When seventh grade neared its close, classrooms stopped feeling like study zones. Instead, they turned into something closer to theaters. With the yearly Culture Show drawing near, power inside the building began changing hands. Grades mattered less suddenly. What counted now came down to rehearsal timetables ruling every hour.

  Chosen for the choir, also handed a main part on stage. We rehearsed where? Inside the school’s library - huge, quiet, thick with the smell of aged pages and memories left behind. That space, odd as it sounds, let "Dhanya the Rigid" blend right in without trying.

  Faster than a gust across fields, whispers slip through school halls in Punjab.

  Dhanya, quit gazing at those scribbles and pay attention," Nalini snapped, tugging my arm as we edged toward the rear of the room ahead of roll call.

  "What is it, Nalini? I have to memorize the second act before the librarian kicks us out," I said, adjusting my dupatta.

  "Ajay wants to talk to you."

  The name hit me like a confusing math problem. "Ajay? The 10th-grade Ajay? The one who plays basketball? Why would he want to talk to me? I don't even know him!"

  Nalini’s eyes sparkled with that dangerous "I-know-something-you-don't" look. "He saw you at practice yesterday. He told me you looked like a 'dream' under the library lights. He wants you to meet him after practice today. Alone."

  My heart did a somersault. Alone? After school? "Nalini, are you crazy? If my father sees me standing alone with a senior after school, I won't just be grounded - I’ll be sent to a boarding school in the Himalayas! If he wants to talk, the library is right there. It’s huge! Why can't he just say 'hello' like a normal person?"

  Funny how she began poking fun right away, Nalini’s words slipping out like a tune hummed just too loud. Dhanya with Ajay, tucked beneath leaves, maybe grinning - maybe not

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  All morning long, I moved like someone half-awake. Movies showed love - those loud Kerala dramas full of cousin weddings and yelling uncles - but that felt distant. Now it stood right here, breathing in front of me. Me, caught inside it.

  The Silent Shadow

  Fog pressed against the windows by then, turning pages without hands. Perched on a wooden seat beside novels about planets and lies, I stared at lines of dialogue meant for rehearsal. A shift came through - sound thinning, breath catching - as if something unseen had just stepped close.

  Over by the tree, Nalini pointed with her elbow. He's right there, she breathed, giving my arm a small push.

  Up I glanced. Near the book help table stood Ajay. Sharp he looked - so sharp the older students seemed rumpled kids beside him. Talking? Not at all. Moving? Hardly a twitch. Just there… fixed, eyes locked.

  I tried to turn my eyes elsewhere. Yet, nothing moved. A question formed - then vanished before sound came out. He stayed back, never stepping forward. Just standing. Dressed like any student, still as stone. His gaze locked on me, like everyone else had disappeared.

  Ajay turned into a quiet shadow for the days after. At lunchtime, he stood by the food counter without speaking. Near the entrance each afternoon, his presence returned like clockwork. Not pushing to talk. Not showing hurt when I kept away. Just staying close enough so I’d see him. There.

  Summer warmth brought a shift. Not only Ajay looked my way now. Magic seemed to hang in the air. The older students, those from 11th and 12th grades - the ones everyone called Big Gods - started seeing me as well.

  A shift was happening. Not quite a girl now, though laughter from classmates felt like sunlight. Yet under that glow, fear curled tight - the kind that remembers bedtime rules, the weight of a father’s silence. A single rumour, maybe just a name spoken too loud, could unravel everything.