Stolen Glances

Risha did not believe in crushes. She believed in homework, in neat handwriting, and in her corner seat by the window in Section A, where nobody bothered her.

“You’re not even listening,” Ahana said, dropping into the seat beside her with a thump.

“I’m listening,” Risha said, not looking up from her notebook.

“Then what did I just say?” Ahana asked.

“Something about a boy,” Risha said.

“A boy who smiled at me!” Ahana said, clutching her chest as though the memory might knock her over. “I swear I forgot how to breathe.”

“You said that about the last one,” Risha said.

“Because it keeps happening!” Ahana said.

Risha bit back a laugh. It was the third boy since term began, and the third time Ahana had sworn her heart had stopped.

Around them, the classroom buzzed with its usual noise. Chairs scraped the floor, someone laughed too loudly at the back, and sunlight cut golden stripes across the desks. From her corner, Risha could watch the whole room without being swallowed by it. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, mostly out of habit, and her black-framed glasses had slipped down her nose again. She pushed them up, her round, slightly chubby cheeks still bent over the page.

“Fine,” Risha said, closing her notebook. “Tell me what happened.”

“I went to Section B to get the duster,” Ahana said. “He was standing outside his class because he’d been punished. He kept looking at me, and then he smiled.”

“That’s it?” Risha asked.

“That’s it? Risha, he looked at me and smiled!” Ahana said.

“And you fell for him because of that?” Risha asked.

“Maybe,” Ahana said dreamily. Then she grinned. “Okay, fine. I definitely fell.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Risha said.

“I’m being romantic,” Ahana said, lifting her chin. “Is there a difference?”

Risha laughed. Ahana could turn a single glance into an entire love story every few weeks, a new boy, a new crisis. Risha never understood the appeal, but she never got tired of watching it happen. Sometimes she even envied the fearless way Ahana felt things, as though feelings were weather she walked straight into.

The bell rang for break, and chairs screeched back. “Come on,” Ahana said, tugging Risha up by the wrist. “The others are waiting.”

Their group claimed the same spot near the canteen every break, five girls split across two sections who agreed on almost nothing except that they always ended up together. Madhu went quiet and soft whenever a certain name came up. Priya had a talent for saying the sharpest thing in the room while smiling. Neha, still new enough to test her words before speaking, mostly listened.

And Risha noticed everything.

“I still think he likes me,” Ahana announced before anyone had opened their lunch.

“You said that about someone else last month,” Priya said, not looking up.

“This time he actually smiled at me,” Ahana insisted.

“He smiled at you last time too,” Priya said.

Ahana threw up her hands. “Why does nobody take me seriously?”

“I’m not against you, I’m laughing at you,” Risha said. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” Priya said, smirking into her lunch box.

Ahana groaned and stabbed at her rice. Priya turned to Madhu. “Speaking of boys, how’s Rik?”

Madhu’s face softened. “He’s fine,” she said shyly.

“Your mother still doesn’t like him?” Priya asked.

“She says I’m too young,” Madhu admitted, poking at her food.

“She’s not exactly wrong,” Ahana said. “We’re in Class 9.”

“Whose side are you on?” Madhu said, shooting her a look.

“Yours! I just get why she worries,” Ahana said.

“She’s probably just trying to protect you,” Risha said softly.

Madhu nodded, comforted. Then she turned to Risha with a small, serious smile. “You’ll understand when it happens to you,” she said. “It doesn’t ask permission.”

“Then I hope it never comes,” Risha teased, and Madhu laughed.

Risha stayed quiet when the talk turned to crushes, as it always did. It wasn’t that she disliked the idea. She simply had never felt whatever the others kept describing, and she had never minded. There was no hurry. Still, when they all leaned in laughing over a secret she wasn’t part of, a small question slipped through her, and she wondered what exactly she was missing.

She was staring at her sandwich when Neha spoke up. “Risha?” Neha asked carefully, as though unsure the question was allowed. “Have you ever dated anyone?”

“No,” Risha said simply.

“Really?” Neha said, her eyes widening.

“She’s never even had a crush,” Ahana said, delighted with herself.

“Ahana!” Risha protested, her cheeks warming.

“What? It’s true,” Ahana said.

“Not even once,” Risha said with a laugh. “I’ve just never liked anyone that way.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ahana said, grinning as if she knew something Risha didn’t.

“That’s not happening,” Risha said firmly.

“Never say never,” Ahana sang.

“I just did,” Risha said, and the table dissolved into laughter.

The bell rang, and Risha was grateful for it this time. They packed up and joined the crowd flooding back into the building, voices and footsteps echoing off the corridor walls.

At the junction where the corridor split into Section A and Section B, Priya turned back with a smirk. “Try not to get into trouble without us.”

“You’re the one who gets us into trouble,” Ahana shot back. Priya rolled her eyes and walked off toward Section B with Madhu and Neha.

Risha and Ahana turned toward Section A. “Come on, we’ll be late,” Ahana said, adjusting her bag. “And we might have a math test.”

“She said there wouldn’t be one,” Risha reminded her.

“Teachers lie,” Ahana said darkly.

“You worry too much,” Risha said.

“I worry the correct amount,” Ahana replied, lifting her nose in the air.

They turned the corner still arguing, and Risha stopped mid-sentence.

A boy was walking toward them, and she had never seen him before. He was tall, with dark hair falling loosely over his forehead and unusually sharp eyes that seemed brighter when he laughed at something one of the boys beside him had said. Nothing about him should have made her look twice.

But something did. Her breath caught before she understood why.

The boy turned his head, and their eyes met for exactly one second.

Something flickered across his face that Risha hadn’t expected. It wasn’t the easy smirk she had braced for. It looked more like surprise, as though he had been caught looking at her when he hadn’t meant to.

Then he looked away first, quickly, and kept walking as though he hadn’t seen her at all.

He hadn’t spoken or even smiled. If anything, he had looked away faster than she had.

And yet her heart was beating faster than it had any right to. A strange warmth climbed up her neck, followed by a small, nagging question she couldn’t explain.

“Who is that?” Risha asked before she could stop herself.

“No idea, he might be new,” Ahana said. Then a slow, delighted smile spread across her face. “Why? Are you noticing boys now?”

“I notice people,” Risha said defensively, her ears burning.

“You’re staring,” Ahana said.

“I’m not staring,” Risha said.

“You were,” Ahana sang.

Risha looked away, hoping the heat in her face wasn’t as obvious as it felt. The boy had already disappeared around the corner. Still, she glanced back once. Just once.

“You just looked back,” Ahana said, delighted.

“No, I didn’t,” Risha said.

“Risha,” Ahana said, raising an eyebrow.

Risha sighed. “Fine. Maybe I did.”

Ahana laughed and looped an arm through hers. “This is new. You’ve never once looked back at a boy in your life.”

“There’s a first time for everything, apparently,” Risha said.

She hated how true it felt.

By the time they reached Section A and sat down, Risha still couldn’t explain why her mind kept circling back to that hallway. She didn’t know his name, his class, or where he had come from, yet she remembered the exact second their eyes met with a clarity that unsettled her. She had spent years listening to her friends talk about smiles and glances and the strange feeling that came with liking someone, and she had always found it a little exaggerated.

She opened her notebook and tried to focus on the lesson, but her eyes kept drifting toward the window and the corridor beyond it, as if he might walk past again if she looked hard enough.

He didn’t. But that one glance refused to leave her alone. It followed her through the rest of the period and settled quietly at the back of her mind.

When the lesson ended, she closed the notebook quickly. Madhu’s words floated back to her: It doesn’t ask permission.