Chapter 1

When It All Began

Some stories begin with a grand moment — a perfect confession under the stars, a movie-like first meeting, or a moment that changes everything in a second.

But mine didn't.

Mine began quietly.

So quietly that I didn't even realize I was meeting someone who would later become both my happiest memory and my deepest pain.

It was just another ordinary day.

A normal coaching class.

The kind of day where nothing seems different from any other day.

A day filled with lectures, notebooks, assignments, and the pressure of trying to understand everything before the next test.

I never thought that an ordinary classroom would become a place filled with memories.

At that time, it was just a classroom.

Nothing more.

I was sitting on my usual seat, carefully writing notes while the teacher explained a difficult mathematics problem. I always tried to complete everything because missing even one step could make the whole topic confusing later.

The classroom was quiet except for the teacher's voice and the sound of pages turning.

Everyone was busy.

Some students were focused.

Some were waiting for the class to end.

And I was just trying to finish my notes.

When the class finally ended, everyone immediately started packing their bags.

The peaceful classroom suddenly became noisy.

Chairs moved.

Students started talking.

Books were placed into bags.

I slowly closed my notebook and began arranging my things.

I didn't notice him at first.

I only noticed someone standing near my desk when I looked up.

It was the same boy who sat a few seats away from me.

His name was Zayan.

He was holding his notebook.

For a few seconds, he didn't say anything.

He looked like he wanted to ask something but was unsure.

I looked at him, waiting.

Finally, he spoke softly.

"Excuse me..."

I looked up.

"Yes?"

He looked down at his notebook for a moment and then back at me.

"Can I... get your notes?"

His voice was quiet.

Almost nervous.

I looked at his notebook.

"You need the notes?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. I missed some parts."

"Which class?"

"Today's. And maybe half of yesterday's too."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Half of yesterday's?"

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I was here. I just... wasn't really here."

"That's not how attendance works."

He almost smiled.

"I know. My body was here. My brain left early."

There was a small pause. Then I handed him my notebook.

"Okay. You can take them."

A small smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Should I copy it now or can I keep it till tomorrow?"

"Now would be better. I need it for the test prep tonight."

"Right. Test. I forgot there's a test."

"There's always a test."

"That's a very unhelpful thing to say to someone who just admitted he wasn't paying attention."

I almost laughed, but I didn't let him see it.

"You didn't ask for helpful. You asked for notes."

"Fair point."

That was it.

Our first conversation.

Only a few exchanges.

No long talks.

No jokes that meant anything yet.

No reason to think that this person would become important someday.

Just a simple exchange of notes after class.

He copied the missing parts quickly, glancing up once or twice like he wanted to say something else and then deciding against it.

Before leaving, he returned my notebook carefully.

"Thanks again."

I nodded.

"No problem."

"I owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything. It's just notes."

"Still. I'm writing it down. Debt: one set of notes."

"You're strange."

"I've been told."

He smiled slightly and walked away.

I watched him leave for a second, then looked back at my notebook.

I didn't know why I noticed that moment.

Maybe because there was something different about him.

He seemed shy.

Quiet.

Like someone who thought carefully before speaking, and then said something unexpected anyway.

After that day, we remained just classmates.

Not friends immediately.

Not close.

Just two people who knew each other's faces, and now, apparently, one small debt of notes that neither of us would ever collect on.

Sometimes, he would ask about homework.

"Did you complete the assignment?"

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes, all of it."

"Even question seven? The one with the two variables?"

"Especially question seven."

"How."

"By doing it."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

He would sigh like I had personally wronged him, and then ask the real question.

"Can you tell me which questions were given?"

I would tell him.

"Thank you."

"You're going to say that every time, aren't you?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Just — noted."

And he would leave with a small smile.

Our conversations were short.

But slowly, they became familiar.

I started noticing little things about him.

Zayan was not someone who tried to get attention.

He was usually quiet during class.

He listened more than he spoke.

When he laughed, it was always genuine — a short, surprised sound, like the joke had caught him off guard even when he'd half-expected it.

And whenever someone talked to him, he always responded politely.

There was a calmness about him.

Something simple.

Something comfortable.

One day, after class, I was struggling to understand a question from my notebook.

I was looking at it again and again, trying to figure out where I went wrong.

Zayan was walking past my desk when he noticed.

"Did you get stuck?"

I looked up.

"A little."

"Which one?"

I pointed at the question. He leaned over, actually looking at it instead of just glancing.

"Can I see your working?"

I turned the notebook toward him.

He hesitated for a second. Then he pointed at a line halfway down the page.

"Maybe this step is wrong."

I checked my solution.

He was right.

"Oh."

I smiled.

"Thank you."

"Again with the thank you."

"You solved my problem."

"You would have found it eventually."

"Maybe. But you found it in ten seconds."

"I got lucky."

"You didn't look lucky. You looked very sure of yourself."

"That's my performance face. Underneath it, total panic."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

"That's oddly reassuring."

"I try."

He nodded once, like the conversation had reached its natural end, and then didn't leave right away — just stood there a moment longer than he needed to, before finally saying, "You're welcome," and walking off.

Again, a small conversation.

But this time, it felt easier.

Less awkward.

Like we were slowly becoming comfortable around each other.

Friendship doesn't always begin with a big moment.

Sometimes it begins with small things.

A notebook.

A question.

A little help.

A simple smile.

And without realizing it, two strangers slowly become familiar.

That was how it started for us.

Not with love.

Not with promises.

Just with a few words after a coaching class.

And a notebook that became the first page of a story I never expected to live.

After that day, something small changed.

Not something obvious.

Nothing that anyone else would notice.

We were still just classmates.

Still two people who happened to attend the same coaching class.

