like it already knew my thoughts were restless.
Shivis dropped me at the small open ground near my lane.
"Bro, think before messaging her," he warned with a teasing smile.
"As if I don't think," I muttered.
He sped off, leaving me alone with my confusion.
I walked slowly toward my house — a narrow two-story building with faded blue paint and the familiar smell of cooked lentils drifting from the kitchen window. The metal gate creaked as I pushed it open.
Inside, the courtyard was busy in its usual evening rhythm.
My mother stood near the stove, rolling chapatis with quick hands while fixing my little sister's hair with the other. My younger brother was sitting on the floor sorting his school notebooks, muttering something about homework. A bucket of water sat near the door, half-filled, waiting for someone to finish the evening tasks.
Normal life.
Normal noise.
Normal warmth.
I stood there for a moment, letting the familiarity settle on me.
"Your paper?" my mother asked without looking up, her voice carrying both care and routine.
"It was okay," I replied — the same answer I gave every exam day.
She smiled faintly and handed me a plate. "Eat. Then put these water buckets inside."
I nodded and went to change, but even while washing my face, her words kept replaying:
"You are the only one."
Why me?
Why only me?
Why did she look at me that way?
After dinner, I pushed the buckets inside, arranged the containers near the tap, and pretended to help with small tasks. My mind wasn't there. My hands moved automatically, but my thoughts were trapped somewhere else entirely.
Every minute felt heavier.
Every passing moment felt like waiting for something.
Around 8:30 PM, I sat on my bed with my books open. I tried reading, tried underlining, tried focusing… but the words blurred again and again.
The house slowly quieted down.
My siblings went to sleep.
My father switched off the courtyard light.
My mother folded the last set of clothes and entered the bedroom.
But I remained awake in my dimly lit room, staring at the pages without understanding a single line.
By 10:45 PM, my heartbeat had started matching the rhythm of my impatience.
At 11 PM, something inside me snapped.
I picked up my phone.
Opened her second ID.
The private one.
The one she gave only to me.
My fingers trembled lightly as I typed:
"Hello."
I stared at the message for a moment before pressing send.
For a few minutes, nothing happened.
I leaned back on my pillow, the night air brushing softly through the half-open window.
Then—
Ping.
Her reply appeared:
"Why did you message me?"
My chest tightened.
I typed,
"What are you doing?"
Her answer came quickly:
"Studying."
Her voice — even in text — felt calm, focused, familiar.
It made something inside me settle… and something else rise.
I wanted to ask her everything —
about why she let me sit near her,
why she smiled at me,
why she said I was the only one,
why I felt like something was happening between us even if she didn't say it.
But the questions felt too heavy.
My courage felt too small.
So I asked softly,
"Can you give me some notes?"
Her reply came sharper:
"No."
I blinked.
My stomach dropped a little.
"Why?" I typed.
"You should work hard. I won't give you notes. Make your own."
A small sting hit my chest.
Not pain — just disappointment.
Then her next message arrived, colder than the last:
"We should not talk now. Our exam is over. Focus on your study. We will meet next year. Bye."
A silence spread inside me.
A heavy silence.
I read her words twice…
then again…
and then slowly typed:
"Okay."
But inside…
Inside I felt something break a little.
Something small.
Something soft.
Something I couldn't even fully name.
Was I chasing someone?
Was I imagining meaning where there was none?
Was I expecting too much?
Or was she running from her own feelings?
My phone screen dimmed.
The night grew deeper.
And I lay there staring at the ceiling…
thinking about a girl
who pulled me closer in silence
and pushed me away in words.
Her message sat on the screen like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through every quiet corner of my thoughts.
I kept staring at it, trying to connect all the pieces of the day, the exam, her behavior, her eyes, her voice, her small gestures… and these cold lines didn't match any of them.
Not even close.
The girl who let me copy without hesitation…
The girl who told me I was the only one she allowed…
The girl who spoke softly, whose presence felt calm…
The same girl was now asking me to disappear until next year?
Why?
