Sometimes, love doesn’t arrive with fireworks or grand confessions.

Sometimes, it slips into your heart quietly—through glances, laughter, and the sound of someone’s name.

Y/N never planned on falling in love. She was in 10th standard—just a regular girl in an average tuition class, preparing for board exams with a group of equally tired students and a strict male teacher who didn’t believe in breaks. Loud when she was excited, playful among friends, and a little funny without even trying, Y/N lived her days in the chaos of teenage worries and silly inside jokes.

Then came Suhail.

A 12th standard commerce student. Not a topper. Not a teacher’s favorite. Just a regular guy—funny in the simplest ways, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes silly, always late, always charming in his own quiet way. He wasn’t the kind of boy who made girls blush with dramatic entrances or shiny grades, but there was something about him that made Y/N’s world stop for just a second.

Maybe it was the way he joked with his friends, pretending not to care.

Maybe it was the way his eyes focused when he was actually trying to understand something.

Or maybe it was just the way he handed her a pencil one day with a crooked smile—and unknowingly stole a piece of her heart.

From that moment, everything changed for Y/N.

It wasn’t love at first sight. It was slower than that. Softer. A quiet build-up of feelings she didn’t even know she could have. Every tuition class became a stage for her silent love story—a glance here, a shared smile there, and the aching silence in between. She began looking forward to those boring afternoon classes, just for the chance to sit near him or hear him laugh.

But the truth was simple, and painfully clear.

He didn’t know.

Suhail never looked at her the way she looked at him. To him, she was probably just another junior student, another kid at the back of the room who copied down notes and answered roll call. Maybe he remembered her name. Maybe he didn’t.

Still, Y/N’s heart didn’t care.

As weeks passed, the feelings grew. She imagined conversations they never had. She wrote his name in the corners of her notebook when no one was watching. She laughed a little louder when he was around, and found herself trying just a bit harder on the days he was there.

But time, as always, was cruel.

Soon, Suhail would graduate. Tuition would end. Life would move on.

Now, Suhail is in his first year of college. Y/N is in 11th standard, slowly stepping into the same stream he once studied. But he’s not around anymore. No more shared classrooms. No more glances. Only the quiet ache of memories—and a heart that still hasn’t forgotten.

“Love Just Out of Reach” is a heartfelt, episode-wise story of a teenage girl’s journey through one-sided love. A love that was never spoken, never returned, but deeply felt. It explores the beauty of unspoken emotions, the innocence of a schoolgirl’s crush, and the bittersweet truth that not all love stories are meant to be returned.

Because sometimes,

The most powerful kind of love…

Is the one that stays hidden.

There’s nothing extraordinary about a tuition class.

Unless your heart starts to beat a little differently when someone walks in.

August 2024

Our tuition class took place above our sir’s house, tucked into a cozy balcony space covered with plastic sheets. The square-holed steel railings let us peek at the trees dancing in the breeze. Fans hummed lazily above, and when the sky started to dim, sir would stroll around switching on the tube lights—like lighting little stars just for us.

Benches and desks were lined up just like a typical school classroom. We all sat together—boys and girls on the same benches, no one cared. It was chill, noisy, and full of teenage energy and exam tension.

I sat with my chaos crew: Nihala, Devitha, Jumana, and Naznin—each more unhinged than the other. We were the kind of girls who could whisper ten roast jokes in under 30 seconds, draw each other as potatoes in our notebooks, and fight over pens like it was war.

And the boys?

Well, they were no less dramatic.

Sinan the soft-hearted villain.

Rayyan, who walked in like background music should follow him.

Amaan, who laughed halfway through every sentence.

Adarsh, the quiet math genius.

Yasin, who turned every desk into a drum kit.

Aahil, who could win an Oscar for being extra.

Ameer, who had a deep emotional bond with his mysterious water bottle.

Aman P.A., who acted like sir’s assistant but wasn’t even on payroll.

And of course, Emmanuel, who once called sir “Amma” and is still emotionally recovering.

Ibrahim was the one who had a cute little crush on me. He once passed me a pen and said, “Use this when your heart wants to write the truth.” I wanted to throw the pen and myself out the window.

But none of them made my heart stop like Suhail did.

He was from the 12th commerce batch. Two years older. He had his own group of friends who sat separately during their time slot. They were the older-batch cool guys—always laughing about inside jokes and pretending to hate tuition but never missing a class.

Suhail was… calm. Average student. Playful smile. Nothing fancy. But somehow… everything.

He didn’t know I existed.

Never looked at me.

Never said my name.

But I? I knew what shirt he wore on rainy days.

---

January 2025

It was test season. Stress, flying papers, and too many pens. That day, sir had asked us to solve a previous year’s Maths board exam paper.

I was late.

Like actually late. Panting-up-the-stairs kind of late.

I pushed open the square-holed railing door, clutching my bag and water bottle, fully expecting sir to give me a lecture.

And there he was.

Suhail. Standing next to sir.

They were discussing something about test papers. I froze at the door, breathless.

Sir looked at me with a classic annoyed-teacher face. But before he could say anything, Suhail turned his head, met my eyes and asked with that half-smile:

> “Why did you come late today?”

Me, internally: IS THIS REAL LIFE???

I blinked. Words? What were words? My brain screamed, Say something smart!

