14th January
Sometimes I still wonder what she sees in me.
Karthik sat by the edge of the school rooftop, legs swinging slightly as the wind played with his shirt collar. The Pongal holidays were near, and the air already carried the scent of sugarcane, turmeric leaves, and anticipation.
Below him, the courtyard bustled with pre-festival activities—rangoli competitions, dance rehearsals, and boys laughing over who would bring the best sakkarai pongal. He could see Ananya by the far steps, helping a group of juniors with decorations. She was laughing, her braid flicking behind her like a ribbon of sunlight.
And yet, he remained here—one floor above, as always, watching from the edge.
He opened his diary.
Today, she looked at me like I mattered. Like I was someone worth holding space for. How do I hold that without trembling?
Ananya had read the poem. She hadn't messaged him about it, hadn't spoken of it since. But something between them had shifted.
That morning, when she had passed him in the corridor, she had only brushed her fingers across his wrist lightly and said, "Thank you."
Not for the poem, not for a grand gesture—but for being honest.
It had shattered him in the softest way.
"Writing sad things again?" a voice said from behind.
Karthik turned. Ananya stood there with two paper cups of filter coffee, one extended toward him.
"You knew I'd be up here," he said, surprised.
She smirked. "It's your signature move—brooding above everyone like a misunderstood poetic villain."
He chuckled. "Guilty."
They sat side by side, sipping the warm coffee, watching the last bits of the sun melt into amber.
"So," she said, voice casual but eyes gleaming, "you write poems now?"
Karthik raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk. Your Instagram captions are dramatic enough to rival any Bharathiyar verse."
She gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me! I use metaphors sparingly."
He smiled. "And yet you turned sambar into a metaphor for longing last week."
"That was art!"
They laughed.
But then came the pause.
The kind of pause that asks: Can we go deeper now?
Ananya turned to him. "I didn't say it before, but that poem? It stayed with me."
Karthik looked down. "It wasn't perfect."
"It didn't have to be," she said softly. "It was real. And that's what I… that's what I love about you."
The word hung between them—love—light, uncertain, but undeniably present.
He didn't speak for a moment. Just breathed it in.
Then he said, quietly, "You scare me, Ananya."
She blinked. "What?"
"You make me want to be brave."
She looked at him like he was the only person left in the world.
And then, slowly, she leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I'll wait," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For the day you say it too."
Karthik closed his eyes.
And in that still moment, surrounded by rooftop winds, distant laughter, and the smell of coffee, he realized—
He already had.
Just not with words yet.
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END OF CHAPTER 129