Shavya Chaturved ,an 11th grader,a walking talking dose of sunshine.A master of subtle distraction and a specialist in forgotten homework.
A hopeless romantic.
An open book on the outside, always smiling, always laughing but her most interesting cha...
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After the loud, joyful chaos of the Diwali celebration subsided, Arav sought refuge in the quiet solitude of the garden. He was sitting alone, staring up at the moon, enjoying the cool peace.
A thought invaded his mind—the thought of Ishaya. How can she be so pure? He looked at the moon, a silent message in his gaze: She is brighter and purer than you. He was lost in thinking about her—she was everything he never wanted in a person (loud, chaotic, demanding), yet he couldn't stop thinking about her serene beauty.
Suddenly, he felt a warm presence beside him. Who else could it be but his beautiful chaos, Ishaya?
Ishaya: "Kya kar rahe hain aap?" (What are you doing?)
Arav turned, and the calm, serene beauty of her face instantly fractured all his philosophical thoughts. He had to look away quickly.
Arav: (Softly, his mind still on her purity) "Kuch nahi, soch raha tha. Kabhi-kabhi chand ko bhi competition mil jaata hai, nahin? Competitor nahin, usse zyada bright aur pure." (Nothing, just thinking. Sometimes the moon gets competition, right? Not a competitor, but something brighter and purer than it.)
Ishaya instantly understood his gaze. A rush of butterflies erupted in her stomach, and she lowered her lashes, a blush adorning her cheeks. Arav looked back at her for a second. How can a person look this pure and simple, yet elegant?
Arav thought, staring at her: "Tum woh chand ho, jiska noor sitaron se bhi zyada hai. Har shor ke baad, meri rooh ko milta tumhara hi sahara hai." (You are that moon, whose light is more than the stars. After every noise, my soul finds only your support.)
They fell into a comfortable, peaceful silence. Ishaya stared at the moon, lost in the overwhelming thought of her crush sitting this close, admiring her—it felt like a dream.
Suddenly, she felt Arav looking at her again. He was holding something small and delicate in his hand: a tiny, intricately fashioned tiara made of gold wire and small, shimmering glass beads—a simple, elegant piece.
Ishaya: (Surprised) "Yeh kab banaya aapne?" (When did you make this?)
Arav felt a rush of blood to his face, his ears slowly turning tomato red. Ishaya couldn't help but think, Aww, how cute a man looks when he blushes.
Arav: (Stammering, nervous) "W-woh... jab yahan baitha tha akele toh..." (W-well... when I was sitting here alone...)
Ishaya: (Teasing gently) "Aur kiske liye?" (And for whom?)
Arav's face could now easily compete with a tomato. "W-woh... tum... haan, free tha toh socha bana doon. Tum pehnogi?" (W-well... you... yes, I was free, so I thought I'd make it. Will you wear it?) He asked, his voice laced with the nervousness of possible rejection.
Ishaya nodded, her heart doing a dizzying butterfly dance. As she reached to take it, Arav gently stopped her hand.
