Unsent Emails

I used to hate him before we became desk partners.

His name was Raghav.

And at the time, I genuinely thought he was unbearable.

He was loud in a way that made classrooms feel smaller. The kind of person who could talk to anyone, anywhere, like the world automatically made space for him.

I wasn’t like that.

I was the quiet new girl who barely spoke in 7th grade and had already decided that surviving school without being noticed was a valid strategy.

So when we were made desk partners, I didn’t think “interesting.”

I thought: “great. punishment.”

He later said he thought I was a snitch.

Which, honestly, wasn’t entirely unprovoked. I had once complained about something in class with a group of girls, and that was enough for people to assign me a permanent personality.

Still, I didn’t like him either.

Not at first.

—

It started changing in the smallest ways.

Shared work. Accidental conversations. The kind of silence that slowly stops feeling awkward.

Then one day, Ishita said something casually that ruined everything in the best possible way.

“You and Raghav would look good together.”

I laughed it off.

But I started noticing him after that.

Noticing is dangerous.

Because once you notice someone, you can’t un-notice how they exist.

How he laughs too easily.

How he talks like he belongs everywhere.

How he somehow became… easy to be around.

—

One day Ishita asked him what he thought about me.

“She’s nice,” he said.

Then after a pause, he added that he used to think I was a snitch when we first became desk partners, but I was actually “pretty chill.”

Chill.

That word shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

—

Eventually, I did the most chaotic thing possible.

I told Ishita I liked him.

She told him.

He didn’t believe it.

So she told him to ask me directly.

He never did.

So I emailed him.

It was not poetic. Not smooth. Not even properly written.

Just:

“What Ishita said… is kind of true.”

That was it.

I also somehow managed to ask if people still thought I was a snitch, which is a level of emotional self-sabotage I still don’t fully understand.

He replied.

Of course he did.

He always replied.

He explained everything calmly, told me nobody thought that anymore, and then very politely advised me not to use school email for personal messages.

Then gave me his personal email anyway.

Which should’ve been my first warning.

—

After that, things got weird.

Not dramatic.

Just… constantly aware.

I would look at him too long and immediately regret it. He would notice and suddenly act like I didn’t exist. Then I would start acting like he didn’t exist. Then somehow we’d end up speaking again.

It never reset properly.

His friends found out quickly.

Lavanya teased me during Hindi class.

Tanay cornered me at dispersal once when only me, him, and Sara were in the room.

Everything spread without permission.

—

Then came the Truth or Dare incident.

Second last day of 7th grade.

Lavanya and Rhea dared me to write a note:

“I still like you, but I know you don’t like me.”

And give it to him.

No explanation.

No context.

Just that.

I did it.

Because apparently I enjoy suffering.

He didn’t even understand at first.

Then other people saw it.

And suddenly it stopped being private.

I remember more about everyone else’s reactions than his.

Confusion. Laughter. Noise.

And me standing there wishing I could evaporate.

—

Then there was the glue stick incident.

He was messing around in class, pretending to hand it to me and pulling it away when I reached.

Teasing. Casual.

I got annoyed.

So I grabbed his wrist.

And took it.

It was fast. Instinctive. Stupid.

The entire class reacted instantly.

“OOOOH.”

I let go immediately.

But my heart didn’t.

—

And then the moment I actually stood up to him.

He tried telling me to move seats because someone else “was supposed to sit there.”

Something in me snapped.

I looked at him and said, very clearly:

“There’s nothing here. You can’t just tell me to move.”

No shaking voice.

No hesitation.

Just… me.

For once.

The room went quiet for half a second.

Then it moved on like nothing happened.

But I didn’t forget it.

—

By 8th grade, everything had shifted.

I wasn’t invisible anymore.

But I wasn’t grounded either.

Friends drifted. Groups changed. People I thought were mine slowly weren’t.

And I ended up talking to people I never expected.

Karan. Yuv. Ira. Rhea.

And him.

Always him.

We talked through emails mostly.

Homework. Tests. Notes. Random chaos.

Normal things that never felt normal.

—

Then Rhea happened.

I found out she was dating Raghav.

And suddenly everything I had been ignoring had a name attached to it.

I told myself I was fine.

I wasn’t.

I went home, locked my room, and cried until it stopped making sense.

Not because I hated her.

Not because I blamed anyone.

But because I didn’t know who I was without liking him anymore.

—

Still, we didn’t stop talking.

We helped each other in tests.

Teased each other in class.

Got pulled into each other’s chaos constantly.

Once he copied answers from my paper during a Hindi test sitting right next to me.

And just said, “Thanks.”

Like it was normal.

Like I wasn’t falling apart internally.

—

Slowly, I stopped being scared of speaking.

I started standing my ground.

Talking more.

Existing louder.

Even when everything felt unstable.

Because somewhere in the middle of all this mess, I stopped being someone who only observed life.

And became someone who sometimes participated in it.

—

Raghav was never a clean story.

No perfect confession.

No clean ending.

Just moments.

Too many of them.

Glue sticks. Emails. Truth-or-dare notes. Wrist-grabs. Arguments over chairs. Walking in corridors like nothing mattered when everything did.

And me.

Trying to understand how hate turns into noticing.

And how noticing turns into remembering too much.

And why that always feels the same.