The bell rang sharp at 7:45 AM, but it didn’t matter to him. Ayaan stood at the school gate, staring at the chaos beyond — boys laughing, backpacks swinging, teachers barking instructions. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. His first day at this new school. His third new school in five years.

Nobody waited for him. Nobody even noticed him.

As he walked in, he felt like a ghost wandering through someone else's world — present but invisible.

The classroom was already half full. Noise, energy, groups. Ayaan walked past the rows, ignoring the curious half-glances. He found a seat at the back, by the window — the safest place for someone who didn’t want to be seen. He sat down, placed his books neatly on the desk, and looked outside.

Boys ran across the playground. Some already clicked together like old puzzle pieces. He was just the extra one that never fit.

"Hey, this is our bench," a taller boy said, standing over him.

Ayaan looked up. Three of them, already claiming their territory like wild animals. He said nothing, just gathered his things and moved one row behind — a broken desk with rusted edges. No one sat there. Fitting, he thought.

First period. Then second. The hours passed like strangers brushing against each other on a busy road — brief, indifferent, forgettable.

He didn’t speak.

No one asked him to.

---

At lunch, he pulled out his sandwich, the one his mom packed without knowing what he liked. He chewed slowly, looking around. Groups laughed at shared memories, loud jokes, inside conversations he couldn’t enter. A few students played cricket outside; others leaned on each other, retelling stories from vacations or old crushes.

Ayaan sat under a staircase, alone.

That's when he heard a voice.

"Why’re you eating here like some movie orphan?"

Ayaan looked up. A boy with messy hair, brown skin, and a mischievous grin stood with two lunchboxes in hand. He looked more curious than cruel.

Ayaan gave a half-smile. “Didn’t find a better spot.”

The boy sat beside him without asking. "I’m Arjun. You?"

“Ayaan.”

“You new?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Want samosa?”

Ayaan nodded. Took a bite. It was warm, spicy, real. First warm thing he had all day.

They didn’t talk much, but that was fine. Silence was still better when shared.

---

As the days passed, Ayaan found himself fading into the school’s background like a shadow no one paid attention to. He got pushed once or twice. Lost his place in line more than he liked. Fought back once when someone threw his notebook to the floor and called him invisible.

The fight didn’t last long. A teacher shouted, the other boy smirked, and Ayaan was sent to stand outside the class for “disturbing peace.”

He didn’t argue. He never did.

---

By the end of the second week, he knew the names of the loud kids, the bullies, the funny ones, the smart ones. But no one knew his.

He was always there. Always on the edge of photos. Always on the side of groups.

He started keeping a diary in his phone. Not full sentences — just thoughts.

> Lunch alone again.

Arjun was absent. Missed the samosa guy.

That kid Rohit stares at me like I’m a bug on his shoe.

I think I’m getting used to being invisible.

He wasn’t sad, exactly. Just numb. He told himself it was better this way — no friends, no expectations, no disappointments.

---

One night, while lying on his bed with headphones on, Ayaan scrolled through Instagram.

Same faces. Same selfies. Same filters.

Then — a follow request.

@Meher__x

Her profile had one picture — messy curls, a tilted smile, and eyes that looked like they hid stories.

He hesitated. Then followed back.

She sent a message.

"Hey. Do I know you?"

Ayaan stared at the screen for a long second. Then typed back:

"Maybe not yet."

The late-night quiet wasn’t new to Ayaan. It had become his closest companion ever since school started. Silence wasn’t lonely anymore — it was safer than noise.

It was 12:43 AM when the notification buzzed.

Follow Request: Meher__x

No profile picture. Bio said, “Sometimes lost is safer.”

Ayaan didn’t recognize the name. No mutual friends.

He hesitated. Accepted.

A minute later, the first message arrived.

Meher__x:

You don't post much, huh?

Your stories are just songs and shadows.

Ayaan blinked. Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Ayaan:

Better than selfies and drama.

There was a pause. He imagined her smiling — or maybe rolling her eyes. Then:

Meher__x:

Fair. You listen to good music, though. Lo-fi, mostly. I like it.

It feels like... something’s missing, but in a beautiful way.

He didn’t reply right away. But he smiled. That smile felt strange. Rare.

---

Days passed, and the messages didn’t stop.

It wasn’t constant. Just… comfortable.

Midnight conversations. Quiet jokes. Memes at 3 AM.

She talked about the rain. How she hated mornings. How tea calmed her more than people.

He talked about school — how people were too loud, too fast.

Meher didn’t pry. She listened in that rare way where silence didn’t feel awkward.