My mouth:

> “Uh… maybe my blanket didn’t want me to leave.”

He laughed.

He actually laughed.

Sir rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, comedy duo. Sit down and solve the paper. Not a stand-up show.”

I rushed to my usual bench, heart thudding. And guess what?

Suhail came and sat next to me.

Behind me, I could feel the invisible chaos from my girls.

Devitha: “Did he just—?”

Jumana: “Manifested it. She really did.”

Nihala: “Bro this is the start of a Wattpad story.”

Naznin was already planning our wedding hashtag.

I opened my notebook, tried to focus. But the question paper looked like Sanskrit. My brain was too busy screaming:

> HE. TALKED. TO. ME.

Suhail, meanwhile, was calmly solving the test as if he hadn’t just emotionally wrecked my entire system.

---

When class ended, we all stood up. Emmanuel tripped over someone’s bag and then saluted sir. Amaan laughed without context. The usual.

Sir walked to the door and gently shut the steel railing gate after we stepped out—like always.

But as I walked down those stairs, my mind kept replaying that one moment.

“Why did you come late today?”

Not much. Just a sentence. A few seconds.

But sometimes, that’s all it takes for something ordinary to feel unforgettable.

And maybe…

that was the day I fell a little deeper into a feeling I wasn’t ready to name.

Let me paint a picture for you: 10 teenagers, 1 teacher with zero fear of losing his mind, benches that creak more than our motivation, and Wi-Fi that only works when you don’t need it.

I walked into class exactly seven minutes late.

Sir was already standing with Suhail beside him, flipping through notes.

“Why did you come late today?” Suhail asked suddenly.

EXCUSE ME?

Did he just speak to me?

Me?

The girl who turns into a statue when he walks by?

I blinked.

“…Traffic jam in the brain, I guess,” I mumbled and practically sprinted to my seat before I combusted like a science experiment gone wrong.

Jumana immediately smacked my arm. “Did he just talk to you?”

“I think so,” I whispered. “Or I hallucinated again.”

Devitha leaned in with a smirk. “Bro. The way your eyes widened—like a WiFi signal finally found a tower.”

---

Now back to the chaos.

Sinan had brought his emotional support tiffin box again and was sneakily opening it under the desk.

Sir: “What is that smell? Are we cooking mutton curry in class now?”

Sinan (innocently): “Sir, it’s just chicken biriyani.”

Sir: “Just chicken biriyani? This is tuition, not Taste Atlas.”

Rayyan added, “Sir, Sinan is preparing for MasterChef.”

Sir: “Then cook your Maths answers too!”

We were all crying. Crying from laughter. Especially Devitha, who had gone full-on pig-mode laugh by this point. Her head was on the table, shoulders shaking like a washing machine in spin cycle.

Emmanuel whispered, “Someone call pest control, she’s turning into a wild boar again.”

Devitha: “I heard that.”

---

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Jumana was busy deleting all the BTS reels I tried to airdrop her.

“Stop trying to convert me,” she said.

“But Jungkook is basically art,” I whined.

“And I only like maths and memes.”

“You have no soul.”

“Your soul belongs to Suhail, shut up.”

I almost flipped my table.

---

Then came sir’s iconic moment of the day.

Sir: “Today we’re doing a test.”

Everyone: groans

Sir: “Smile! It’s not a blood test. Yet.”

He handed us five problems that looked like they were created to ruin happiness. I stared at the first question like it had personally insulted my intelligence.

Jumana peeked at my paper and whispered, “Why did you write ‘Suhail’ instead of ‘solution’?”

I panicked and tried to erase it with my fingernail because my eraser had been stolen… by Sinan, two weeks ago.

Sinan, watching from across the bench, proudly waved my eraser at me like he was holding a victory flag.

---

Post-test chaos:

Sir noticed Emmanuel trying to connect to the WiFi.

Sir: “Planning to watch a movie or solve algebra?”

Emmanuel: “Sir, notes PDF.”

Sir: “You’ll get a K-drama PDF if you keep using that phone!”

---

After the test, sir made us all sit through one of his classic 5-minute “motivational speeches” that somehow ended with this:

“Even if you fail in Maths, you can succeed in marriage. But if you fail in both, then only Jesus can save you.”

---

When class finally ended, we started packing up. That’s when he passed by.

Suhail.

He was walking out with his friends, laughing at something one of them said, but right as he crossed our row—

—he looked straight at me.

For half a second.

Just a glance. A flicker.

But my brain went:

💥💘🔊 “EMERGENCY! CODE RED! SUHAIL HAS MADE EYE CONTACT!” 🔊💘💥

And the worst part?

I almost tripped over my own bag while trying to act normal. 🙃

---

As we walked out, sir stood at the doorway and called out, “Come Wednesday—no biriyani, no late entry, and definitely no romance!”

I swear he looked at me when he said that.

My friends howled.

Jumana: “You’re done for, lover girl.”

Sinan: “Should we make wedding invites now or after the board exams?”

Devitha: “Let’s put Suhail’s face on a cake and eat it on Friday!”

Me: “Please delete yourselves.”

---

And just like that, another day passed… full of madness, food crimes, laughter… and one tiny, precious look.

One day, I’d tell this story with pride.

But for now, I just wanted Wednesday to come faster.