Class 11 wasn't like before.
Everything had changed.
The textbooks were heavier—not just in weight but in what they demanded. Teachers no longer smiled with familiarity; they spoke in strict tones, handed out homework like confetti, and expected them to be adults in uniforms. Zia sat in a new school building, in a new uniform, but everything felt slightly off—like someone had tilted the world just a little.
The environment was different—new classrooms, unfamiliar faces, stricter rules. Even the fabric of her uniform, though modest and simple, reminded her that this wasn't the school where her memories lived. She and Ruqayyah had stuck to their promise of staying together, and that comfort was the only thread connecting the past to this strange, unfolding present.
Gone were the familiar faces of friends who had colored her last year with laughter and late-night calls. Ayesha and Suraiya—two pillars of the ZARS group—had moved on, their academic struggles scattering them to different schools. Now, their chats in the group lay silent, like a ghost town after a storm. Zia tried to ignore the ache whenever she scrolled past the group chat. It was just her and Ruqayyah now. Half a circle.
The classroom felt colder. Quieter. Every joke she wanted to share, every memory that bubbled up, hit a wall of silence. New classmates had their own jokes, their own groups. Zia didn't belong in any of them. Not yet.
Ruqayyah, thankfully, was still by her side—her chatter bright as always. If Zia was a flickering candle, Ruqayyah was the sun at noon, warming everyone without trying. But even then, sometimes Zia caught herself staring at her best friend, wondering if Ruqayyah missed the others too. If she also felt the gaping spaces between their laughter.
And then, just like that, something shifted.
It was a regular afternoon. The kind where the bell rang and everyone pulled out their tiffin boxes with tired groans. Zia and Ruqayyah were arguing over whether Crash Landing on You was better than Descendants of the Sun—their usual K-drama bickering—when the girl in front of them turned around.
"Wait… you guys like K-dramas too?" the girl asked, her eyes lighting up. "No way!"
Both Zia and Ruqayyah blinked. The girl grinned.
"I'm Sana," she said, pushing her hair back and leaning over their desk. "What's your current favorite?"
Zia and Ruqayyah exchanged a look. A kindred soul?
That moment cracked open a new door.
Sana was funny, bold, and seriously obsessed with Korean dramas. She quoted dialogues fluently, had full playlists of OSTs, and even mimicked actors for fun. "I've watched over 100 dramas," she declared once, pulling out a color-coded list from her notebook like it was sacred scripture.
She wasn't in their stream—she studied science—but that didn't matter. They met during breaks, english periods, and even in the corridors between classes. Slowly, the trio began forming a rhythm. Zia found herself laughing again. Real, belly-deep laughter that she thought she'd forgotten.
Sana's presence didn't erase the absence of Ayesha and Suraiya. But she stitched something new into their days. The laughter sounded different, but it was still laughter. There were new inside jokes, new shared memes, and a fresh energy to the air.
Sometimes, Zia would pause and just watch—Ruqayyah teasing Sana about her actor crushes, Sana dramatically pretending to swoon, and all three of them laughing until their sides hurt.
Maybe, Zia thought, this year wouldn't be so lonely after all.
But amidst the gentle return of joy, something darker tugged quietly in her chest.
He wasn't there.
The boy who once made her pulse skip with every ping on her phone now felt like a dream she was slowly waking from. Their texts had grown sparse. Conversations that once flowed like rivers now felt like dry wells. The "good mornings" stopped. The check-ins disappeared. He no longer asked about her day.
And when she messaged first, his replies felt tired.
She told herself he was busy. That life was pulling him in different directions. But the silence between his messages stretched longer each day. And still, Zia waited. Every night, she scrolled through old chats, heart tightening at memories that now felt distant.
She missed him.
Missed his dumb jokes. His random compliments. The way he'd type "lol" but actually mean it. Most of all, she missed being missed.
But what she didn't know was that he missed her too. Deeply. Silently.
He had been texting for weeks, asking to meet. At first, it was casual.
"Let's meet sometime. Just talk."
Then it grew more serious.
"Please. Just ten minutes."
And then, desperate.
"I just want to see your face again."
Every time, Zia's heart said yes.
But her mind? Her fear? They screamed no.
Her mother was strict. Old-school. The kind of woman who read every movement, every excuse, with sharp eyes. If Zia was caught meeting a boy alone, the consequences would be immediate—and unforgiving.
Still, the longing burned.
One night, her phone lit up with his name again.
"I feel like you're slipping away. I don't want that."
Her hands trembled as she typed her reply.
"Okay. Let's meet."
She lied. Told her mother she had group study at Ruqayyah's. Packed her bag with empty notebooks and a heart full of thunder. Her hands shook as she walked out, a smile plastered on her face.
