LONELY HALLWAYS
975 Words
*Sometimes, the loudest conversations happen in silence.
A glance. A pause. A breath held one second too long.*
The corridors of 10-C weren’t loud today, not really. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was the rain-stained windows. Or maybe it was that strange, invisible heaviness carried by two students who had never spoken, but already sensed the storm in each other.
Zoya walked with her bag clutched tightly to her side, fingers curling into the strap like it might keep her tethered to the moment. Her shoes were clean, but her soul felt messy. She always came early. The hallways were quieter then—less eyes, less expectations.
She passed a noticeboard covered in last year’s memories. Someone had pinned up a photo from the school fest. In it, a girl with her same eyes was dancing, laughing. June.
Zoya’s steps faltered.
Her sister’s face didn’t smile anymore. It just stared back, frozen in a joy that betrayed the pain she had buried beneath it.
On the other side of the corridor, Aarav adjusted the strap of his bag and walked faster. He hated the mornings. He hated walking past people who expected him to be *okay* again.
His best friend Arjun used to be the reason school mornings felt bearable. They had made fun of this hallway, called it the “tunnel of doom.” Now it was just empty space filled with memories that stabbed if he breathed too deep.
He passed the staircase where Arjun once slipped, laughing so hard he dropped his phone.
“Bhai, you’re going to kill yourself with these jokes,” Aarav had said, months ago.
And then one night, Arjun really had.
Not with jokes. Not even on purpose.
Just one wrong turn. One bad decision.
One friend too tired to ride.
Aarav shook the thought away, but it clawed back like it always did.
It happened in the middle of the second period.
Zoya dropped her pen. Aarav, sitting two desks across, reached down at the same time. Their hands didn’t touch. But their eyes met—just for a second.
Hers were rimmed in tiredness, like she hadn’t slept well in weeks. His were sharper, but hollow, like something inside him had burned out.
She mumbled a “thank you,” barely audible.
He nodded once, lips not even parting.
And that was it.
No smile. No name exchanged.
But something inside each of them paused.
That night, Zoya sat by her sister’s old bookshelf, fingers tracing the worn-out covers of poetry books. The one on top was *Sylvia Plath*, because of course it was.
Her mother walked by the doorway, holding a tray of milk she wouldn’t drink.
“You’re not eating much again,” her mom said quietly.
Zoya didn’t respond.
“She wouldn’t want you to disappear too, beta.”
Zoya swallowed hard. “Then maybe she shouldn’t have.”
Her mother froze. The tray trembled just slightly in her hands.
“I didn’t mean—” Zoya began, but her mother had already turned away, leaving the door open behind her.
Zoya curled up on the floor, eyes stinging.
*June left quietly.
And now everything feels loud.*
Later that night, Aarav stared at his phone. He opened the chat with Arjun. Still pinned to the top. Still unread.
**Arjun 🛵💀**
> Bro ride or die tmrw?
> U driving or me?
The message before that was the last thing Aarav had sent:
> Too tired, u take it
> lol don't kill us ok
He stared at the timestamp.
11:43 PM
One hour before the crash.
His father had once told him, “You didn’t cause it.”
But guilt doesn’t care for logic. It grows like mold—quiet, in the dark, spreading until it smells like you.
The next morning, Zoya arrived earlier than usual. The corridors were near empty. Only a janitor and two pigeons sat on the windowsill.
She sat on the far end of the hallway, knees pulled up to her chest, trying to write.
She didn’t notice Aarav turn the corner.
He saw her—her head bent, fingers curled around a half-written poem. And for a second, he almost walked past. Almost.
Instead, he sat on a bench across the hall, pretending to scroll through his phone.
They sat like that. Ten feet apart.
Two storms in quiet orbit.
Neither spoke.
But Zoya’s pen moved again.
And Aarav’s eyes stayed off his phone.
Later, as the classroom buzzed with the usual pre-lunch chaos, Simran whispered to Maya, “That new girl, Zoya… something about her.”
“She’s beautiful,” Maya said without hesitation.
“No,” Simran frowned, “She’s... haunted.”
Maya glanced toward Zoya’s desk. Zoya was doodling absentmindedly in the corner of her notebook. Trees. Roots. No faces.
“Still,” Maya shrugged, “there’s depth.”
Meanwhile, Rohan threw a chalk at Kabir and laughed loudly. “Bet you Aarav’s already fallen for someone.”
Kabir looked at Aarav, silent at his desk, staring at nothing.
“Nah,” Kabir said. “That guy’s not even here. Not really.”
After lunch, Zoya headed toward the library, book in hand. Aarav turned the corner from the other direction, earbuds in, walking fast.
They nearly collided.
“Oh—” Zoya gasped.
Aarav stepped back. His hand went up instinctively, as if to catch her shoulder—but he stopped just short.
Their eyes met again. Closer this time.
“I—sorry,” she muttered, stepping sideways.
He nodded.
Then something flickered in his eyes.
Recognition?
No. Just... tiredness. Familiar.
She turned and walked past him.
He stood still for a moment. Then turned too, walking the other way.
*Neither of them spoke another word that day.
But the hallway felt heavier.
Like it knew something was coming.*
- Writer
