episode 11
432 Words
The lunch break ended, and the hallways began to buzz again.
Meera held her sketchbook close and walked toward the library corridor, but she slowed when she reached the staircase.
She stopped.
Down below, Arnav and his group of friends were walking down confidently, football bags hanging from their shoulders, laughing loudly about their next game.
Arnav looked exactly like someone who didn’t care about anything except winning.
“We’ll be late for games,” Arnav said, adjusting the sweatband on his wrist. “Let’s go.”
His friends nodded and continued down.
Meera’s heart beat faster.
If she didn’t stop him now… he might never show up later.
She swallowed, took a shaky breath, and whispered:
“Uh… Arnav…”
He stopped mid-step.
He turned around slowly, looking up at her standing on the stairs above him.
His friends went quiet, watching.
Arnav’s eyes were cold — colder than before.
“What?” he snapped.
Meera fidgeted nervously with the edge of her dupatta.
“Aren’t… you coming to the library for the project?”
Arnav raised an eyebrow.
Then —
he let out a soft chuckle.
Not a normal laugh.
A mocking one.
“You actually thought,” he said, tilting his head slightly,
“that I’d come for your so-called project?”
Meera’s throat tightened.
Arnav shrugged, stepping down another stair.
“I’m not interested in it,” he said plainly.
“And I’m not interested in you either.”
The words hit her like a slap.
She blinked, stunned.
Arnav’s voice dropped lower, sharp like glass.
“So stop chasing me like every other girl.”
His friends smirked, nudging each other.
Meera felt her heart shrink —
because she wasn’t chasing anyone.
She never did.
She was just trying to be responsible… and kind.
But Arnav didn’t even give her a chance.
Without waiting for her reply, he turned away.
“Let’s go,” he said to his friends again, walking off.
Meera stood there, frozen on the staircase, her eyes stinging a little — not enough to cry… but enough to hurt.
She inhaled deeply.
It’s fine. It’s okay. It’s just one project…
She repeated it silently like a mantra.
Then she lifted her sketchbook higher against her chest, straightened her glasses, and walked toward the library alone.
Her steps were soft.
Quiet.
But steady.
Because Meera wasn’t the girl who chased anyone.
She was just trying to survive.
She pushed open the library door and entered — unaware that someone else spotted her walking away hurt.
Someone whose eyes had softened earlier that day…
Kartik.
- Writer
