Varun POV 

The day felt like it was never going to end. I sat in the last row, watching the classroom buzz with chatter and laughter around me, but it all seemed so distant like I wasn't part of it. Maybe I wasn't.

I kept thinking about my mom and my little sister. The memories hit me hard, and I tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. Dad says angels don't belong on earth, that's why they're gone. But that doesn't stop me from missing them every single second.

Everyone in this place seems different from me. They talk fast, smile easily, and laugh a lot—things I'm not sure I can do anymore. It's like I'm stuck in a fog, and everything outside of it is happening too fast for me to keep up. And then there's the language.

They all speak Tamil, a language I don't understand. I can't even answer their questions, which only makes me feel more out of place. Every time someone asks me something, I just freeze. I want to say something, anything, but the words get stuck somewhere between my mind and my mouth.

I didn't come here to make friends. I'm not even sure I want to be here. But as I sat there staring at my desk, I felt a pair of eyes on me. Slowly, I turned my head to the right and saw a girl. She had these two side ponytails and the kind of smile that made you wonder why she wasn't scared of anything.

She was looking at me—not in the way everyone else did, with curiosity or judgment, but with something softer like she understood. In her hand, she held a piece of chocolate.

"Do you want some?" she asked, holding it out to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't spoken much today, not even when the teacher asked me to introduce myself. But something about her offer, her smile, made me feel... different. For the first time today, I felt like someone wasn't expecting me to be anything other than what I was.

A tiny laugh escaped me before I could stop it. It wasn't much, but it surprised even me. I quickly turned my head away, trying to hide whatever had slipped out, but I couldn't stop thinking about her kindness.

She didn't ask me any questions like the others. She didn't try to force a conversation. She just sat there beside me, eating her chocolate and staring out the window, as if my silence didn't bother her at all.

For a moment, it felt... normal.

I don't know why, but it made me feel a little less lonely. Maybe it was the chocolate, or maybe it was just her being there, not saying anything but not needing to. 

I found myself glancing at her throughout the day. I'm sure she noticed, but she didn't push me to talk. I couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't like the others. There was something about her that made the room feel a little warmer, a little less cold.

When the bell rang for lunch, everyone rushed out of the classroom, but I stayed behind. I wasn't hungry. I just sat there, staring at my desk, replaying old memories in my mind like a broken movie reel. I wanted to snap out of it, to stop thinking about the things I couldn't change, but it was hard.

Just as I thought I'd be left alone again, she came back. The girl with the ponytails. She didn't say anything at first. She just stood there, holding two lunchboxes in her hands.

"I brought extra," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Wanna share?"

I looked at her, then at the lunchbox she was offering me. I didn't know why she was being so kind. No one ever just offers things like that without expecting something in return, right? I hesitated for a moment but eventually took the lunchbox from her hands.

As we ate, she didn't try to fill the silence with useless chatter. She just sat there, eating her food and occasionally glancing at me with those big, understanding eyes.

It wasn't like the usual noise around me. Her silence was comfortable, not awkward. I realized I hadn't felt that in a long time.

Maybe she didn't understand me either—my story, my loss. But somehow, it felt like she got me, without me having to explain everything. And for the first time since the accident, I felt something shift.

I wasn't ready to open up yet, but for the first time, I didn't feel completely closed off either.

NEXT DAY 

The next day came faster than I expected. I didn't sleep much last night. Every time I closed my eyes, memories of my mom and sister would rush back. The images played like an endless loop—my sister's laughter, my mom's voice, and then, just like that, they were gone.

Dad tried to comfort me, like always, but I could see he was struggling too. He didn't know what to say anymore, so he just told me to be strong, the way he always does. But how am I supposed to be strong when the people who made everything feel safe are no longer here?

I kept thinking about that girl from yesterday. I still didn't know her name. I barely talked to her, but somehow she managed to make me feel less alone, even without saying much. Her small acts of kindness—offering chocolate and sharing her lunch—made a difference, even if I didn't show it.

Today, I walked into the classroom with the same blank expression. My body felt heavy like it was dragging itself forward without any real purpose. I found my seat in the last row and sank into it, staring at the desk again, just like yesterday.

But this time, something was different. I felt the absence of the usual chatter. Sure, the class was still talking and laughing, but my mind wasn't completely buried in its fog. I kept waiting to hear her voice, the girl from yesterday, but I couldn't pick it out from the noise around me.

Before I could search for her, I heard footsteps approaching. My heart picked up for some reason, and when I looked up, there she was—two side ponytails, the same warm smile on her face.

"Hi, Varun," she said softly, sitting down beside me again like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I didn't know how to respond. It felt weird to have someone so interested in talking to me, especially when I wasn't good at talking back. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat but nodded, managing a small "Hi" in return.

Her eyes lit up as if my single word was some kind of victory. She pulled out her notebook and started scribbling something. "Do you like drawing?" she asked, her voice curious but not pushy.

Drawing? I hadn't thought about it in a long time. Back when things were normal, I used to draw all the time—cars, planes, superheroes—anything that caught my imagination. But after what happened, I lost interest in everything. I just couldn't find the energy to care.

I shook my head. "Not anymore."

She paused, tilting her head, but didn't press further. Instead, she flipped through her notebook, showing me her sketches—flowers, animals, and even a few cartoon characters. I couldn't help but glance at them. They were surprisingly good, and I felt a small tug in my chest, a reminder of the times I used to spend drawing with my sister.

"You're really good," I muttered, almost without realizing it.

She grinned. "Thanks! My mom says I should keep practicing." There was a pause before she added, "Maybe you could draw with me sometime? If you feel like it."

I didn't say anything, but something about her offer stayed with me. I wasn't ready to draw again, but maybe I could think about it. Maybe.

As the day went on, the teacher called me up to the front to solve a simple math problem. My heart pounded in my chest. I hated being put on the spot, especially in front of the whole class. I walked to the front, trying not to trip over my own feet, and stared at the board.

The problem was easy, but I couldn't think straight. My mind was blank, and I could feel everyone's eyes on me. Whispers started, and my heart raced even faster. I was failing, and I knew it. My hands shook as I gripped the chalk, frozen in place.

And then, from the back of the room, I heard her voice. The girl.

"You got this, Varun," she said, not loudly, but just enough for me to hear. I glanced back, and she smiled encouragingly, giving me a small thumbs-up.

For some reason, that simple gesture calmed me down. I took a deep breath, focused, and finally wrote down the answer. It wasn't perfect, but I did it. The teacher gave me a nod, and I quickly walked back to my seat, trying to avoid everyone's stares.

When I sat down, she leaned over. "See? I knew you could do it," she whispered with a playful grin.

I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't used to this—having someone believe in me. I gave her a small nod and looked away, trying to hide the fact that I was feeling... better.

By the end of the day, I found myself looking forward to seeing her again. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so bad. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn how to feel normal again, with her help.

It was strange. I hadn't expected anyone to break through the wall I had built around myself. But this girl, with her chocolate and her sketches and her gentle way of being... she was starting to.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel so alone.

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hello, dears hope my cuties like my story ....

take care dears.....