Chapter 1: The Boy Who Walked Past
Three years is a strange amount of time.
Long enough for a person to change.
Not long enough for them to become a stranger.
At least, that's what I told myself.
I was standing outside the admissions office of my new junior college, a folder clutched against my chest, when I saw him.
At first, I didn't recognize him.
He was walking toward the far end of the corridor, a folder tucked beneath one arm, his backpack hanging from one shoulder. He was taller than I remembered. Broader through the shoulders. His hair was longer, and the softness of childhood had disappeared from his face.
But the way he walked—
Something about it was still the same.
I stopped.
"Deepa?"
Seema's voice sounded far away.
I stared.
Then the name rose without permission.
"Ānand."
Seema followed my gaze.
"Who?"
"The boy walking there."
She squinted.
"I don't know him. Who is he?"
I smiled before I could stop myself.
"Ānand. We were classmates."
"From school?"
I nodded.
"Before he changed schools."
Three years.
Three years since his parents had moved him to another school for high school.
Three years since I had discovered—with the particular devastation only a fourteen-year-old can feel—that the person I liked most in class was suddenly going to become someone I would probably never see again.
Except I hadn't thought of it as liking him then.
Not really.
He was simply Ānand.
The boy who sat near me.
The boy who knew every answer.
The boy who helped me with Hindi without ever making me feel stupid for struggling with it.
The boy whose absence had somehow made an ordinary classroom feel different.
I had never told him he was my favorite person.
I hadn't even admitted it properly to myself.
"Go talk to him," Seema whispered.
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Go. Talk to him."
"No."
"Why?"
I looked back down the corridor.
Ānand was almost out of sight.
"If he remembered me, wouldn't he have said hello?"
Seema shrugged.
"Maybe he didn't see you."
"He walked right past me."
"Maybe he's shy."
I laughed softly.
"He was shy when he was twelve. Maybe he still is."
"Then you're perfect for each other."
"Seema."
She grinned.
I shook my head.
There was no version of this in which I chased him down the corridor.
What would I even say?
Hi, Ānand. Remember me? I used to sit next to you and make you explain Hindi words. I haven't seen you in three years, but apparently my brain still recognizes you from fifty feet away.
Ridiculous.
So I let him go.
At least, I thought I did.