They met in a park tucked away behind old trees and forgotten benches. It was quiet. Safe. Almost too peaceful for the storm that raged inside her.
He was already there when she arrived.
The park glowed with the soft golden hue of early evening—trees casting long shadows, birds chirping somewhere in the background, the world slowly winding down.
He stood near the edge of a walking path, one hand in his pocket, the other fidgeting with his watch. A light blue shirt hung untucked over black trousers, relaxed but effortlessly neat. White sneakers peeked out from under the hem, slightly scuffed, like they had walked through a dozen similar evenings.
A smart watch clung to his wrist, and his glasses—thin-rimmed and slightly crooked—made him look more thoughtful than usual. His hair was a little messy, as if he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times while waiting.
But it was his eyes that made her stop in her tracks—soft, searching, and full of something unspoken. Something that had waited too long.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
He looked the same. A little more tired, perhaps. But when he smiled, Zia felt her breath catch. Her chest ached with all the things she wanted to say but couldn't.
They walked slowly along the path. Birds chirped overhead. Leaves rustled gently in the breeze. For once, the world seemed to slow down.
"How's school?" he asked.
"It's okay," she replied.
But her eyes said everything else.
They settled on the soft grass, surrounded by the gentle hush of the evening. The moon glowed in the deep blue sky, casting a calm silver light over everything. A pleasant breeze swept through the park, brushing past them like a quiet sigh. They sat close, knees barely touching, their hearts beating quietly in sync.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "Can I lay in your lap?"
Zia paused.
Her heart screamed yes.
She nodded.
He rested his head in her lap, eyes closed, breathing slow. Zia's fingers moved to his hair, gently brushing it back. She let her touch linger—on his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw. Every inch of him felt like a memory made real again.
Then, slowly, as if drawn by gravity stronger than fear, she leaned down.
Her lips met his in the softest brush—like the first drop of rain on parched earth. It wasn't just a kiss. It was a question. A memory. A longing finally exhaled.
She pulled back, breath trembling, and in the quiet that followed, he opened his eyes. The way he looked at her—like she was the only light left in a dark, spinning world—made her heart ache in the most beautiful way.
And then, without hesitation, he kissed her back.
This kiss was different. It wasn't shy or unsure. It was full of everything they hadn't said. Everything they had carried in silence.
It was fire meeting fire. All the longing, all the ache of missed days and unspoken words—poured into each second. Their hands clutched at each other, desperate to hold on, afraid to let go again.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, Zia gently placed her hand on his cheek. Her thumb brushed against his skin, like trying to memorize the feel of him all over again.
"I missed you," she whispered, her voice barely holding back the emotion swelling in her chest.
He didn't hesitate. His eyes, soft and burning all at once, locked with hers.
"I missed you more."
And then she fell into him, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled her into his chest. Their embrace was quiet but full—like two pieces of the same soul finding their way back home. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat. It was fast, like hers, and somehow that rhythm felt like the safest sound in the world.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
Some moments were made to be felt, not spoken.
They sat there for what felt like hours, their fingers locked, hearts finally breathing again. Around them, the world moved on—kids played in the distance, a stray dog barked, the wind whispered stories through the trees.
But in that moment, Zia and he were the only ones who mattered.
When it was time to leave, Zia stood up, laughter still lingering on her lips, soft and breathless. The moonlight caught the curve of her smile, and something in him snapped—quietly, but completely.
He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her like she was the only light in the dark.
"This..." he murmured, voice low, rough with restraint, "...this isn't enough for me."
Before she could ask what he meant, his hand slid to the back of her neck—fingers threading through her hair, possessive, desperate. And then he kissed her.
Not softly. Not gently.
He kissed her like he was claiming her. Like he was trying to etch himself into her skin. It wasn't just affection—it was hunger. Ache. A thousand unsaid things crashing into a single moment.
Her breath caught, her hands finding his chest as his lips devoured hers, pulling her deeper into a kiss that felt like both a question and an answer.
The wind curled around them, the night thick with tension. Her heart raced, and still she didn't pull away. She didn't want to.
She was his in that moment. And he—God, he had always been hers.
Eventually, they knew they had to go.
No dramatic goodbyes. No promises made out loud.
Just a quiet look that said everything — I was yours today, and maybe, somehow, still am.
They stepped out of the park hand in hand, but at the gate, they paused.
Their roads were different now. Always had been.
With a final glance, they let go.
No heartbreak. No regrets.
Just two souls walking into the night —
not together, but not alone either.
Each carrying the weight of the other's love,
and the quiet ache of what could still be.