Read Anveshna- The search :: What do you think is the grand or ultimate expression of love?

I opened the next letter.

The one I thought had the summer holidays twist.

Was ready for some heartbreak with literary merit.

Maybe even a dramatic revelation, with emotional garnish.

But no.

It began:

“I know you’re searching for the summer holiday twist. But complete this letter to know it.”

Really?

She knew what I was looking for.

I closed the letter halfway.

“You know,” I muttered to the air, “if you stretch something too long, it breaks. I hope you know that, Miss.”

Then, of course, I opened it again.

Because drama aside, curiosity always wins.

Even if it’s dressed in denial.

"9th class began. Nothing new. Except… everything.

New class. New block. New distance.

At least, that’s what I assumed.

In 8th, our classroom was the second on the right from the girls’ stairwell.

In 9th, they moved us to the first on the left.

Senior shift, they called it.

His class?

Didn’t change.

So I thought: That’s it. Game over. No more glimpses. He’s gone.

But fate? She’s a sly matchmaker.

From the door of my new class, you could see his classroom clearly.

His class sat straight across the corridor,

Visible like a movie on mute.

And from his class door?
He could see me too.
As, I was in the middle row. Middle bench. Middle place on that bench. Middle of the madness.

And of course, I could only see the first bench of the row near his class door,

And the first three benches of the middle row —

But that was enough.

That was more than enough.

Then the new principal walked in with a voice loud enough to scare pigeons

And a rulebook longer than the morning assembly speech.

Suddenly, outdoor prayers? Cancelled.

Lunch breaks outside? Banned.

And with that,

No more “accidental” moments.

We never sat near each other during lunch,

But I always caught a glimpse

When he walked from the playground toward the boys’ stairs,

Still laughing from some joke I’d never know.

Those two seconds of eye contact after lunch?

Gone.

My seat in the new class?
Unintentionally the best stalking spot — a clear line to his door.

And his seat had shifted too—

From the window side to the door side.

Almost like the universe felt bad for me

And offered a small refund.

That’s when I learned something from him:

Come early to school.

Even when there’s no roll-call benefit,

No reason.

Just… presence.

He’d sit, quietly doing his work.

And I’d sit, pretending to do mine.

One look every five minutes—

Okay, maybe three.

Fine. One look every minute. Happy?

One morning, I caught him pointing at our class, whispering to his classmate.
And suddenly, our second encounter replayed in my head like reruns.

But I didn’t turn around.

Didn’t need to.

I knew that he was talking with his classmate about me.

If he was talking about me looking at me—

He wasn’t wrong. coz i was his secret stalker after all.

But this time?

He had that smile.

The one I regretted wiping off once.

So I didn’t ruin it.

I let it be.

I let myself not interrupt.

Then this year he became a prefect.

(the senior students who help manage the line-up during breaks are often called prefects or monitors)

More responsibility. More delays.

Less presence.

Still, I waited—in the shed after school, even when the watchman warned me, even when I didn’t know what I was waiting for anymore.

He always came last. But he came. After becoming prefect, he used to come to my class every morning before prayer, to take his friend for prefect minding.

And even with all the distance, even with silence between us like a third language—we still had those moments.

Rare.

But real.

Stolen glances.

Stares that said everything

Because we were too scared to say anything.

You won’t understand if you’re not the shy kind.(may be they call introvert- shy people )

But for us?

A stare was an earthquake.

A well-placed look was a revolution.

People today define love with status updates,

Couple reels,

And birthday highlights with background music.

I don’t deny that.

But I don’t subscribe either.

A stare?

A real stare?

That does more damage

Than a poem written in blood.

It shatters you kindly."

The letter then asked me:

“So, Anveshna What do you think is the grandest, ultimate expression of love?”

I paused.

She didn’t just guess my answer—

She stole it.

A grin betrayed me.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I do believe in that.”

I always believed in the scene

Where the hero doesn’t kiss the girl,

Doesn’t say a word—

Just looks.

And that look?

Ends wars inside her.

But Surya?

Surya never looked at me like that.

He was too busy

Whispering to friends behind my back,

Thinking I didn’t notice.

The letter was almost done.

Just two lines:

“As I mentioned earlier, the least frequent way became the most effective one.

Girls’ washroom stares—remember those?”

It wasn’t about his seat anymore.

He no longer sat near the window (like he did in 8th class).

But somehow,

He’d always stand near the window by the blackboard—

Perfectly visible

From the girls' bathroom corner.

“Even though I thought it might be difficult… it wasn’t,”

she ended.

So casual.

So final.

I turned the page. Flipped it over.

No mention of the summer holidays.

No twist.

No big revelation.

“Seriously?” I muttered.

She’s playing me.

Like a violin.

She wants me to open the next letter.

And she knows I will.

So I did.

I opened it.

And began to read.