episode 2
645 Words
Meera stood helplessly in the courtyard, clutching her sketchbook. Rosemary School was huge—like a maze wrapped in glass and sunlight. She took a tiny breath and stepped toward the crowd of students.
Just then, a group of boys came from the football ground—sweaty, laughing, loud. The boy in the front wiped his face with his jersey collar, a football under his arm.
Meera stepped aside, heart beating fast.
But she needed help.
She had to ask someone.
So she gathered the courage she barely had.
“H-hi…” she whispered.
The boy stopped and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” he said—not rude, but not friendly either. Just… annoyed.
Meera swallowed.
“I’m new. I… I wanted to ask where the principal’s office is.”
The boy lifted his chin slightly, stared at her from head to toe.
Her braids.
Her dupatta.
Her simple bag.
Her sketchbook.
His expression changed—into the exact same one other boys had worn in her old school.
A mocking smirk.
“Oh,” he said. “Another one.”
Meera blinked. “A-another what?”
He shrugged. “Another girl pretending to be lost so she can talk to me. Happens daily.”
Meera’s eyes widened.
“N-no! I really—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he cut in, turning away. “The office is upstairs. Left building.”
He didn’t offer to take her.
He didn’t even wait.
He just walked ahead, tossing the football in the air, not bothering to look back.
Meera stood frozen.
Her throat burned.
I wasn’t pretending… I really didn’t know the way…
Why does everyone think like that?
But she forced herself to walk behind him slowly, keeping a large distance. She wiped her glasses with her dupatta as she moved, trying not to cry.
Just as she put the glasses back on and stepped forward—
She bumped into someone. Hard.
Her sketchbook slipped from her hands.
A cold voice snapped through the air.
“Dekha nahi jaata?”
Meera’s head jerked up.
It was him.
Kartik.
Tall, sharp jawline, Korean hairstyle falling over his eyes, his expression colder than winter nights. He glanced at her braids, her dupatta, then at her trembling hands.
Before she could reach her sketchbook, Kartik picked it up.
Not gently.
Not kindly.
He flipped the cover, eyes narrowing—like he was trying to understand her... or judge her.
She froze.
Before she could say anything, Arnav walked past them.
He did not look at Kartik.
Not even for a second.
Not a twitch, not a nod, nothing.
It was like Kartik wasn’t even standing there.
Arnav simply tossed his football from hand to hand and said in a bored voice, without turning toward her:
“Office is upstairs. Don’t block the hallway.”
And he walked away.
Just like that.
Not a single glance toward his old best friend.
Kartik’s jaw clenched slightly—just barely—but he didn’t say a word.
He didn’t expect anything from Arnav anymore.
He held out the sketchbook toward Meera without expression.
Her fingers trembled as she took it.
“Th-thank you…”
Kartik didn’t reply.
He just stepped back, eyes lingering on her face for a moment—as if trying to understand why a girl like her would bump into him with so much fear.
Then he walked in the opposite direction, hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff.
Meera stood frozen in the hallway.
Her first ten minutes in Rosemary had already become a tangle of:
Misunderstanding.
Fear.
And a silent spark of tension she didn’t even understand.
She adjusted her glasses again and whispered to herself:
“This school… is nothing like I imagined.”
Then she hugged her sketchbook tightly and walked toward the office—eyes down, shoulders small, heart shaking.
- Writer
