700 ᏦᎥᏝᎧᎷᏋᏖᏒᏋᏕ ᏗᏇᏗᎩ

Chapter 8: Where Hiding Felt Loud

The next few days in school unfolded with a strange, awkward rhythm. Ishwaani, ever the lively one, tried in small, innocent ways to bridge the growing distance between her and Harshan. Every now and then, she would glance at him during class, trying to catch his eyes. During breaks, she would slowly walk past his bench, pretending to be looking for something or someone, her gaze often lingering.

But Harshan? He was a master of quiet escapes. His books were always stacked neatly, bag zipped, and legs ready to move the second the bell rang. He slipped out during breaks, disappeared during lunch, and hardly ever looked up when she was nearby.

To make things more difficult, for the first few days after that after-school encounter, Ishwaani’s parents picked her up right from the school gate. Their car would be waiting when the last bell rang. Harshan would see her walking briskly with her bag, her head turning slightly—as if searching for someone in the crowd. He would lower his gaze and turn the other way, pretending he hadn’t noticed.

One morning, during the second period break, she approached his desk casually, trying once again.

"Hey, Harshan," she whispered, tapping gently on his desk.

Harshan glanced up, startled. "Yes?"

"Do you have the notes from yesterday's biology class? I think I missed one part."

He nodded stiffly and handed her his notebook without saying a word. She smiled, sat beside him briefly to copy, and looked sideways.

"You always avoid me in class. Are you scared of me or something?" she teased lightly.

"No... It’s not that," Harshan mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.

Before she could say more, the teacher entered. She returned to her seat, but not without giving him a half-smile that lingered longer than it should have.

The next day, she tried again. During lunch break, she lingered near the classroom door.

"Going somewhere again? You never eat with the class," she asked as Harshan stepped out.

"I'm going to Dharan's class," Harshan replied, barely meeting her eyes.

"Dharan is your safety blanket, huh?" she smiled.

"He's just... it's quieter there."

"Still avoiding me," she said softly. "Got it."

Harshan didn’t reply. He walked away with a slight hesitation but didn’t turn back. He hated the guilt creeping up his throat, but the fear of whispers always won.

By the third day, those whispers had already started.

"Did you see Harshan talking to Ishwaani yesterday?" someone murmured.

"I think he’s trying to get close to her," another said with a snicker.

"She’s new and pretty. Typical."

"Why would someone like her talk to someone like him?"

Harshan heard these murmurs. He always did. He felt them in the way people looked at him, the way their laughter paused when he walked by. That sting, that judgment—it made him retreat deeper into himself.

And still, Ishwaani tried. On the fourth day, she waited near the water tap when she saw him approaching.

"Hey," she said, pretending to fill her bottle.

"Hi," he replied quickly, stepping aside.

"You don’t hate me, right?" she asked out of the blue.

Harshan looked confused. "What? No. Why would you think that?"