1. Bubbles

I was on my way to the bus stop to pick up my friend Dipanshu. Since I lived near the college and his house was quite far away, I used to meet him at the bus stop, and together we would walk to college every day.

But that day was different.

As I walked, I noticed a familiar face. I had seen her once before at the college fresher’s party, where I had complimented her, yet somehow I still couldn’t fully remember who she was. She was walking a little ahead of me toward the college, while my phone kept ringing with Dipanshu asking, “I’ve reached, where are you?”

But the moment I saw her, everything around me seemed to fade.

There was a strange elegance in the way she walked, in the way her eyes met mine. And when she smiled at me, it felt unreal — like a scene pulled straight out of a dream. I smiled back without even realizing it, and that single moment became etched into my mind.

It was the first time a girl had shaken my thoughts so deeply. Not because I was shy around girls — in fact, I had always been confident, extroverted, and friendly. Yet somehow, for the very first time, I felt nervous because of someone I didn’t even know. From that day onward, I slowly became obsessed with her presence. She was from the IT department, while I belonged to CS. Since I was quite friendly with most of the teachers, I would always find some excuse to step near her classroom, just to catch a glimpse of her.

At first, it all felt harmless.

Then one of my female friends told me more about her, and somehow my curiosity only grew stronger. I had always been more comfortable around girls — they understood emotions better, and unlike many boys, they rarely mocked someone for expressing feelings.

Most of the boys around me already disliked me. Some called me an attention seeker, others judged me without knowing me at all. To them, being friendly with girls automatically meant something cheap or perverted. But they never understood that I simply found peace in conversations where emotions were not treated like weaknesses.

So my friend Yashvi told me more about her. She said that she looked even more beautiful without her hijab. In her faith, wearing a hijab was something deeply personal, and she was very careful about whom she revealed herself to. Somehow, that mystery only made her seem even more graceful and admirable to me.

But the thing that truly stayed in my mind was what Yashvi said next — that she had no male friends, no boys on her social media, and that she strongly disliked most men because of the way the world had treated her. Hearing that shocked me. In a world where people pretend so much, how could someone remain so guarded, so untouched by all the noise around them?

To me, she didn’t seem arrogant or distant. She felt like a soul trying to protect its own peace in a world that rarely understands purity.

And there I was, with my unemployed, restless self, still searching for a single glance from her in crowded hallways. The more I learned about her, the more deeply my thoughts became tangled around her presence.

We barely interacted — maybe two or three times at most — yet even those small moments felt enormous to me. A few words, a brief smile, a passing eye contact… somehow, they stayed in my mind far longer than they should have. To anyone else, those moments might have meant nothing, but to me, they felt like fragments of something rare and unforgettable.

The first time I truly met her was in the library. She was sitting with one of her friends — though I honestly don’t remember her name. I’ve always been terrible at remembering names; faces and moments stay with me far longer than introductions ever do.

She was reading a book that had nothing to do with academics, so I casually asked her what kind of book she was reading. She looked at me with an expression that almost said, “Why do you want to know?” Yet she still replied softly, “Just a novel.”

I smiled and said, “Oh, nice. I’m more into psychological stuff and manga, to be honest… though I’ve never actually read a book outside academics before.”

It was a small conversation, barely a few sentences, but somehow even that felt memorable to me. Maybe because every word from her carried a strange calmness I wasn’t used to.

The second time was at the fresher’s party, though I didn’t fully remember it until much later. I had participated in several events that day, and by the end of it I was completely exhausted. Then suddenly, I saw her.

Usually, I had only seen her dressed in a black burkha and hijab. But that day, for the first time, she was wearing a pink hijab, and somehow everything about her looked different. The makeup was so subtle yet perfect that, for a moment, I genuinely forgot how to think properly.

Without even realizing what state of mind I was in, I walked up to her and blurted out, “Oh… Bhushra, is that really you? You look immensely pretty — oh my God.”

And before she could even reply, I disappeared as quickly as possible.

But I think she liked the compliment. Or at least, that’s what I told myself after noticing the faint smile on her face. Maybe it wasn’t blushing — perhaps it was just amusement. People say girls blush when they feel warmth or safety, but around her, I was the one who always became speechless.

The way she smiled at me made me feel like the most awkward and unintentionally funny person alive… yet somehow, that smile alone made every embarrassing moment worth it.

The third time we spoke was because I was collecting names of participants for an upcoming college event. I approached her and asked, “Aren’t you participating? Aren’t you interested?”

She replied in her soft, beautiful voice, “Actually, I hate crowded places. It’s not that I have stage fear… I’m just not comfortable around too many people.”

Before she could say anything more, her friend interrupted the conversation and laughed, “Just write her name down anyway. Even her mother keeps telling her to participate in competitions and interact with people.”

She immediately turned toward her friend, giving her a quiet but strangely pretty side-eye, then looked back at me and said softly, “No, don’t listen to her. I won’t be participating in anything… but thank you for asking.”

It was such a simple interaction, yet I still remember every little detail of it — the calmness in her voice, the awkward honesty in her words, and the way she carried herself so differently from everyone else around her.

By then, she had already become my silent crush since the first semester, and those few small conversations with her only made me fall deeper into my feelings. Every interaction, no matter how brief, stayed in my mind for days.

Before I even realized it, our first semester had passed.

Then, in the second semester, fate gave me another chance to talk to her — a chance that felt far more important to me than it probably should have.

I still remember the exact date — it was 14th February. The day our results were announced. While the entire college was busy with Valentine’s Day chaos, my attention was fixed somewhere else entirely.

That day, I had another brief conversation with her. It lasted only a few moments, yet somehow it felt longer in my memory — as if time had slowed down just enough for me to hold onto every word she spoke.

Whenever I try to write about her, it feels as though a divine presence sits beside me, quietly listening to every word I write. It is almost as if she guides my thoughts, helping me choose the right words whenever I praise her.

And that feeling makes my heart unbearably heavy.

My mind knows the truth — that she is not beside me, not with me in this moment. Yet every time that realization strikes, it breaks something inside me in a way I cannot fully explain. Tears come to my eyes carrying too many emotions at once: longing, peace, sadness, admiration… all tangled together while I continue writing about her.