Back in Class 11, life felt like a secret garden - blooming with laughter, mischief, and quiet dreams tucked between pages of textbooks and the rustle of school uniforms. I was Cazal then, not just a name but a feeling - a version of myself that lived in the thrill of stolen glances, whispered jokes, and the unspoken bond of friendship. My closest companion was Yugal, the kind of friend who knew my silences better than my words. We shared everything - from halfeaten samosas to half-understood feelings - and together, we made the ordinary feel extraordinary.
Sneha was in Class 9. She moved through the corridors like a soft breeze - innocent, quiet, and to me, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Her presence was gentle, like the first drizzle after a long summer. I never spoke of it, not even to Yugal, but I carried a one-sided love for her - the kind that turns every moment into poetry. A glimpse of her at the water cooler, a smile exchanged during morning assembly, the way her braid swayed as she walked - these were my treasures, my secret verses.
I never dared to confess. It wasn't fear exactly - it was reverence. Loving her felt sacred, like a prayer I didn't want to disturb with words. I watched from afar, content with the magic of proximity. Her voice, felt like music. Her laughter, rare and soft, echoed in my heart long after the moment passed.
Those days were painted in hues of innocence and longing. The school bell marked not just the end of periods, but the rhythm of my emotions. Every day held the possibility of a new memory - a fleeting glance, a shared moment, a silent wish. And though she never knew, Sneha became the muse of my adolescence, the quiet heartbeat behind my loudest dreams.