I once had a dream.

  A dream about a girl.

  Now most of you would assume that’s normal for a sixteen-year-old. But what made it strange was that I had never dreamt before—not once in my entire life. Yet the night before my first day in Class 11, that dream carved itself into my memory.

  In the dream, I was standing in an open space that felt endless, as if the world had no edges. The sky above me was neither dark nor bright—just a pale, glowing stillness, like the moment before sunrise. The air was quiet, heavy with anticipation.

  She stood far away from me.

  At first, she was only a silhouette, her outline blurred by distance, as though she didn’t entirely belong to this world. I knew nothing about her, yet something inside me insisted that she mattered. I began walking towards her. With every step, the ground felt softer, uncertain, almost unreal, as if the world might dissolve beneath my feet.

  The distance between us refused to shrink. No matter how much I walked, she seemed just as far away. My heart beat faster, not out of fear, but urgency—the quiet panic of knowing that if I didn’t reach her now, I never would.

  Finally, when I was close enough to feel her presence, she turned around.

  Time slowed.

  I saw a face more beautiful than anything I had ever known. And then I woke up.

  Morning erased her face completely. I tried to recall her eyes, her smile, the shape of her features—but my mind refused to cooperate. No matter how hard I tried, she remained faceless. All that remained was the feeling inside me when I saw her.

  On my first day as a Class 11 student, I was sent to the school auditorium for an orientation. The school auditorium was already crowded when I arrived. Rows upon rows of students filled the seats, their voices echoing off the walls. I couldn’t find my old classmates anywhere. I remember feeling annoyed at myself—how could I be late on the very first day of a new session? With no other option, I sat down wherever I could, surrounded by unfamiliar faces. The Principal’s voice filled the hall, welcoming internal and external students to Class 11.

  When the session ended, the noise rose again—chairs scraping, students talking, teachers moving about. My eyes wandered aimlessly until they stopped at the front rows, where most of the girls were seated.

  That’s when I saw her.

  Only the back of her head.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  And yet, something inside me shifted.

  It was subtle, almost frightening. A sudden sense of familiarity washed over me, as if I had known her for years. It didn’t make sense. I had never seen her before. Still, the feeling was unmistakable. My heart recognised something my mind couldn’t explain.

  Soon, teachers began announcing sections. When my name was called, I stood up and made my way toward the front. The auditorium felt larger than it should have, the walk longer than it was. And just as I was about to reach my section’s line, she stood up too.

  She was in the same section as me.

  For the first time, she turned around.

  I didn’t breathe.

  Her face was nothing like the exaggerated beauty I had imagined in dreams. It was softer, more real—and far more dangerous because of it. Her eyes were bright and expressive, carrying a quiet confidence and a natural warmth that made them impossible to ignore. There was an ease in her expression, a kind of effortless charm, as if she didn’t try to be noticed yet always was. Her smile wasn’t perfect, but it was genuine, the kind that felt honest rather than rehearsed. When she smiled, her nose crinkled adorably, making her smile even more irresistible. Everything about her felt balanced—graceful without being distant, beautiful without being unreal.

  It felt familiar.

  As if my dream had borrowed pieces of her and returned them to me in fragments.

  “Disha Malhan,” the teacher called out.

  Her name settled quietly inside me, like it had always belonged there.

  In class, I ended up sitting beside an external student who would soon become my best friend, Anirudh Kashyap. But throughout the day, my attention kept drifting back to Disha. I couldn’t help wondering at the absurdity of it all—on the same day I had my very first dream, I also saw the most beautiful girl in the world, and she happened to be in my own section. I knew it then. I had fallen for her on that very same day.

  The days that followed were slow and restless. I wanted to talk to her, but didn’t know how. I had grown up with almost no interaction with girls, and that lack of experience weighed heavily on me. Words abandoned me whenever she was nearby. The only reason fate gave me was our common side subject-painting because most of the students of my class had different side subjects.

  Fortunately, painting was one of the few things I had always been good at. Yet I had never taken it seriously. I thought of it as a useless skill, something that wouldn’t matter in the real world. One afternoon, during a painting class, I was quietly working on a watercolour piece. Lost in my strokes and colours, I didn’t realise she was watching. When she finally spoke, it caught me completely off guard. She came up to me, joked about it, and appreciated my work in her own playful way. It was the first time she spoke to me.

  I tried to match her humour, but honestly, I was just too boring for her. Still, she smiled. And that was enough.

  After that, we spoke from time to time—only during painting classes. She admired my art; I admired everything about her. Her laughter, her cheerfulness, the way she seemed to brighten the room without trying. Slowly, she brought colour into a life I hadn’t realised was so dull.

  During the painting classes we used to work together, her eyes focused on the canvas in front of her. My eyes, on the other hand, could only look at her.

  I was always good at painting since childhood and I used to regard that talent as useless but I never imagined that this so-called useless talent would mark the beginning of such a beautiful friendship.