Ananya didn't say anything to Karthik for the rest of the day—but she didn't ignore him either.
It was a strange limbo. They sat beside each other in English class, but their elbows didn't brush like usual. During group discussions, she nodded at his suggestions, but her eyes never lingered on his. And during break, while she sat two benches away chatting with her friends, Karthik caught her glancing at him—twice.
He didn't know if that was forgiveness or confusion.
But it was something.
And for now, something was enough.
---
The school was abuzz with preparations for the upcoming Inter-School Cultural Fest. Banners were being painted, dance teams were rehearsing in the corridors, and the debate club was louder than ever.
To Karthik's surprise, his name was on the signup list for the short film contest.
"What is this?" he asked his classmate Saran, pointing at the paper on the bulletin board.
"Oh, Ananya suggested your name," Saran shrugged. "Said you had a good imagination and should be scriptwriter. You're in charge of storyboarding too."
Karthik blinked. Ananya hadn't told him.
His heart thudded.
During lunch, he approached her cautiously. "You signed me up?"
She glanced up from her idli-sambar. "You said you wanted to be better. I thought this would help."
"You really think I can… write for a contest?"
"I've read your writing, Karthik. The little horror-comedy short you gave me last month? It was brilliant."
He looked down, embarrassed.
"Also," she added with a smirk, "you owe me for ditching the library walk. So you're writing. No arguments."
A reluctant smile crept onto his face. "Yes, ma'am."
---
That evening, he sat with his notebook open, pen in hand. His thoughts wandered, but they always circled back to Ananya.
Not just her, but them.
Their growing friendship. The tension. The laughter. The silence. The way her presence stitched light into his darkness.
He scribbled the first line of the story.
> "A boy who hated mirrors met a girl who saw his reflection clearer than he ever could."
He paused.
It was fiction.
But it was also the truth.
---
By Friday, the air between them was warmer. Karthik handed her the script draft, cheeks red. She read it during their math class (with the teacher blissfully unaware) and looked at him afterward with something soft in her eyes.
"Your main characters feel familiar," she whispered.
He raised an eyebrow. "You think?"
She leaned closer. "The girl in your story—she's smarter than the boy."
"She is," he grinned.
"And prettier," she added.
"Undoubtedly."
Her laugh returned. Real and whole.
The ice was cracking. And beneath it, the warmth of something fragile, something tender, began to bloom.
---
End of Chapter 52