Some friendships don’t begin with words — they begin with moments. A shared silence. A look exchanged between periods. A sketchbook left slightly open.
That week, Meher and Aarav barely spoke in class. But something had settled between them — a quiet understanding that didn’t need to be named. The last bench was no longer just his corner of peace; it had become a small world the two of them quietly inhabited.
On Wednesday, it rained.
Not the kind of heavy storm that shuts everything down — but a slow, steady drizzle that misted the windows and made the pine trees sway like they were humming a tune only the mountains could hear.
The school felt softer that day. Quieter. More magical.
During the last period, while the teacher spoke about historical revolutions, Meher leaned over and whispered, “Have you seen the old library window?”
Aarav shook his head.
She smiled, eyes twinkling like she was about to tell a secret. “Come after school. I’ll show you something.”
After the Bell
The bell rang, but this time, neither of them packed quickly. They waited. Until most of the class had left. Then they walked out together, quietly, without anyone noticing — past the science block, around the back where no one really went.
There it was.
A narrow path hidden behind the chemistry lab. Overgrown, damp, lined with mossy stone. At the end, a rusted gate half-covered in creepers.
Beyond it, the Old Library stood — a forgotten building with broken stairs and paint peeling off its wooden walls.
Meher stepped in like she belonged.
“Come,” she said.
Inside, the air smelled of wet pages, dust, and age. Books lay scattered. Cobwebs glistened in the corners. But what caught his eye was the window — tall, arched, and facing the valley.
And when he reached it…
He stopped breathing for a second.
From that window, the whole world stretched out — forests falling into deep valleys, clouds brushing treetops, and far in the distance, rooftops of little houses nestled in hills.
No one else knew about this view. Maybe no one else cared.But they did.
She sat on the wide window ledge. “I come here when I don’t want to be found.”
Aarav joined her, heart still quiet.
The view was a painting he could never draw — too alive, too deep.
“This is beautiful,” he said.
She looked at him, not the valley. “Sometimes I think everything we say in class doesn’t matter. But this… this does.”
He nodded. “You don’t talk much, but you say a lot.”Meher smiled, eyes resting on the horizon. “Neither do you. But I hear you.”
That Evening
They didn’t speak of the window after that. Not in class. Not even the next day. But sometimes, during free periods, their eyes would meet, and it would be enough — as if the window still stood between them, quiet and wide open.
Aarav began drawing again. Only this time, he added two figures sitting on a windowsill, clouds floating beyond.
Meher, without knowing, had become part of his sketches.
And just like that, before the bell, a boy who liked silence and a girl
who listened to the wind had found their own little place in the world.
The Lonely Pen By Aj
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