Encouraged, I asked Yugal what gift I could give. He thought for a moment and said,
"Something she can always keep… a bracelet."
We went shopping, and I bought one. The very next day, when the final bell rang and the school burst into the rush of freedom, students poured through the corridors - some laughing, some running, some still talking about lessons as if they hadn't yet escaped. The air outside smelled faintly of chalk dust and the warm scent of earth after a long day.
I quickly made my way to the main gate and stood just outside, pretending to be lost in thought - though every glance was toward the building. I had already been waiting for ten minutes, my heart racing each time a familiar figure appeared, only to sink when it wasn't her.
Finally, I saw her.
Sneha stepped into the courtyard, walking slowly beside her friends. The braid that fell over her shoulder swayed with each step, and she brushed a strand of hair from her face with that quiet grace I had come to memorize. She was smiling at something her friend had said, and for a moment, I almost lost my courage - how could I disturb that smile with the weight of my nervousness?
Her friends turned left at the corner, leaving her alone to walk toward the gate. That was my chance.
I took a breath and called, softly, "Sneha."
She turned, a little startled, her eyes widening when she saw me. For a
heartbeat, silence stretched between us. The chatter of the crowd around us seemed to dull, as though the world had decided to give us this moment in secret.
"Sneha," I began, my voice lower than usual, almost careful, "will you take a gift from me?"
Her lips parted slightly, as if words had caught in her throat. She glanced down at her shoes, then back at me. There was hesitation in her eyes - an invisible line she wasn't sure she should cross. Finally, she whispered, "Okay."
The word was small, but it set something fluttering inside me. I smiled, trying not to show how much relief rushed through me.
"Then… give me your hand."
She froze for a second, unsure. Then, slowly, shyly, she extended it toward me. Her palm trembled just enough for me to notice. She didn't meet my eyes - her lashes lowered, her face half-turned away. Carefully, I slipped the bracelet over her wrist. It wasn't expensive - simple, really - but in that moment, it felt like I was giving her a piece of myself. My fingers brushed against her skin, and the warmth lingered even after I let go.
"Always wear it," I said softly. It was a plea more than a request.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile, but she shook her head. "It's not allowed in school."
The words struck like a quiet blow. I leaned closer, still hoping. "Please… just once. No one will notice."
She looked up at me then, her eyes gentle but steady. "It's not allowed."
I wanted to insist again, but something in her tone told me it was final. So, I forced a smile, masking the heaviness that pressed inside my chest. "Okay," I said, as lightly as I could. Then I turned and walked toward my bus.
The noise of the schoolyard rushed back in - the shouts, the laughter, the clatter of footsteps. The bracelet shone faintly in the fading sunlight, even as my heart carried the weight of her refusal and the warmth of her acceptance, all at once.