Love Before Graduation

The noise in the classroom was as lifeless as a yawn.

The teacher was writing on the board like a blind man—

Perhaps he didn't know that inside a human body, there's also a heart,

One that reacts more intensely than any chemical bond.

I was sitting in the third row.

Pen in hand, but a storm of silence in my mind.

The notebook was open, but life was being written somewhere else.

And in that "somewhere else" — there was him, Arin.

That boy who stayed silent,

As if silence itself was a skill.

He just sat there,

Shoulders straight, eyes buried in his books.

But me?

I was captivated.

And eyes—they're strange.

They can turn you into both prisoner and executioner.

And mine... kept searching for him,

Like a courtesan who waits every evening

For the same client who never returns.

I scolded myself, warned myself, cursed myself.

"Focus, Aira. This isn't love, it's stupidity."

But really, is there any vast difference between love and foolishness?

I looked again.

And this time—he looked too.

Just for a moment.

A single moment.

But in that moment, my breath emigrated from my body.

My heart seemed to surrender.

I stood up.

"Nami!"

My voice came out as if someone had thrown a stone at the wall of my heart.

She was startled.

Asked,

"What happened?"

I said,

"It's an emergency. Let's go to the washroom."

She followed, tangled in questions.

I led the way, running from the answers.

When she stopped in the washroom and asked,

"Now tell me, what's going on?"

It felt like I wrote a confession.

"My eyes just won't leave arin.

At this point, I think I need a mystic, not a doctor."

She laughed, but I didn't.

I looked at myself in the mirror—

A girl choking her own senses for a boy.

"When he looks at me,

It feels like the whole world stops,

And only I exist—or maybe only I'm dying."

Nami said,

"You've gone mad. He doesn't even talk to you!"

I replied,

"Love doesn't depend on conversation.

If time stops in his eyes, that's enough."

Then she teased me—

"Go tell him today. Like they do in dramas."

I laughed—a bitter laugh.

"You want me to say something like,

'Arin, your presence has auctioned off my sanity.

You tell me—is this a punishment or a reward?'"

She pulled me along, and I followed,

But in love, the one who gets pulled

Never quite arrives.

We returned.

And right at the door—Sir.

Mr. Raghavan.

There wasn't a teacher in his eyes,

But a coward

Who spent his life teaching chemistry

While love remained beyond his understanding.

"Where were you two?"

He asked

As if we hadn't just left class,

But fled his personal life.

I said,

"Sir, it was a medical emergency."

"And distracting the whole class is part of the treatment plan too?"

Laughter echoed from behind.

And then—Arin again.

His eyes, that smile...

As if he knew everything

Yet said nothing

Because silence is the cruellest weapon.

"Go inside, Miss Aira.

And next time—leave your love outside the classroom."

He walked away,

But I stayed frozen there,

Wondering—

Maybe even Mr. Raghavan

Once looked at someone just like that,

And now walks around, angry, playing the role of a teacher.

________________________________________

"This isn't love, it's an obsession.

A filthy game of a woman's helplessness and a man's silence."