700 ᏦᎥᏝᎧᎷᏋᏖᏒᏋᏕ ᏗᏇᏗᎩ

Chapter 12: School-Library-Gate-Terrace

They would revise, laugh in hushed tones, and sometimes just sit quietly, staring at the stars.

What they didn’t realize was that someone had begun to notice.

Ishwaani’s sister, Ankita, had grown increasingly aware of her younger sibling’s unusual behaviour. She watched Ishwaani rush to the mirror before 8 p.m. every evening, checking her hair, smiling at herself, adjusting her earrings for no reason. One day, she even saw Ishwaani holding her book upside down while smiling at the window.

“Why are you smiling at nothing?” Ankita asked playfully one evening.
“I was just...thinking about a joke from class,” Ishwaani replied, flustered.

But that wasn’t the end of it. One night, Ankita walked past Ishwaani’s room and saw her scribbling something in her notebook with great concentration. Curious, she peeped inside only to find her quickly shutting the book. Suspicion began to grow.

A few days later, as the exam pressure increased and the routine of school-library-gate-terrace continued, ankita decided to bring it up in front of their parents.

During dinner, she casually asked, “Why are you so excited to study at the terrace these days, Ishu?”

It was a simple question. But for Ishwaani, it was lightning.

She froze.

The glass of water in her hand trembled slightly.

“I— I just like the breeze,” she replied too quickly.

Their father, chewing slowly, glanced up with mild interest. Their mother paused mid-bite.

Ankita smiled knowingly. “You didn’t even go up there much before. Now suddenly you’re in love with stars and rooftops?”

“I— It’s peaceful there,” Ishwaani said, fumbling.

Her voice cracked just enough for Ankita’s suspicions to root deeper.

That night, as they washed dishes together, Ankita nudged her shoulder.

“You’re hiding something,” she said softly.

Ishwaani didn’t respond.

___

The next evening, on the terrace, Ishwaani told Harshan everything.

“She suspects. I don’t know how, but she does.”

“Did she see us?” Harshan asked, eyes alert.

“No, but... she might check. I told her it’s peaceful there. And then she looked at me like she knew.”

They both stood in silence for a while.

“I don’t even have a phone,” she sighed. “If anything happens, how will I even talk to you?”

Harshan looked at her gently. “Then let’s not let anything happen. If your sister asks anything, say we don’t even talk anymore.”

She smirked. “she doesn't know you , also we don’t in school.”

They both laughed, but there was a weight beneath that laughter.

Their books stayed closed that night.

They simply sat close, watching the moon rise slowly into the sky, trying to memorize this feeling. This moment.

In the days that followed, their terrace meetings became quieter, shorter, cloaked in the paranoia of being caught. The thrill was still there, but the fear grew alongside it.Ankita was clever. She didn’t confront, but she observed.

And Ishwaani didn’t have a phone. No secret messages. No digital trail.

They lived in analog—a time of glances, whispers, and shared paper notes that disappeared by the end of the night.

Still, they held on.

Then came the last day of 11th grade.

The classrooms overflowed with chaos and joy. Students scribbled messages in each other’s notebooks. They took blurry group selfies on hidden phones. Some cried. Some shouted. Some made plans to meet again.

Harshan and Ishwaani stood still in the middle of it all.

Their desks were side by side, but their minds wandered elsewhere—towards the unknown days ahead, towards time that might not be this generous anymore.

Harshan and Ishwaani felt differently. While others talked about the long summer ahead, they were quiet, anxious. They knew the secret routine they had built was slowly collapsing under scrutiny.

Even if ankita returned to college after her holidays, their parents had started noticing too. It was becoming risky. Their little world on the terrace was starting to crack.

And amidst the laughter and goodbye selfies, Harshan stood at the back of the class, watching Ishwaani tie her hair, lost in thought.

She turned and caught his eye. Their final glance of the 11th grade.

But neither of them smiled.

Because both were wondering the same thing:

What happens next?

...