Shared Notes, Hidden Feelings
912 Words
“Sometimes, the tiniest moments hold the biggest feelings.”
College life had a rhythm.
Same corridors. Same faces. Same cafeteria near the main gate.
But ever since I started spending more time with Siya, that rhythm felt… warmer.
Familiar. Comforting. And strangely exciting.
We weren’t friends.......not officially.
But we shared enough smiles, enough small talk, enough “accidental” seating in the library to be something more than strangers.
It started with notes.
She was rushing down the corridor one morning, her file bursting with papers and bookmarks flying like feathers.
One sheet danced its way to my feet.
I bent down, picked it up.
“Siya,” I called out.
She turned, hair slightly messy, eyes wide.
“You dropped this.”
“Oh no! That’s my accounting summary… thank you! You saved me.”
I smiled. “Seems like I’m always returning your lost stuff.”
She laughed. “Maybe the universe’s way of making sure we talk.”
And just like that, without planning, we started talking more.
The next day, she asked if I had notes from a lecture she missed.
I gave her my file. No questions asked.
Two days later, she returned it with a small sticky note on the last page.
“Thanks, David. Your handwriting is surprisingly readable. PS: You make good margin doodles too.”
I smiled at that for way too long.
And so began the exchange of notes, texts, jokes scribbled in the margins.
From accounts formulas to random quotes we liked…
Our notebooks became more than just pages.
They became our silent conversations.
We started sitting near each other during breaks.
Not always, not planned.
But somehow, our timings matched more often now.
If I reached the canteen early, I’d quietly save a seat.
If she saw me at the juice stall, she’d wave without hesitation.
It wasn’t love.
But it felt a lot like belonging.
One afternoon, we both stayed back to prepare a fest presentation.
The classroom was half-lit, the sky outside moody with passing clouds.
We sat on opposite benches at first, working quietly.
Until she looked up and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just… existing?”
I looked at her, surprised. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “Some days, everything feels… too loud. Too fake. I smile, I talk, but it’s like I’m not there.”
I stayed silent for a moment. Then said, “Yeah. I get that. Sometimes, I go quiet not because I have nothing to say… but because I’m tired of pretending I’m okay.”
She looked at me like she wasn’t expecting me to say that.
And then, softly, she smiled. “Exactly.”
That moment stayed with me.
Not because of what she said.
But because she chose me to say it to.
After that, something changed.
She started telling me more.
About her school days. Her best friend who moved cities.
Her love for old Hindi songs. How she cried watching Dear Zindagi.
I didn’t say much.
But I remembered everything.
Her favorite colour was lavender, but she hated wearing it.
She hated milk but loved milkshakes.
She secretly believed in destiny, even though she said she didn’t.
I was falling. Slowly. Gently.
Like how raindrops rest on leaves before sliding into the soil.
One evening, we sat at the campus steps.
She took out her notebook to return my notes and said, “You wrote this on the corner…”
I looked.
It was something I’d forgotten I wrote.
“Don’t overthink. You’re doing better than you think.”
She looked at me. “Did you write this for me?”
I smiled. “Maybe I wrote it for myself. But if it helped you, I’m glad.”
She looked down, tracing the line with her finger.
“David,” she whispered, “you’re easy to be around. It’s rare.”
And I didn’t say it out loud, but in my heart, I whispered, So are you.
But feelings are tricky.
They grow quietly but hurt loudly.
Because as I started falling for her, I began noticing how many others wanted her smile too.
Boys from other departments who tried too hard.
That senior who laughed a little too loudly at her jokes.
Even her childhood friend who suddenly visited more often.
I wasn’t jealous.
I just… didn’t know where I stood.
Was I her go-to person?
Or just one of many who made her smile?
And still… I showed up. Every day.
Even if I was just part of her normal.
Even if I wasn’t sure I was special.
One night, she texted me.
Siya: “Do you think people can feel something but never say it?”
Me: “All the time. Most people are too scared to mess up what’s already comfortable.”
Siya: “So they hide it?”
Me: “Yeah. In sarcasm, in jokes, in casual goodnights.”
Siya: “I think I do that too.”
Me: “What are you hiding, Siya?”
Siya: “…Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”
And just like that, another layer of silence fell between us.
Beautiful. Heavy. Unsaid.
It was all unspoken.
But in those shared notes and half-finished sentences,
In those long silences and short glances,
In that one text that made my night…
I realized.
I was holding a feeling.
A feeling that hadn’t been confessed…
But it was already too deep to deny.
- Writer
