So,I read this letter again, I don't know why and then I blinked slowly. Then reread the sentence:
“He had to walk on my side. The right side.”(this line refers to prev episode Sameh route change line.)

Wow.

Destiny took one accidental detour and she’s out here romanticizing road direction.

Look, I’m not judging. Okay, maybe I am.
But in what universe does walking 100 meters behind someone become emotional canon?

Only in hers.

And somehow… it works.

Because suddenly, the strike wasn’t about buses or protests—it was about him glancing back. Twice.

That’s it. That’s her whole award-winning love story pitch:
Two glances. A change of route. One emotional cavity.

Meanwhile, I once followed Surya’s walking path just to see if we had the same shoe size.
Turns out he wears chappals like he’s allergic to shoes. End of analysis.

But back to her.

The science fair segment? That was something else.
Like watching a documentary titled:
“How to orbit someone’s life without ever making contact.”

She says, “He sat opposite me. I forgot I was human.”

Relatable. I once forgot I was a science student in front of Surya.
Stared at a beaker for five full minutes and called it “existential reflection.”

But her? She turned biology lab into a Sufi poetry gathering.
Didn’t even get eye contact. Just the privilege of breathing the same air as him for a week.

And still — she made it sound like magic.
The “he wasn’t even in my group” argument?
Girl, he wasn’t in your team, your house, or your schedule.
And yet — he shows up. Sits. Exists. Opposite her. For a week.

I get it now.

She wasn’t chasing him.

She was collecting the crumbs he accidentally dropped — and turning them into confetti.

And Maya? Bless her observational skills.
If someone ever asks “how high is too high?” — this is it.
Climbing panel boards to impress a boy who won’t even glance up?

If that’s not love… it’s at least a solid episode of teenage stupidity.

And honestly?
Kind of beautiful.

Because she knew he wasn’t looking.
She knew.
And yet, she still arranged the table like it was fate’s dinner party.

Me? I can’t even sit near Surya without calculating the physics of “accidental collision escape routes.”

So yes, I’ll give her this one.

In a world where I’m still scared of forming full sentences around my crush, my so-called mom wrote a thesis in silence and called it “biology project week.”

Congratulations, lady.
Even the universe took notes for you unlike me, then I continued the letter :

"Now for the second one — this is where it gets a little twisty.

I had to leave for two or three days — for a Jatra in your grandma’s mother’s village.

Remember how colorful those Jatras were? All noise and sweat and roasted groundnuts?

Anyway, I went a half-day before, then took two full days off. Maya kept me posted.

But guess what?

The topic I had originally been assigned — a good one, actually trendy — was taken away from me.

Some replacement topic was shoved in my hands instead.

Apparently, because I wasn’t around.

I was fuming.But your grandfather — witty as always — said, “So what? Take what you’ve got and make it better.”

Still, the part I remember most isn’t the topic theft. It was what Maya told me after.

She called me one day and said something very specific:

“You know… that boy. He gave me a death stare today.”

At first, I burst out laughing. Then, I smiled.

Because I knew what that stare was for.

I didn’t even need confirmation.

He wasn’t glaring at Maya. He was looking for me.

It was the same kind of confusion the girl beside me had once — when he looked at my bench, and my right-side benchmate thought he was looking at her.

These girls — I tell you — they always miss the point.

And The first thing I did when I returned after the Jatra was look for him.

I didn’t find him in the morning, but near lunch break, there he was — by the stairs on the second floor. I was working on the panel board then.

He saw me.

And?

He gave a very normal look. Not warm, not cold.

Just… nothing. Like seeing a stranger.

But I looked at him like —

“Did you see? I came back.”

“I heard you asked for me.”

“Did you miss me?”

All of that written across my face like a poster nobody would ever read.

I don’t know if he saw it.

But I saw him.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.                                                                                                     

And then came the third incident.

His birthday.

Now, usually, birthdays are predictable with boys that age. Most don’t show up.

I don’t know what happens after eighth grade, but suddenly boys act as if school is allergic to their very existence on their birthday.

When I was young, birthdays were everything — the one day you could escape that suffocating uniform and wear something you actually liked. It felt like being a monarch for a day, with chocolates and a plastic crown gifted by the teachers’ indulgence.

And him? Same — typical boy behavior.

Last year, in 8th class, he didn’t come.

Back then, one of the students I was assigned to mentor — you know, the toppers had to help the strugglers — was talking to a group of girls.

“He won’t come tomorrow… birthday and all,” the boy said, referring to his friend — my crush?.

I tucked that information away, thinking it was just a passing remark. That’s how I figured out when his birthday was. And since he hadn’t come to school that day in 8th grade, I assumed the same would happen in 9th grade.

But the next morning — he came.

In a new dress.

It wasn’t flamboyant or attention-seeking. But it was definitely a “notice-me” kind of outfit.

And he didn’t just appear. He lingered.

That day was chaos for me.

I was swamped. The science fair decorations were underway, and our class was the eldest. We had the most responsibility and the least attention.

Our teacher had mentally migrated to the other group — the one with the “trendy topic” I had lost. So Maya, C, and I took the lead.

B and a few others came to help — mostly because they had nothing else to do.

(And oh, B was from his group too. As if destiny said, “Everyone can land on him. You? You just keep orbiting around him.”)

C walked his route.

B was in his group.

A sat in his class.

Even Maya had moments of accidental proximity.

Me? Still the background character in my own story.

Anyway, that day, while we were deep into cutting thermocol and yelling over glitter, he started walking past our corridor.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

By the third time, even the girls caught on.

They said, “He’s passing again.”

So I finally looked up.

This time, he was carrying a bench.

And yes, he looked.

Straight into our classroom.

Straight at me.

It was one of those looks — the kind that doesn't ask, but accuses.

It said:

“I’ve been passing here all day. You didn’t even glance at me.”

“I’m in a new dress.”

“It’s my birthday. How long do I have to do this parade?”

And in that moment, our eyes met.

I smiled.

Not out of politeness — but out of knowing.

I tasted what it’s like when someone you secretly like tries to get your attention.

And I have to admit — it felt really, really good.

To be the one they were looking for.

To know, even if for a second, that you had the power to ignore and be missed.

But don’t take that as advice — it walks a very thin line between charm and full-blown psychopathy.

So yes — that was our third interaction.

And before we move to the fourth, let me tell you —

his eyes that day, even they whispered it.

“Did you see my new dress?”

“Today’s my birthday.”

And for a fleeting moment, he looked at me like I was the kind of person who’d walk up and say “Happy Birthday” without an ounce of awkwardness.

Like I was that extroverted, sunlit girl in the movies.

But I wasn’t.

If I were, we wouldn’t be doing this whole long-distance orbit in silence, would we?"