But somehow, talking to him started becoming easier.

The awkward silence between us slowly disappeared.

At first, every conversation felt like we were both thinking too much before speaking.

He would stand near my desk, look at his notebook, and quietly ask something.

"Did you understand today's question?"

Or,

"Can you explain this step?"

And I would answer.

"The second one, actually. Copy it from Meera, not me. Mine has a mistake in it."

"You have a mistake in your notes?"

"I'm allowed one mistake a week."

"Noted. Which week is this?"

"Don't push it."

Sometimes our conversations lasted only a few seconds.

But those few seconds slowly became something I started looking forward to.

Zayan was still shy.

I noticed that.

Whenever he wanted to ask something, he would hesitate for a moment.

Sometimes he would come near my desk and then suddenly turn away, as if he had changed his mind.

One day, I saw him standing near my desk with his notebook in his hand.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

I looked at him.

"Did you need something?"

He immediately looked surprised.

"Uh... no."

I raised my eyebrows.

"No?"

He looked at his notebook.

"Actually... yes."

I smiled.

"Then ask."

He gave a small embarrassed smile.

"I forgot what I wanted to ask."

I laughed softly.

"You walked all the way here and forgot?"

"It happens."

"Does it happen a lot?"

"More than I'd like to admit."

For the first time, I saw him become embarrassed because of something so simple.

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Yeah."

"That's a new excuse."

"It's not an excuse."

"It sounds like one."

"I promise it's the truth. My brain just — closes the tab sometimes."

He smiled.

"Okay, maybe a little."

"So there was no question."

"There was a question. I just lost it somewhere between my seat and your desk."

"That's a very short walk to lose something in."

"You'd be surprised what I can lose in a short walk."

That was the first time we had a conversation that wasn't only about studies.

A small joke.

A small laugh.

A small step towards friendship.

After that, he started becoming a little more comfortable.

Not completely.

He was still the same quiet person.

But around me, he started showing more of his personality.

I discovered that he had a funny side hidden behind his serious face.

He would make small comments during class.

Sometimes he would complain about difficult questions.

Sometimes he would quietly laugh at something happening around us.

And whenever he laughed, he tried to hide it.

I don't know why, but that always made me smile.

One day, the teacher gave us a difficult assignment.

Everyone in the class looked frustrated.

During the break, I was checking my answers when he looked at my notebook.

"You finished it?"

I nodded.

"Yes."

He looked impressed.

"How?"

I looked at him.

"What do you mean how?"

"I mean... how do you solve these questions so calmly?"

I smiled.

"Practice."

He sighed dramatically.

"I think practice and I have a complicated relationship."

I laughed.

"What does that mean?"

"It means practice likes me, but I don't like practice."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It makes perfect sense. Practice keeps showing up. I keep avoiding it. Classic one-sided relationship."

I tried not to laugh loudly because everyone was around.

"You are impossible."

He smiled.

"But you laughed."

I looked away.

"I didn't."

"You did."

"No."

"Yes. I have a witness."

"There's no witness."

"There could be. I could find one."

"You're making this up as you go."

"That's my whole personality."

I shook my head.

But I was smiling.

There were moments when we didn't even talk.

And strangely, those moments became special too.

Like when we both arrived early and sat quietly before the class started.

Everyone else was talking loudly.

But we were just sitting there, preparing our notebooks.

Sometimes our eyes met accidentally.

And both of us immediately looked away.

I never understood why those small moments felt different.

It wasn't anything big.

Just a look.

Just a second.

But sometimes a second is enough to make you remember a moment.

One afternoon, I reached class and realized I had forgotten my calculator.

I searched my bag again and again, hoping it would magically appear.

It didn't.

He noticed.

"You forgot it?"

I looked up.

"How did you know?"

"You have been searching your bag for five minutes."

I felt embarrassed.

"Oh."

He smiled slightly.

"You always check your bag like something will suddenly appear."

I laughed.

"Maybe it will."

"Did it?"

"No."

"Exactly."

"You don't have to sound so pleased about it."

"I'm not pleased. I'm just — correct."

"Same thing, apparently."

Then he quietly offered his calculator.

"You can use mine."

I hesitated.

"But you need it too."

"I can wait."

"You sure?"

He nodded.

"Yeah."

"What will you do?"

"Watch you use it. Very exciting plan, I know."

"You could've just said 'nothing.'"

"'Watching you use it' sounded better."

"Thank you."

He smiled.

"Again?"

"What?"

"You say thank you a lot."

"Because you help me a lot."

"I've helped you twice."

"That's a lot, for you."

"Ouch."

He looked away for a second.

"It's okay."

I don't know why, but the way he said those two words felt different.

Not special.

Not romantic.

Just warm.

Slowly, Zayan became someone I was comfortable around.

Someone I didn't have to think before talking to.

Someone whose presence made the classroom feel a little more familiar.

But I still didn't know much about him.

I didn't know his favorite things.

I didn't know what made him happy.

I didn't know what worried him.

He was still a person I was slowly discovering.

And maybe that was the beautiful part.

Getting to know someone little by little.

Not through big conversations.

But through small moments, and the kind of talk that doesn't mean anything until, one day, you realize it meant everything.

Looking back, I think those were the happiest days.

Not because something extraordinary was happening.

But because everything was simple.

There was no expectation.

No fear.

No overthinking.

Just two people slowly becoming friends, one small argument about a calculator at a time.

I didn't know that these small conversations would become memories.

I didn't know that one day I would miss these ordinary moments.

I didn't know that the person who first entered my life through a simple request for notes would become someone I would never forget.

At that time, he was just a classmate.

A shy boy who asked for my notes after coaching.

A person who slowly became a friend.

And unknowingly...

the beginning of a story I would carry forever.