Feathers Of The Past
They hadn't spoken much.
A handful of conversations—nothing poetic, nothing unforgettable.
Yet somehow, it was enough.
Enough to linger.
Enough to dream.
Enough to write entire stories in her head where he said the words he never would.
She wasn't sure when it began,
but she remembered the way he looked away when their eyes met—
like he knew,
and didn't want to know.
It was a warm evening, and the sun was just setting behind the clouds.
How ironic, she thought.
The sun—despite spreading light and warmth the entire day—looked like a tired child now, slipping behind the clouds as if they were cradling it to sleep.
Her evening had been ordinary until then.
Earphones in, the harsh beat of phonk buzzing in her ears.
But her body stiffened as her surroundings changed.
The badminton court.
She picked up her pace.
Eyes on the ground.
She hadn't looked that way in weeks.
She told herself she wouldn't—not now, not today.
But fate has a strange sense of humour.
A shuttlecock flew out of nowhere and landed by her feet.
She stopped.
And for a moment, the world stood still.
Her breath caught.
She didn't move. Didn't blink.
How long had it been since she last heard that sound—
the soft thud of feathers brushing against concrete?
She looked up, almost involuntarily.
And there he was.
Behind the boy who had called out for the shuttlecock.
Not playing. Not smiling.
Just there.
Their eyes met.
And that's when time bent backwards.
They were on the same court once.
She had picked up the racquet with trembling hands, trying to act like she belonged there.
He was already good at the game.
She knew that. Everyone knew that.
And yet, when he asked if she wanted to join, it was so casual. So unbothered.
As if the space beside him was always meant for her.
That was the first time she stood beside him, not as a stranger, but as someone he noticed.
A voice called out again, snapping her back.
The boy's, not his.
She blinked.
The vision dissolved like fog.
She walked toward the boy who had called out.
She didn't speak, just extended the shuttlecock in her palm.
He smiled, thanked her.
She didn't look at him again.
She didn't need to.
She had already said what she had to—
with that one quiet act of grace.
