I joined my new class late, nearly two weeks after everyone else had settled in. On my first day, I sat beside an old classmate from 10th. While the teacher was calling out the roll numbers, he leaned over and whispered, “Check when Sruthi’s name is called.”
The moment I looked up and saw her, something inside me shifted. Maybe it was just a crush, maybe something deeper - but whatever it was, it had quietly taken root in me. I was too much of an introvert to walk up and speak to her, so I carried that feeling silently, letting her presence itself be enough.
One day, unexpectedly, my father asked me about her. He wondered if her father was one of his ex-colleagues. That small coincidence gave me my very first chance to talk to her. Just a casual conversation, nothing more - but for me, it was the beginning of everything.
I never told her how I felt. Only two of my closest friends knew. They were ready to tell her on my behalf, but I stopped them every time. Meanwhile, a friend of mine confessed that he liked her and asked me for advice. I told him to go ahead and share his feelings, even though my own heart burned quietly. He did, but things didn’t really work out for them. Still, others in our class teased them, trying to make them a couple. And me? I just watched… pretending to be unaffected, while every day, she was the only reason I looked forward to school.
Sometimes, because of our fathers’ old connection, she would tease me or talk to me casually. For her, it might have been small, playful moments. For me, they were memories I carried like treasure.
Time moved on. Plus Two ended, and we all went our separate ways. But she stayed with me in a strange way - I even changed my signature, weaving her name into it. Even today, it remains the same.
Years later, while I was working in Chennai, I opened my mail one ordinary day - and froze. A message from her. She asked about me, said she was coming to Chennai, and left her number. My heart raced. After four or five years, there she was again.
We started meeting almost every weekend. We’d roam around the city, share moments, laugh at small things. I still remember holding her hand once while crossing a busy road. To her, it was probably nothing. To me, it was everything.
One evening at Marina Beach, as the waves crashed against the shore, I finally dared to tell her. I said, “I had a crush on someone during Plus Two… can you guess who?”
She laughed, mentioned a few names. I shook my head. Finally, she pointed to herself and asked, “Me?” I ran a few steps away, smiling, and said, “Yes.” I told her her name still lived in my signature. She laughed, but she didn’t really understand what it meant to me.
We kept meeting. I dropped her back at her PG after our weekends together. I once asked if she loved me. She said softly, “Only if my father allows, I can marry.” I accepted it without pushing.
Then came the train journey. We had booked tickets together, side by side, going home for vacation. That night on the train, she sat opposite me. I couldn’t sleep - I just watched her, memorizing every detail, knowing how rare these moments were. When we reached, she even came home with me for breakfast. My brother knew about my feelings too; he quietly smiled but said nothing.
But after a few days, everything changed. She stopped responding. Silence replaced her laughter. Somehow, I heard she had gotten into trouble because of me - but what exactly happened, I never knew. She avoided me, distanced herself, and I didn’t ask why. Maybe I was too scared to know the truth.
Life moved forward. I got married, she did too. Once in a while, we still exchanged a message or two - distant, polite words between two people who once shared something unsaid.
And yet… her name remains in my signature. A quiet reminder that sometimes, love doesn’t end in confessions or marriages. Sometimes, it stays as a memory, etched permanently in the simplest of places - like ink on paper, like silence between words.
The moment I looked up and saw her, something inside me shifted. Maybe it was just a crush, maybe something deeper - but whatever it was, it had quietly taken root in me. I was too much of an introvert to walk up and speak to her, so I carried that feeling silently, letting her presence itself be enough.
One day, unexpectedly, my father asked me about her. He wondered if her father was one of his ex-colleagues. That small coincidence gave me my very first chance to talk to her. Just a casual conversation, nothing more - but for me, it was the beginning of everything.
I never told her how I felt. Only two of my closest friends knew. They were ready to tell her on my behalf, but I stopped them every time. Meanwhile, a friend of mine confessed that he liked her and asked me for advice. I told him to go ahead and share his feelings, even though my own heart burned quietly. He did, but things didn’t really work out for them. Still, others in our class teased them, trying to make them a couple. And me? I just watched… pretending to be unaffected, while every day, she was the only reason I looked forward to school.
Sometimes, because of our fathers’ old connection, she would tease me or talk to me casually. For her, it might have been small, playful moments. For me, they were memories I carried like treasure.
Time moved on. Plus Two ended, and we all went our separate ways. But she stayed with me in a strange way - I even changed my signature, weaving her name into it. Even today, it remains the same.
Years later, while I was working in Chennai, I opened my mail one ordinary day - and froze. A message from her. She asked about me, said she was coming to Chennai, and left her number. My heart raced. After four or five years, there she was again.
We started meeting almost every weekend. We’d roam around the city, share moments, laugh at small things. I still remember holding her hand once while crossing a busy road. To her, it was probably nothing. To me, it was everything.
One evening at Marina Beach, as the waves crashed against the shore, I finally dared to tell her. I said, “I had a crush on someone during Plus Two… can you guess who?”
She laughed, mentioned a few names. I shook my head. Finally, she pointed to herself and asked, “Me?” I ran a few steps away, smiling, and said, “Yes.” I told her her name still lived in my signature. She laughed, but she didn’t really understand what it meant to me.
We kept meeting. I dropped her back at her PG after our weekends together. I once asked if she loved me. She said softly, “Only if my father allows, I can marry.” I accepted it without pushing.
Then came the train journey. We had booked tickets together, side by side, going home for vacation. That night on the train, she sat opposite me. I couldn’t sleep - I just watched her, memorizing every detail, knowing how rare these moments were. When we reached, she even came home with me for breakfast. My brother knew about my feelings too; he quietly smiled but said nothing.
But after a few days, everything changed. She stopped responding. Silence replaced her laughter. Somehow, I heard she had gotten into trouble because of me - but what exactly happened, I never knew. She avoided me, distanced herself, and I didn’t ask why. Maybe I was too scared to know the truth.
Life moved forward. I got married, she did too. Once in a while, we still exchanged a message or two - distant, polite words between two people who once shared something unsaid.
And yet… her name remains in my signature. A quiet reminder that sometimes, love doesn’t end in confessions or marriages. Sometimes, it stays as a memory, etched permanently in the simplest of places - like ink on paper, like silence between words.
