The school was a ghost town now that everyone had rushed to the mess hall to satisfy their hunger. The echoes of earlier chatter had faded into a soft hum, the empty corridors stretching out ahead of me. I'd made my rounds, checked the classrooms, but found no stragglers left behind. It was always like this after the bell rang—sudden stillness after hours of noise.
Finally, I arrived at the library. A sense of calm washed over me as I pushed the heavy wooden doors open. The familiar scent of old books, ink, and polished wood greeted me. The world outside seemed to melt away here, like nothing existed beyond these shelves.
Mam was at her usual spot, sitting behind her desk, reading. Her glasses balanced delicately on the bridge of her nose as her eyes skimmed the pages. I couldn't help but admire her—she never seemed rushed or stressed, not even when students swarmed the library like bees. And she never, not once, told me I couldn't be here, even after hours. It was almost as if she saved this quiet space just for me.
"Mam," I called softly, not wanting to startle her.
She glanced up, eyes peeking over the rim of her glasses. Her face softened as she took them off, smiling warmly at me. "Saher, done with checking?" she asked, her voice gentle and familiar.
I nodded. "Yes, mam. I wanted to check out some books for the science olympiad next week."
"Of course," she said, standing up from her chair and leading me toward the section where all the competition-related books were stacked. The moment she left me in front of the shelves, I smiled. It was always comforting, knowing she had my back, no matter what I needed.
My fingers traced the spines of the books, each title promising knowledge, depth, strategies—everything I needed to prepare for the Olympiad. I pulled out a few books, the weight of them solid in my hands, and carried them to a bench nearby. The quiet was perfect. There was no rush, no distractions, just me and these books.
As I sat there flipping through the pages, the pictures and diagrams caught my eye first, each one fascinating in its own way. Time slipped away as I focused on the text, losing myself in formulas and theories. And yet... I couldn't quite shake off this strange sensation.
A faint noise echoed through the library, so small I almost thought I imagined it. My heart did a tiny flip, and I quickly glanced around. The library was empty, I reminded myself. No one else would be here at this hour. Still, I felt a chill trickle down my spine. Shaking my head, I told myself to focus. I was here to study, nothing more.
But when the quiet stretched on, my attention wavered. The weight of the silence pressed on me, and I stretched my arms overhead, leaning back in the chair, feeling the stiffness in my shoulders from sitting so long. It was time to move, to refresh my mind, so I stood, placed the books back on the shelves, and turned toward a section I rarely let myself venture near: the novels.
The novel section always tempted me, a whole world of stories, mysteries, and emotions waiting to be discovered. But I had never given in. Novels were distractions. They weren't for me—not now. Not when I had goals, plans, competitions to prepare for.
My heart, however, had other ideas.
I walked along the rows, my fingers lightly grazing the covers, their colorful spines begging me to pick one up, to flip through the pages, to get lost in something other than facts and figures. I was scanning the shelves when I saw movement—a book being placed back on the shelf by someone whose face was obscured by the rows.
My heart skipped again.
Before I could even think, I walked toward the spot, my fingers finding the book that had just been placed. I pulled it out, glancing around. Whoever had been there was gone now, vanished as if they'd never been there. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled with curiosity.
I looked down at the book. "Waiting for you". The cover was a warm, burnt orange, and I ran my fingers across the title. The simplicity of it intrigued me. Something about holding this book felt... different. Should I? I hesitated, glancing back toward Mam's desk. If she saw me, would she scold me? I was supposed to be studying for the Olympiad, not daydreaming in fictional worlds.
But my heart wasn't listening to logic. I lingered on the idea, wondering what it would be like to just give in—just this once. The pull was strong. It wouldn't hurt to open the book, right?
Suddenly, the sound of the door opening snapped me back to reality. I hurriedly placed the novel back on the shelf, my heart racing like I had been caught doing something wrong. Mam walked in, her eyes immediately finding me.
"Saher, you're still here?" Her voice was gentle, but it had a questioning edge to it. "Go on and eat something before the mess closes."
I gave her a small nod, though my thoughts were still wrapped around that novel, its bright orange cover burned into my mind. "Mam, I'm not hungry," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I still need to check out a few more books."
