School of Love Less About Study

When I was in school, I never thought about all these things. But when I passed the 12th standard, things started popping up in my mind. There was a girl named Aarvi. but I used to reach school an hour early just to sit at her bench. She used to come via the school bus, arriving at 8:30 am. She and her three friends usually arrived together. She wore a simple uniform, a “salwar suit,” with a small thin “bindi” on her forehead and a charming smile on her face. I could identify her from far away because she was different from all the girls in my class.

She used to sit on the 4th bench in the third row on the left side, and I had the same bench. My way of connecting with her was different: I used to sit at her bench in the morning so that when she arrived, I would get a chance to talk to her. This worked every day. We used to discuss a lot of account questions together.

She wasn’t great at studying, just as average as I was. But when she didn’t come to school, my day felt wasted, and when I saw her, my day felt worth it.

But then everything changed suddenly. A boy came into the picture. He was charming, confident, and seemed to have everything. Aarvi started spending more time with him, and our conversations dwindled. I watched from a distance as she laughed and shared moments with him that I once cherished.

I tried to focus on my studies and other friends, but the void was too deep. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Aarvi and the boy became inseparable. I felt like a background character in my own story, helpless and heartbroken.

One day, I gathered the courage to express my feelings to her, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, she felt the same. But when I finally told her, she looked at me with gentle eyes and said, “I value our friendship too much to risk it. I’m sorry.”

I smiled, nodded, and walked away, the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams pressing down on me. I had lost her, not just as a potential partner but also as a friend. The corridors of the school felt lonelier, and the bench where we used to sit together was a constant reminder of what could have been.

In the end, I realized that sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you have to let them go. The memories, though painful, are a testament to the beautiful moments we shared. And as life moves on, so must we, carrying the lessons and the heartache with us, hoping for a better tomorrow.