From that day on, the world was different. I began coming to school early, just to catch the moment her bus pulled in - to see her step down, her hair brushing across her face in the morning breeze.
The morning assembly was always the same - rows of uniforms lined up in perfect order, the echo of the bell still hanging in the air, the murmur of hundreds of voices quieting into silence.
The courtyard smelled faintly of chalk dust and damp earth, as the winter sun climbed slowly over the school walls. We stood straight, hands folded, eyes closed as the prayer began. But inside me, nothing was still. My heart beat faster with each verse, not from devotion alone, but from the possibility - the chance that, just for a moment, I might see her.
I kept my head bowed, lips moving with the words. And then, as the lines shifted slightly, as the students adjusted their spacing, I let my eyes wander - just a fraction, just enough to turn. And there she was.
Sneha.
A few rows away, her head bowed gracefully, hair falling gently on one side, her lips forming the same prayer. The pale morning light touched her face, making her seem almost unreal, like something the world had painted just for me. I didn't stare. I couldn't. It had to be quick - a heartbeat's worth of time. But in that single glimpse, the day became brighter, lighter, easier to carry. I turned back, straightened again, forcing myself into stillness. But inside, I was smiling. That one stolen glance was enough to last me until the final bell, enough to make the dullest classes feel alive, enough to make the hours rush by.
For others, the assembly was routine. For me, it was the secret highlight of every morning. A ritual within a ritual.
Because in that courtyard full of hundreds of voices, I carried only one face with me.
And that glimpse - just that - was enough.
Because now she wasn't just a dream from afar. She was my friend.
Even at home, when my brother strung up colorful lights at night, I sat on my bed with my books, looking at them, feeling happiness, I couldn't explain.