Her eyes softened, the corners of her mouth pulling up in a small, proud smile. "Such a hard worker," she said, reaching out to place a warm hand on my head. Then, without a second thought, she handed me the keys. "Lock up when you're done, and bring them back to me later."
I nodded, watching her as she left the library. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone once again. My eyes drifted back toward the novel section, specifically to that one book. "Waiting for you". My heart thudded in my chest, louder now that I was alone. Slowly, I walked back toward it.
This time, when I reached for the book, I didn't hesitate.
I carefully took the book from the shelf, waiting for you, the bright orange cover still warm from my fingers tracing it earlier. As I opened the pages, a strange excitement bubbled inside me, something I hadn't felt in a long time. The story quickly swallowed me whole, pulling me into its world, until I turned to a page that caught my eye—one of the corners was slightly folded.
Someone else had stopped here, I thought. Someone else had been lost in this story, just like me. My eyes fell on something scribbled in the corner in pencil, faint but legible.
"If you are here, it means you've already started this book. Happy reading,"
i read.
I stared at the words, a smile tugging at my lips. Who would leave a note like that in a library book? The thought made me laugh under my breath—some madman clearly, wanting to be caught by the librarian. But as I traced the handwriting with my fingers, something about it felt... special. I considered reporting it for a moment, thinking about how Mam would react. But no, if I did that, my little secret—this book, this break from my usual studies—would be exposed. Best to let it be.
I tried to push the thought from my mind and continued reading, but those scribbled words lingered with me. They made me feel connected to whoever had left them behind, like we were two travelers crossing paths unknowingly, sharing the same story in different moments.
A few chapters later, I found myself reaching for my own pencil. Without thinking too hard about it, I folded the corner of the page just like the mysterious reader before me had. Then, in a quick, fluid motion, I scrawled a response in the margin.
"Glad to know we're sharing this book. It's a good one for my first try."
I placed the book back on the shelf, a smile playing at my lips, and turned back toward my stack of Olympiad books. The room was quiet again, filled with the soft rustle of pages as I tried to focus on my studies.
Thirty minutes passed in peaceful silence, I was sitting there, completely lost in my book, when I suddenly heard this soft patter of footsteps. It wasn't the usual kind of noise that fills the library—no creaking of old wood or pages turning. This was different. Small, quick steps coming right toward me.
I looked up, confused, and that's when I saw him—a little boy, no older than eleven or twelve, bounding across the room like he owned the place. His face was bright, his cheeks flushed from running, and his eyes practically sparkled with excitement. Honestly, I had no idea what to think. Who was this kid? He was a stranger, definitely not one of the older boys or someone from my class. And yet, here he was, standing right in front of me, holding a lunchbox like some kind of mini-messenger.
"Didi!" he called out, his voice soft but full of urgency, like I was supposed to know what this was all about.
I stared at him, my mind trying to make sense of the situation. Was he talking to me? Why was he here? But before I could even ask, he thrust the lunchbox toward me like it was some grand offering.
"Didi, aapne kuch khaya nahi hai naa," he said so earnestly, as if my well-being was somehow his top priority. "Mess band bhi ho gayi hai, aapko pata hai." He sounded so serious, like a tiny adult trying to take care of me. It was almost... cute.
But seriously, who was this kid?
I squinted at him, trying to figure him out. His uniform was slightly wrinkled, his hair a bit tousled, and yet he stood there with this big grin on his face like he'd just solved the world's biggest problem. But why was he here? Why did he care if I'd eaten or not? And most importantly—how did he know?
"Did Maya Mam (librarian) send you?" I asked, still half-expecting that this was some sort of elaborate plan from her, though deep down, I knew it wasn't. Mam wasn't exactly the type to worry if I skipped a meal. Besides, if she did care, she'd definitely send one of the girls.
A boy bringing me lunch? Yeah, not likely.
But the boy just smiled even wider at my question, his lips pulling back into this mischievous little grin. "It's a secret," he said, and with that, he turned on his heels and sprinted off like a gust of wind.
I blinked after him, my brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened. A secret? What was that supposed to mean? And who on earth was this little pumpkin? I shook my head, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling up in my throat.
Whoever he was, he had guts.
Honestly, his smile was cute... but who exactly was this little pumpkin? I couldn't help myself.