She told him:

“You're not like most boys. You feel like a break from everything fake.”

Ayaan didn’t know how to reply to that.

But he wrote down the line in his old notebook. Underlined it.

---

One night, he sent a song. Just lyrics.

> "And if we never meet, know this... you were my favorite almost."

A minute later, her reply came:

"Don't say never. Say maybe someday."

He didn’t realize he had been waiting for her messages every night — until one night, she didn’t text.

He checked his phone again. Then again.

Nothing.

It was just one night, but the silence was loud. Familiar in all the wrong ways.

The next night, her message finally arrived:

“Bad day. Sorry. Mind was messy.”

Ayaan replied with a simple:

“I get it. You don’t owe me words.”

She sent a heart. Just one.

And then:

"Thank you for not making me explain."

---

Their chats shifted after that.

From casual to careful. From jokes to confessions.

Meher shared that she hated school hallways — too many stares.

That her mom once called her “too emotional.”

That she sometimes left parties just to sit alone in a quiet bathroom.

That sometimes, she felt like no one saw her unless she was loud — and being loud felt like lying.

Ayaan just replied:

"I see you."

---

By the end of the month, they had shared voice notes — small, cracked laughs, late-night yawns.

Not flirty. Not romantic. Just real.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

But it felt more permanent than most things.

Ayaan wrote in his notebook that night:

“She doesn’t feel like a stranger. She feels like a page I’ve read before.”

And when she asked:

"Do you think people meet for a reason?"

He replied:

"Sometimes I think people meet to save each other, without even realizing it."

A road, a rush, and an unexpected beginning...

It was just another boring Thursday evening for Ayaan. He lay half-dead on his bed, phone on his chest, music playing softly, when her message dropped.

Meher__x:

“I’m out to get some study material. Small road near Govt. Model School. I’ll be here only 15 minutes, so come fast or I’m leaving.”

He blinked. Sat up.

Fifteen minutes?

What kind of test of loyalty was this?

He didn’t even reply.

Just grabbed his hoodie, slid into mismatched shoes, and bolted out of the house like the building was on fire.

---

By the time he reached the lane, he was panting like he’d run a marathon without a medal.

His hair was a mess, one of his shoes was half untied, and he was pretty sure he’d elbowed two people and scared a fruit vendor on the way.

But there she was.

Meher. Standing outside a tiny, dusty bookstore that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since 2003.

She had a small paper bag in one hand, her phone in the other, and her bag loosely hanging off her shoulder. Her school uniform was slightly wrinkled, and she looked... real. Not like a profile picture. Not like a filtered version. Just her.

She saw him and raised an eyebrow. “You ran?”

Ayaan, catching his breath, tried to play it cool.

“Jogged.”

“Your hair says otherwise.”

He awkwardly patted his head and laughed, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You said fifteen minutes. I took it seriously.”

She grinned. “You look like you fought a storm to get here.”

“Kind of did. A cow blocked my way near the chowk. Refused to move.”

That made her laugh — loud and unexpected.

---

They started walking down the narrow street. It was a quiet lane, with old shops, paan stalls, and kids playing cricket in slippers. The sun was dimming, turning everything gold-orange.

“Did you really rush just to see me?” Meher asked, teasing.

He shrugged, trying to hide his smile. “Well, the cow didn't give me much choice.”

She nudged him with her shoulder. “You’re funny. Quiet, but funny.”

Ayaan glanced at her. “You’re bossy. But I kind of like it.”

She smirked. “Good. Because I’ll keep doing it.”

---

That random meetup became their first real step out of the screen. No more profile pictures, no voice notes — just walking side by side on a cracked footpath like two old friends who hadn’t realized they’d just begun.

“Did you get everything?” he asked, nodding toward the paper bag.

“Yeah. Just notebooks. And a highlighter I probably won’t use.”

They stopped near a tiny juice stall. She bought a lemonade, offered it to him without asking.

“Drink. You look like you’re dying.”

He sipped. “I don’t usually run for people, you know.”

She raised her lemonade like a toast. “Feel honored. Also... next time, wear matching shoes.”

He looked down. Groaned. She laughed again — louder this time.

---

As they neared the end of the street, she pointed toward an auto. “That’s my stop.”

He nodded, quietly disappointed the walk was ending already.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, stepping into the auto. “It meant more than you think.”

And before he could reply, she was gone. The auto drove off, and the road felt emptier than before.

He looked down at his phone. Still open to their chat.

He smiled. And typed one thing:

“Worth the run.”