Honestly. The denial in this letter is so loud, it should come with background music.

And don’t even get me started on the he liked me too part. Because—hello? It’s everywhere. All over the letter. The line shifting on Children’s Day? The subtle glances? The prayer ground alignment attempt? The failed attempt? The class positioning strategy?

This isn’t a crush. This is strategic emotional warfare.

Even the way she interprets his stares—like she’s reading poetry in Morse code. And somehow, she gets it.

Like, oh he looked left twice, that means: “Where are you? I miss you. Are you okay?”

Meanwhile, me?

I was Surya’s benchmate, okay?

Sitting right beside him. Breathing the same oxygen. Same textbooks. Same classroom air.

And not once—not once—did I feel like I could even guess what he was thinking.

Forget decoding his glances. I didn’t even try. I didn’t dare.

Because whatever was there… if it was there… felt like standing at the edge of something too sacred to name.

But the writer of this letter? She walked around in this unsaid understanding with my dad like they invented silent-language romance.

And she still calls it “just liking.”

If that’s liking, I don’t even qualify as an applicant.

Forget walking three steps behind Surya—I wouldn’t even dream of breathing too close to his shadow.

So yeah, I’ll admit it.

Whatever this is—this not-love love story she wrote by accident—it’s got more emotion than any poem I’ve ever read.

And more truth than anything Surya and I have ever managed to say.

Ok personal things aside, let's continue with next letter : 

              "Do you know that moment when the person you’ve always been chasing suddenly starts walking the same path as you? It feels strange. Maybe not intentional. But even unintentional things carry their own kind of sweetness, don’t they?

It happened back in class 9.

There was a Sameh – the strike. The public transport services had shut down. And he… he used to travel home by bus. Because of the strike, which lasted — I don't know exactly — maybe 20 days, maybe 40, somewhere between or around those. But honestly, it didn’t matter how long it lasted. What mattered was what it gave me.

Every day after school, there was that short stretch from the main gate where our paths would part. He’d take the left. I’d take the right. That’s how it always was. We never walked the same path.

But during those strike days… something shifted.

He had to walk on my side. The right side.

And no, it wasn’t some great distance. Barely 100 meters. Maybe less. But even less-than-100 meters with him walking in front of me felt like a reward — like something had bent in my direction for once.

And during those days, I remember… he turned back.

Once. Maybe twice.

To check if I was behind him.

I can't explain what that did to me. That feeling. Like I mattered. Like I was part of his route. I know it might’ve been just a casual glance. But to me, it felt like I had become visible in his story, even if for a moment.

I used to think that strike — that same strike — was done for me. I know, sounds stupid. It wasn’t a happy thing for the world. Drivers and conductors were frustrated, expressing their dissatisfaction with months of delayed pay despite all their hard work. One person even set himself on fire. Sad, isn’t it? In this country, someone has to die for it to become a national issue, and even then, just for a day of promises and empty drama to put out that flame. Nothing really changes. We, the people, are to blame too.

And me? I was happy. Selfish, maybe even full-blown psychopath, whatever fits. But still, I was happy. Why? Because he walked my way. That’s what mattered to me. We humans don’t care when others bleed, yet we expect everyone to feel our pain even for the tiniest scratch."

I blinked. “You… you were happy? Even with all that?”

She was honest. Too honest. And suddenly I thought—maybe that’s what makes her terrifying. Or maybe it’s just human. Selfish, cruel, unavoidable human. Aren’t we all, really?

"There’s this one day I remember clearly.

Usually, I never turn back. Never. It’s like a rule — I don’t look back unless it’s family calling. But that day, I broke it. I tried to look back, just once. Just to see if he was coming behind me.

He wasn’t.

And he didn’t look back either.

And that moment… I don’t know. It left a hollow in me.

That’s what expectation does, right? You cross a path, hoping something will follow, something beautiful, and when it doesn’t… it stings. It lingers. You know that feeling too, don’t you? I’m sure you do. Maybe you could give me a lecture on it. Some wise talk, maybe. But today, don’t. I want to hold this feeling just as it is.

Anyway… moving on from that.

We had the Science fair this year. I think it was January… or maybe February? No — January, most likely.Sorry, I don't remember exactly.

But during that science fair, I had around five small interactions with him.

They weren't all cute. But they were mine. And I want to tell you about all of them today.

One by one.

Shall I begin?                                                                                                                                                       

Do you know, sometimes I laugh at how I used to argue with destiny like it was some annoying neighbour who never minds its own business. I used to say it always tells me “yes” when I say “no,” and a big “no” when I secretly wanted a “yes.”

Take the science fair for example.

It started right at the team selection. I got into biology. He got into physics. Predictable.

But what was funny was this little pattern. You remember A, right? That girl? She got selected for his section — the only one. Just one seat. Could have been me. I mean, what are the odds? Out of all the people, I could’ve landed there too. But destiny went, “Nah, opposite sections suit you better.”

Fine.

At least I thought, maybe in our school house groups — those colour teams we stand in on Saturdays — maybe there. He was the vice-captain of one of them, I could have easily ended up in the same group. But again — opposite houses. Check.

And now, the science fair. Maybe here? Nope. He’s in one group, and me? A whole different science branch, not even vaguely connected.

It almost felt like the universe had signed a deal — “let her orbit him, but never land.”

Still, irony has its own humour. Even when you don’t belong in someone’s world, sometimes, they walk into yours.

One day, he came to our biology group classroom.

Not for me. No illusions there. He came to help his classmate — a girl — with a model about DNA and light induction or whatever that was. And guess where he sat?

Right opposite me.

I think I forgot I was a human being for a while. I ran around arranging things, climbed up the panel board, half-flew across the aisle… Maya noticed it.

She was like, “Why are you so high today?”

I didn’t answer. Just turned to steal a glance in his direction.

He didn’t look. He was busy — focused on helping that girl. Eyes never lifted. But I saw his friend looking back at me. Again.

Now, that friend — I’ve given eye contact before. Let’s not dive into that rabbit hole. Different species altogether. A detailed case study of “boys who observe everything except what they should.”

Anyway, I waited — expected our eyes to meet.

They didn’t."

I paused for a movement there and thought,

Of course. Eyes not meeting? Classic.

The universe probably whispered, “Let this scene remain poetic.”

And somehow… it did."

I paused while reading that part of the letter and smiled.

A sad smile — the kind that knows it’s still too early to be bitter, but too late to be hopeful.

God, I’m getting dramatic. Somebody stop me.

How can I relate with her, no I don't understand this, I swear I don't, huh

I resumed the letter :

"Yeah. He came.

Not once. He came for a week.

Imagine — someone who doesn’t belong to your group, to your section, not even to your half of the school — still ends up sitting opposite you for a week.

And I know, being in the same group would’ve given me 20–25 days. Daily glimpses. Shared breaks.

But you know what? That one week was enough.

Because in the land of “never possible,” even a “little possible” feels like magic.

So yes, that was my first interaction during the science fair."