"Hey, pumpkin!" I called out, and to my surprise, the boy skidded to a halt like it was actually his name. The way his tiny body froze, his sneakers screeching against the floor, made me laugh. He slowly turned to face me, his eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity, like he couldn't believe I'd just called him that.
I smiled—couldn't help it—and his eyes grew even wider, like I'd just performed some magic trick. That made me laugh more, though I tried to hide it.
"What?" I asked, leaning forward a bit. "Am I not allowed to smile?"
He shook his head furiously, his small face scrunched up with a mix of surprise and something like awe. "Nahi, didi, but bhaiya toh bol rahe the... you're scary." His voice was timid, almost as if he didn't want me to hear the words at all.
I crossed my arms, staring at him, feeling both amused and slightly offended. Scary? Me? That's what people were saying about me?
This little kid was brave—stupidly brave but brave nonetheless.
Before I could even respond, his face turned pale, and he slapped his hand over his mouth like he'd just confessed a deep secret he never meant to share. I could almost see his brain scrambling, wondering how he could take it back or maybe run out of the library without me chasing him down.
My eyes narrowed, a playful glare forming as I leaned forward in my seat. "Come here," I said, keeping my voice steady but with that slight edge to it that made him freeze. His face went pale, but slowly, like a guilty little puppy, he shuffled his way back to me. His big eyes were wide with fear and curiosity, as if he was expecting some sort of punishment but couldn't help being drawn in closer.
"So," I started, tapping my fingers on the table, "who exactly is this 'bhaiya' you're talking about?" My voice was casual, but I could see him squirm. He glanced down at his shoes, refusing to meet my eyes. Clever kid. He wasn't going to sell out his 'bhaiya' that easily.
I let it go. He wasn't talking, fine. But that didn't mean I was letting him off the hook just yet. "Alright," I said with a sigh, pretending to be all serious. "You broke the rules, so go on—put your fine in the box."
He looked up at me, completely bewildered. "Fine?" he asked, his voice small and unsure.
"Yes," I said, nodding like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's Tuesday, isn't it? Monday and Tuesday are English-speaking days. And you broke the rule, so that means... fine."
His face fell, and I swear, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. "But school is over!" he protested, his voice rising with panic.
I shrugged, giving him my best smirk. "Oh really? But I'm still wearing my uniform, and we're in the school building. So technically... it's still school time."
His little shoulders slumped in defeat as he reluctantly reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. Grumbling under his breath, he trudged over to the fine box like it was the end of the world and dropped them in. I bit back a laugh, watching him the whole time.
"Good boy," I said, reaching out to pinch his cheeks gently. He flinched at the touch but then quickly bolted for the door before I could tease him any further.
As the door clicked shut behind him, I let out a soft laugh. What a strange little pumpkin.
With a sigh, I leaned back into my chair, the smile still lingering on my lips. The book sat on the shelf behind me, and I couldn't stop my thoughts from drifting back to it. A strange day, no doubt.
But somehow, it all felt... right.
Ooo
The next morning felt... different. I wasn't sure if it was the crisp air, or the fact that I actually woke up before my alarm (for once), but there was this weird buzz in my chest, like the excitement before a big race. Except, this wasn't a race. It was... well, a note.
I stood in front of the mirror, fiddling with my tie. Ugh, why are ties always so annoying? It was practically choking me, but all I could think about was that book. Specifically, the note I left in it.
Was he—whoever he was—going to reply? What if he didn't? What if he just ignored it?
A knot formed in my stomach. Maybe he'd read my note and think I was weird. Or worse, what if he figured out who I was and just stopped writing altogether? What if... what if he was some senior messing with me? Or worse, what if he was one of the teachers?! My heart did this weird flip, and suddenly, the idea of some teacher leaving me mysterious notes made me want to hide under my bed forever. Nope, nope, NOPE. Too creepy. I couldn't even handle the thought.
"Shubh shubh bol, Saher. It's morning!" I mumbled to myself, shaking my head. I needed to chill. The last thing I needed was to overthink this and end up with a panic attack in the middle of breakfast. I let out a long breath, grabbed my bag, and left the hostel.
Hows the chapter, guys?
So tell me, 'Kaun hai jo aapke dil mein samaya?' (Batao, batao, ye secret yahin par qaid rahega 🤫🤫).
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