episode 3
506 Words
Meera sat quietly in the last row of her new classroom, her fingers twisting the corner of her dupatta nervously. The classroom was modern ― bright walls, glass windows, sleek desks. Students chatted loudly, some laughing, some scrolling their phones.
A few girls looked at Meera and whispered behind their hands.
“Who wears a dupatta here?”
“Two braids? Seriously?”
“She looks so… old-fashioned.”
Meera lowered her eyes.
Her heart thudded in her chest when the class teacher, Mrs. Sharma, walked in. She was strict-looking, sharp eyes behind square glasses.
“Settle down, everyone,” she said firmly. “We have a new student today.”
Twenty pairs of eyes turned toward Meera.
She stood up slowly, sketchbook hugged to her chest.
“Introduce yourself, beta,” the teacher said.
Meera inhaled.
“H-hello… my name is Meera. I—I’m from Jaipur but I studied before in—”
BANG.
The classroom door flew open.
Everyone turned.
Meera’s words died in her throat.
Arnav walked in—hair still messy from the match, jersey sticking to his skin, football under his arm. He didn’t look sorry. He didn’t look rushed.
He looked… bored.
Mrs. Sharma’s eyes widened.
“ARNAV SINGHANIA!” she snapped. “Class starts at 9 sharp. What is this behavior?”
Arnav didn’t even flinch.
He tossed the football into his bag and stretched lazily.
“Traffic,” he said simply.
Students snickered.
Mrs. Sharma wasn’t amused.
“Do you think this is funny? You are late again! Detention after school.”
“Okay,” Arnav said, shrugging.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t apologize.
He didn’t even look at the teacher for more than a second.
Finally, he dropped into the empty seat near the window, leaning back like he owned the place.
Meera stood frozen mid-introduction, unsure if she should continue or sit.
Mrs. Sharma sighed in frustration.
“Meera, please continue.”
Meera’s face burned.
Everyone had forgotten her intro.
Half the class was staring at Arnav now.
She cleared her throat softly.
“I… I like drawing,” she whispered.
A few boys chuckled.
“Of course she does. Look at that sketchbook.”
“Old-fashioned artist.”
Meera’s fingers tightened on her book, but she forced a small smile.
“That’s all,” she finished quietly.
“Good,” Mrs. Sharma nodded. “Take your seat.”
As Meera sat back down, she could feel Arnav’s presence like heavy air in the room.
He hadn’t looked at her once.
Not even once.
Not when she stood.
Not when she spoke.
Not after their awkward morning encounter.
To him… she was invisible.
But someone else noticed.
From the back corner of the class, behind half-lowered lashes, Kartik watched her sit down with her head bowed ― her dupatta pulled tightly around her shoulders, her sketchbook clutched like it was the only safe thing in the world.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He didn’t know why…
…but something about the new girl made him look twice.
- Writer
