Her dupatta was stuck in my watch.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The evening sun was soft, almost golden, and the school gate behind us was slowly emptying. Students walked past us, laughing, unaware that in that tiny pause, my entire world had gone silent.
She looked down first. Then at me.
"I think…" she said softly, trying not to smile, "your watch doesn't want to let me go."
My heart skipped.
I carefully untangled the delicate fabric from the metal strap, my fingers brushing against her wrist for a second longer than necessary.
"There," I said, pretending to stay calm. "Free."
"Thank you," she replied.
And then she walked away.
I stood there for almost five to ten minutes after she left.
Frozen.
My heart was pounding like a bullet train — fast, unstoppable, reckless. For the first time in my life, I didn't feel like the confident Sarthak everyone admired.
I felt like a boy who had just touched something precious and didn't know how to handle it.
---
That night, after reaching home, I couldn't stop smiling.
During dinner, Maa asked, "Why are you smiling at your plate?"
"Nothing," I replied quickly.
But everything had changed.
For the first time, I had held her hand. Even if it was just to support her. Even if it was just for a few minutes.
Her hands were unbelievably soft.
When I lay down on my bed that night, every time I closed my eyes, she was there. Laughing. Looking at me. Holding my hand.
I turned from left to right.
Sleep refused to come.
That was the first night I realized — love doesn't let you rest.
---
The next morning, I reached school earlier than usual.
I scanned the corridor.
No sign of her.
She was absent.
A strange anxiety settled inside me. Was she still unwell? Was the dizziness worse?
The day felt unusually long. Classes ended, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
As soon as I reached home, I texted her.
"Are you okay?"
A few minutes later, her reply came.
"Yeah… just a slight headache because of yesterday's journey. I'm fine now :)"
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"Good. But whatever you say… yesterday was really fun."
She replied almost immediately.
"It was."
And just like that, we started talking.
One topic led to another. Teasing, laughing, sharing random stories.
Two hours passed.
Then three.
I didn't notice time.
That night, I felt something different.
Stronger.
As if with her by my side — even through a phone screen — I could conquer the world.
---
The next morning, while walking to school, I noticed her ahead of me.
"Payel!" I called out.
She turned around. "Oh, good morning."
"Can I join you?" I asked casually.
She smiled. "You already did."
From that day onward, we started going to school together. And coming back together.
Morning walks turned into daily rituals.
We would discuss assignments, complain about teachers, laugh at silly things.
Sometimes we would walk in silence — comfortable silence.
She was my junior.
But unknowingly, I was falling for her more deeply with each passing day.
Time flew before our exams.
And then came January.
On 22nd January, the day before Subhash Jayanti, our principal called us to his office.
"There is a program in another school," he explained. "Our school will host it. There will be prize distribution and cultural performances. Sarthak, I want you to be the host."
My heart skipped.
Hosting? That too in front of an external audience?
I was confident, yes. Debate champion, yes. But this was different.
"And you'll have a partner," sir continued.
I silently prayed it wouldn't be someone irresponsible.
"Payel."
I tried not to smile too widely.
"Well sir…" I said dramatically, "if Payel is my partner, then maybe I can manage. She's talented."
She looked at me, trying to suppress a smile.
Sir instructed us to wear ethnic attire.
That's when something clicked.
I belong to a Bengali family. My full name is Sarthak Chatterjee. My father, a government officer, had been transferred to Pune years ago.
And Payel…
She too was Bengali. Her roots were in Kolkata.
We decided — we would represent our culture.
I chose a red handprinted kurta.
She chose a lal payra saree — the traditional white saree with red borders worn during Durga Puja's Dashami.
The next day, we learned we would have to host in both Hindi and Bengali. Professors from Kolkata University would attend.
We were nervous.
At least she looked nervous.
Before the event, I pulled her aside.
"Hey," I said gently. "I know you're nervous."
She nodded slightly.
"But I trust you more than anyone. You're the most talented girl I've ever met. Sometimes I wonder how God can create someone with both beauty and brains at the same level."
She looked down, blushing deeply.
"I don't know what you think about yourself," I continued, "but I believe in you. You'll do amazing."
For a moment, she didn't speak.
Then she softly called my name.
"Sarthak?"
"Yes?"
"Wear that red kurta you wore at your nephew's ceremony. It suits you."
I smiled. "Okay."
Behind her, her friends were whispering loudly.
"Ahhaa… did we get our jiju?"
I pretended to be annoyed.
But inside?
I was thinking — yes, maybe one day.
---
I reached the venue early and helped with preparations.
Then I heard my name.
Her voice.
I turned.
And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
She was standing there in her red and white saree.
Her hair slightly curled. A small red bindi on her forehead. Silver earrings swaying gently.
She didn't look like a schoolgirl anymore.
She looked like poetry.
"You're staring," she said softly.
"I'm observing," I replied.
She laughed nervously. "How do I look?"
I swallowed.
"Like you were born for this stage."
Her cheeks turned red again.
That evening, when we stood side by side on the stage, introducing the program in Hindi and then smoothly transitioning into Bengali, something felt different.
We weren't just hosting.
We were shining.
Every time our eyes met between lines, there was silent encouragement.
And when the audience applauded at the end, she squeezed my hand gently.
"We did it," she whispered.
"Yes," I replied.
But what I really meant was—
We.
Even today, when I see her old pictures in that saree, my heart beats the same way it did that evening.
Maybe stronger.
Back then, I was just falling for her.
Now, when I look back…
I realize that was the day I truly began to love her.
And love, once it begins like that—
It never really ends.
To be continued..