So.

A parade.
A full birthday parade.

And not for the cake, not for attention, not even for class monitor duty.
Nope. For one girl who wouldn’t even look up.

God. He was basically orbiting like an emotionally charged satellite.
All dressed up. Walking past her corridor. Carrying benches like props in a silent theatre show.
And she? Playing the mysterious audience who won’t even blink.

I mean, seriously — what is this? A romcom directed by destiny and produced by petty silence?

And don’t get me started on that look.

“It’s my birthday. I wore new clothes. I’m on my third round. Woman, blink already.”

Honestly, this is peak drama.
If Surya ever did something like this, I would’ve assumed he's either possessed or has heatstroke.
And knowing Surya, he wouldn’t parade.
He’d trip over the bench, spill glitter, and still blame gravity.

But my dad?

The guy was smooth and theatrical.
He had a whole unsent birthday invitation in his eyes.

And here’s what gets me — she read it.
Every silent look. Every loop around the corridor.
She didn’t just observe him. She translated him.

Meanwhile, I can’t even tell if Surya is walking toward me or just chasing Wi-Fi.

Also, that part where he gave Maya a death stare during the science fair?

Not gonna lie — iconic.
Like, “Excuse me, where is the one who is always awkward around me?”
That level of misplaced rage? Gold star.

And when he finally sees her again after her Jatra trip?

He gives her… nothing.
Not a smile. Not a head nod. Just civilian-level indifference.

And she?

Oh, she uploads an entire PDF of emotion into her own brain:
“I’m back.” “Did you miss me?” “Did you send the pigeon with glitter?”

Girl. I respect the delusion. I’ve lived in it.

But here’s the difference:
Her delusion? Wasn’t delusional.

He liked her. Clearly.
And unlike my unfortunate footnotes with Surya — where even making eye contact feels like hacking into a secured server — her story?
Was mutual. Messy. Magic.

So yeah.

I’m not jealous.
Okay, maybe I am. Just a little.
Because there’s something haunting about watching your parents be the main characters of the kind of love story you’d never even dare dream for yourself.

And now I know where I got my overthinking from.

Hey lady, next time just say “I liked your dad” and skip the novella.
My heart can only handle one parade at a time. 

So yeah, let's complete this letter it really looked long but not boring though:

 "Anyway.

Let’s move to the fourth one.

This one happened right before the big event — the science fair D-Day.

We were practicing for the opening ceremony. Prayer, formations, group lines — the usual drill.

Now, officially, he and I were still in different groups.

He in physics.

Me in biology.

Two branches of knowledge. Two opposite ends of the corridor.

But destiny must’ve grown bored of its own game that day.

Because our line — the biology line — was too long.

So we were told to shift to the physics group’s space.

Imagine that.

Out of all the places to realign — I was sent to the group line beside his.

Not directly behind. But in beside line which was Just… diagonally behind, his line.

A small shift. But everything shifted.

He stood ahead in the line.

Not because of height — it wasn’t that kind of formation.

But because he was early.

And that day — he turned.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

Three times.

Maybe more.

Each time, just a glance.

But deliberate. Soft. Measured.

No words. No dramatic tension.

Just… gentle looking.

And for me — that was enough.

At that time, C was behind me, Maya nearby.

Everyone was there.

But still — it felt like it was only me and him and those three turns of the head.

That was the fourth interaction.

Let me move on to the fifth one.

This one happened after the science fair was officially over.

You know, after the grand parade of parents, other school guests, sisters, fathers, and all those VIPs of unknown origin who suddenly descend upon the school during such events — once they were done observing our volcano models and half-broken circuits with unnerving intensity — there was that one last day.

Student Day.

The leftover day.

The "you-can-now-roam" day.

And on that day, the prayer wasn’t held outside in the usual field.

It was one of those lazy corridor-prayer days. The kind where they ask you to just come out, sit wherever there’s space, and wait.

So we did. We sat outside.

Now, here’s the logistical tragedy: the space in front of our biology room was approximately the size of a folded napkin.

We were squeezed like books on a shelf.

That’s when one of my friends, who managed to sneak near the stairs, called me to come there — apparently, there was space.

Real, breathable, leg-stretching space.

So I went.

And then I saw them.

The stairs were overflowing with boys. Not one, not two — a literal waterfall of boys, sitting, standing, balancing like monkeys on tree branches.

And I, being me — allergic to attention, confrontation, or existing in male-dominated air —

I turned around, walked back, and promptly folded myself back into the crowd of my own kind.

Sat right on top of my friends like they were human furniture.

No regrets.

Because, as I’ve said before — I was the kind of girl who saw a group of boys and immediately took a U-turn — not because I hated them, but because the very thought of walking near them was a full-body shutdown moment.

But actually — that wasn’t the real fifth moment.

That was more like a side episode.

The real fifth one happened slightly earlier, when the science fair work was wrapping up for the D-Day.

See — there was this panel board setup work.

Only a few of us were asked to stay back after school by the class teacher.

Maya and I stayed. Nobody else knew.

Just the three of us — me, Maya, and the teacher.

The school was almost empty by then. The usual chaos had calmed.

I was in our class, trying to stuff all my books into my bag, because — unsurprisingly — I hadn’t touched them all day.

I was still wearing that post-science-fair exhaustion like a second uniform.

And then, suddenly —

He walked into my classroom.

Just like that.

Walked right into our class, like he belonged there.

Sat near his friends — yes, they were there too — and started talking.

I don’t even remember what the topic was.

Maybe cricket. Maybe space. Maybe lunch.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was — he was there.

In my classroom.

And I was there.

And he was sitting.

And I was thinking —

“What’s happening, bro?”

But I didn’t say anything, of course.

Just watched them from my corner while stuffing notebooks and wondering how late I’d be getting home.

Which, honestly, no one at home really cared about.

My parents, your grandparents — they were the kind of people who measured care in silence, not curfews.

Anyway.

After a while, when most of the school was either halfway home or halfway asleep, we had to go upstairs — to the second floor — to finish the panel board work.

As I was climbing up with Maya, I had this little thought —

“Maybe today if I didn't have this work upstairs, we would have walk side by side(while going to home). From the same class. Same floor. Same hallway. Who knows?”

But no.

Fate had other plans.

Just as I started fixing things upstairs, another teacher sent me and Maya back down — to fetch something from the first floor.

And as we came down —

there he was.

Still there.

Still standing.

Still not gone.

His friends were talking to one of our junior girl — probably teasing, probably joking.

But him?

He was just standing at the corridor railing.

Looking outside.

Blank stare.

Still.

I don’t know why, but it felt like… maybe he was waiting.

Maybe not for me. Maybe just… waiting.

But for a second, I allowed myself the audacity to believe —

“Maybe he was looking for me.”

And that was it.

Just a small, simple, nonverbal, almost invisible moment.

But for me — it was everything.

You know, I think this whole science fair might end up being one of my favorite memories.

Because in just a few days, I had more interactions — more silent eye contact, more invisible waves of possibility — than I’d had in months.

And maybe, just maybe,

that was enough."                                                                                                                                                 

I thought this woman was dumb in the beginning, but now I understand—she is madly in love.