Before We Knew

More Than a Glance

The classroom buzzed with a low hum—the rustle of papers, the soft click of pens, the occasional murmur from one corner to the next. Outside the tall windows, the trees swayed slightly under a greyish sky, the kind that hinted spring was around the corner but hadn’t fully decided.

Ruhi sat near the back, a pencil balanced between her fingers. Her notebook lay open, a neat list of scholarship deadlines written in her usual clean script. She’d gone over it twice already, ticking off one or two boxes, but it still felt like an unfinished puzzle. Like something she was hoping to solve before time caught up.

She hadn’t told anyone about the final essay draft yet. Only Sidro. It wasn’t about secrecy—it was just easier to keep something sacred when too many eyes weren’t watching. She’d prayed about it, whispered her intentions during sujood. It was between her and her Rabb.

Sidro tapped her foot against the leg of Ruhi’s chair, leaning slightly. “You okay?”

Ruhi nodded, a soft smile curving her lips. “Just thinking.”

Sidro squinted playfully. “Thinking, or overthinking?”

Ruhi gave her a look.

“Okay, okay,” Sidro laughed under her breath. “But if you need help editing or breathing or screaming, I’m available.”

Ruhi shook her head lightly, grateful. Sidro could be a storm in a coffee cup, but she always showed up when it mattered.

Toward the front, Irfan was bent over his notebook, drawing something that looked nothing like notes. He caught Junaid’s attention and passed the page across—something with exaggerated stick figures and a dramatic label that read “Junaid’s Secret Lair of Calculated Calmness.”

Junaid blinked at the drawing, then chuckled under his breath. He turned slightly, enough for Ruhi to catch the curve of his smile before he refocused.

It was strange how often her gaze found him these days—not out of habit, but because he was… easy to notice, in the quietest of ways.

After class, the hallway grew louder. Students flowed toward the courtyard, some chattering about the upcoming math test, others distracted by the sudden appearance of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

Ruhi walked slowly beside Sidro, her bag heavier than usual with textbooks and a mind full of plans.

“You should submit it today,” Sidro said, skipping a step. “The application. You’ve rewritten that essay three times.”

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Ruhi replied.

Sidro raised a brow. “The right moment or the perfect one?”

Ruhi didn’t answer.

They rounded the corner, and Junaid and Irfan were already at their usual spot beneath the courtyard’s half-blooming tree.

“There’s our resident lab legend,” Irfan called out when he saw them.

Sidro waved back. “Still bitter I beat you in that chemistry puzzle?”

“You circled the wrong compound and still won,” Irfan groaned.

“Because I circled it with flair,” she replied dramatically.

Ruhi smiled faintly, easing into her spot beside the bench. Junaid offered a nod in greeting—nothing showy, just that small gesture he always made when words weren’t needed.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter than Irfan’s chaos.

Ruhi nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking through some stuff.”

He didn’t pry. Just offered, “If you ever want a second pair of eyes on it, I’m good with words. And scholarship things.”

That surprised her more than she expected. “You’ve applied before?”

“Last year. Robotics program. Got it.”

Ruhi’s eyebrows lifted slightly. She hadn’t known that. She hadn’t known he was interested in robotics either.

“What kind of robotics?”

Junaid looked thoughtful. “Assistive tech mostly. Stuff that supports people with physical limitations. Not as flashy, but more useful, I think.”

Ruhi nodded slowly. “That’s… really cool.”

Their eyes met for a second longer than usual before they both looked away. Irfan broke the moment by nearly falling off the bench while demonstrating a “brilliant idea” that involved balancing a sandwich on a pen.

“Why do we even let you speak?” Sidro asked, dramatically clutching her forehead.

“Because I bring light and chaos into your boring lives,” Irfan grinned.

The laughter that followed wasn’t loud, but it felt full. Natural.

Ruhi sat back, letting the moment settle in.

The stress of essays, the pressure of choices—it was still there. But surrounded by voices that made her feel seen, by friendships that held space for both silence and noise, she felt a little more balanced.

Just enough to keep going.