I closed my eyes and lay flat on my pillow.
The fan spun slowly above me, making a dull humming noise that matched the heaviness in my chest. The night outside was still awake — dogs barking occasionally, a scooter passing through the lane, the distant sound of someone locking their gate.
But inside my room, everything felt silent.
Uncomfortably silent.
I turned to my side, holding my phone loosely in my hand.
Even though she said bye, my mind whispered a different question:
Do you really want me to stop talking…
or are you scared of what happens if I don't?
Because something inside her words felt forced. Not natural. Not honest.
It reminded me of someone trying to close a door that they secretly wanted open.
But I couldn't understand why.
Why did she pull me close during the exams…
and push me away the moment the last paper ended?
Why did her eyes search for mine…
but her messages told me to stay away?
Why did she let me near her desk…
and then set boundaries like a wall?
Why did she say I was the only one…
if she didn't want any connection?
Everything inside me felt like smoke — rising, circling, without form.
I placed the phone on my chest.
For a few seconds, I considered texting her again.
Just… one last message.
Something simple.
Something honest.
But the fear held my fingers still.
My mind argued with itself:
If she wanted to talk, she would.
If she didn't reply, you'll look desperate.
If you stay silent, she might think you don't care.
If you message, she might think you want more.
There was no right answer.
Only a storm of emotions.
A kind of feeling I had never handled before.
At last, I exhaled deeply and kept the phone aside.
But sleep didn't come.
Not immediately.
Not for a long time.
Instead, a strange emptiness settled inside me. Not sadness, not heartbreak — just an uncomfortable void, like standing in the middle of a road where both directions felt uncertain.
I turned on my other side and tried closing my eyes again.
But the moment I did…
her face appeared.
The way she tucked her short hair behind her ear.
The way she tilted her head while listening.
The way she spoke in soft, slow sentences.
The way her eyes looked when she nodded at me during the exam.
The way she gave a small gesture, telling me to sit beside her.
All these memories came flooding in, as if my mind was trying to remind me:
"You didn't imagine any of this."
Something was there.
Maybe small.
Maybe quiet.
Maybe fragile.
But not fake.
My eyes opened again.
I whispered to the ceiling:
"Why did you say bye like that?"
The ceiling didn't answer.
The night didn't answer.
And neither did she.
Hours passed in restless waves before sleep finally dragged me under, slow and heavy, like sinking into deep water.
---
The Next Morning
I woke late.
Too late.
Sunlight had already filled the room, warm and merciless. My head felt heavy, my body stiff, my thoughts still tangled from the night before.
My phone was lying beside me.
For a moment I hesitated…
then picked it up.
No message.
Not even a "seen."
I sat up slowly, both relieved and disappointed.
Part of me wanted her to check on me.
Another part feared what her next message might say.
But there was nothing.
Just emptiness.
I placed the phone aside and stood up. My mother was already sweeping the courtyard, humming an old song. The smell of ginger tea hung in the air. My brother was searching for his lost pencil. Life looked normal again.
Only I wasn't.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and stared at myself in the mirror.
What was I even expecting?
She owed me nothing.
We weren't in a relationship.
We barely knew each other.
We had just met in a few exams.
But then why…
Why did it feel like she touched something inside me?
Why did her goodbye feel heavier than it should?
I splashed water on my face again.
Maybe she's right, I told myself.
Maybe I should focus on my studies.
Maybe I should stop thinking so much.
Maybe… maybe she only sees me as someone who sat beside her a few times.
But the biggest question whispered again:
If she wanted distance…
then why did she give her private ID to me?
Why me — and no one else?
I didn't know.
Maybe I never would.
"If we're truly ending here…
why does it still feel like the story is just beginning?"
QUESTIONS FOR READERS-------
1. Why did Nikita suddenly push him away after being so close?
2. Do you think she is scared of her own feelings?
3. Is "next year" really the end… or a beginning she is hiding?
4. What would you do if you were in Niks' place — stay silent or message again?
5. What do you think is coming for them in the next chapter?