~ Isha Roy's POV ~

I used to hate going to school. More so to watch my brothers boring football matches.

"Utho shona, shokal hoye gelo to!" my mother called, "You'll be late again!"

"Aar paanch minute maa, please!" I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow.The early morning sun streamed through the gaps in the curtain, but my bed, with its familiar warmth, felt like the safest place in the world. The kitchen sounds—metallic clinks of pots, the sizzle of mustard oil in the pan—filtered through the door. The familiar scent of breakfast in progress brought with it a sense of nostalgia, even though I dreaded what the day would bring.

Maa was already in full throttle, her cotton saree rustling as she moved about the kitchen, preparing luchis and alur torkari for the family. It was always the same on Football Fridays—hectic, rushed, yet filled with care in the smallest of gestures. I could picture her already. Her hair tied in a loose bun, her thin gold bangles clinking softly as she stirred the pots, making sure everything was perfect before the day began.

"Your brother's already downstairs, you know today is very important day for him right?" Her voice was light, but there was that unmistakable Bengali-mother sternness—the one that wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. ways taking a moment to ask if I had brushed my hair or eaten enough rice. I could hear the unspoken words: How can you be so lazy on such a big day for your brother?

"Maa...Eto shokal bela uthte hobe? (Do I really have to wake up this early?)" I mumbled, still half-asleep. The bed felt too comfortable, and the idea of getting up for school felt too... tedious.

"Uth Kumbhokoron!" she called back, using that name again—the mythical character known for sleeping for months. I couldn't help but smile a little. It was a small joke between us, though it also came with a deadline: Wake up, or else.

With a deep sigh, I dragged myself from the bed, my feet meeting the cool floor tiles. A glance in the mirror told me all I needed to know: a tangled mess of my short hair sticking up at odd angles and sleepy eyes that refused to fully open. The mirror reflected more than just my disheveled appearance—it reflected my reluctance for what was to come. "I have to watch this boring game football," I muttered, tugging at a lock of hair that refused to stay in place.

As I trudged to the kitchen, the smell of luchis frying in mustard oil hit me. Maa, busy as ever, looked up from the stove just long enough to place a steaming plate in front of me.

"Bosey pore kheye nao, Shona," she said, placing a plate in front of me.The plate had its usual—a small mountain of rice, leftover macher jhol, and a side of aloo bhaja. I stared at it, knowing Maa wouldn't rest until I'd eaten every grain.

"Maa, we have sandwiches at school" I tried, though I knew it was futile. Maa had her own rules about food, and arguing was pointless. Maa's idea of breakfast was as traditional as it could get, rice included, though it often made my stomach grumble during history class. For her, skipping rice in the morning was like starting the day with a missing piece.

"How will you focus if you don't eat properly?" she added, more to herself than to me. I rolled my eyes but smiled. Maa had her own way of worrying, and I had long accepted that.

As I sat at the dining table, my father's absence felt oddly comforting. Babai had probably left early, as he usually did, to meet with his friends at the local newspaper stand. They would spend their mornings discussing politics, sports, and whatever made it to the headlines. Babai was a man of routines—he always had a place to be, something to do, and people to see. His absence meant the house was quieter, and in the mornings, that was exactly what I needed.

After forcing down enough to satisfy her, I made my way to the balcony. The early morning air was cool and fresh, and I could already hear the soft cooing of my pigeons, my real morning ritual.

"Good morning, little ones!" I said, kneeling beside their aviary.

"Momo!" I called to my favorite pigeon, who fluffed its feathers, perched atop the little wooden house attached to the outer area of our home. My four pigeons had their own little world out there, free to fly around but always returning home. "You're the only one who understands me," I chuckled, tossing a handful of seeds onto the ground. They fluttered down, cooing happily as they dove for their breakfast, strutting around with a carefree elegance that I envied.

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"You're so lucky," I whispered to them. "You get to fly anywhere you want. I wish I could too."

"Maybe one day you will," Rohan's voice broke the peace. My younger brother stood behind me, a cheeky grin on his face. "Di, you're always telling them to escape. Why don't you?"

"Not all of us can just flap our wings, Rohan," I replied with a laugh, ruffling his hair. "Besides, who would help with your homework and cheer for you?"

"Fair point," he grinned, grabbing a slice of toast before heading out.

Football Fridays. Ugh. They were the bane of my existence.

As I stood there, watching the pigeons, I felt a small twinge of dread.On Fridays, I found myself dragging my feet toward the school stadium, knowing I had to support my younger brother - who was on the football team. Our school was divided into seven 'Houses,' each with its own color, and there were separate teams within each House for every grade level. They competed in everything from sports to music and dance and my brother proudly wore our house color.

They were a weekly affair at school, but for me, they were more a chore than a celebration. Still, Rohan was my brother, and I had no choice but to be there, to support him from the sidelines. It wasn't that I didn't care about him—I did—but the football field just wasn't where I wanted to be.

But maybe, just maybe, things were different now.

_______________________________________________________

As I made my way through the crowd, I spotted my best friend, Mia, waving frantically from a few rows up, her wild curls bouncing with every movement. I couldn't help but smile; Mia's energy was contagious.

"Over here!" she called, cutting through the noise of the crowd. I maneuvered my way to her, sidestepping enthusiastic fans and dodging stray footballs.

"Hey! I thought you weren't coming!" she exclaimed as I took a seat next to her.

"Yeah, well, I can't let Rohan down," I replied, trying to mask my disinterest with a smile.

"Sure, sure," Mia teased. "But admit it—you're really here for him, aren't you?"

I felt my stomach flip at the mention of him. That nameless boy, the one I had been silently admiring for weeks now, ever since the first time I saw him during the morning assembly.

"Whatever," I scoffed, but my heart betrayed me, beating just a little faster. "I don't even know his name. What would it matter anyway?" I said, attempting to sound indifferent.

Mia raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Sure. Just admit it; you've got a crush!"

"Crush? Me? Please," I scoffed, even as my heart betrayed me.

I was supposed to be focused on Rohan's game, yet my eyes kept drifting to the sidelines, wondering if I would see him again.

Maybe I wasn't just here for Rohan after all.

~ How it started ~

It all started one seemingly ordinary day during the morning assembly, where I had been too bored to focus. . As the principal's voice droned on about school achievements, I glanced around the crowded auditorium, my gaze drifting aimlessly.

My eyes wandered, and they landed on him—the tall boy standing at the back, his height giving him an edge over the rest. His posture exuding an effortless confidence that seemed to make him shine amidst the sea of students. There was no reason for my heart to flutter, yet it did, inexplicably.

Oi cheleta ke? (Who was he?)

At first, I dismissed it as nothing—a fleeting glance. But soon, I found myself unconsciously looking for him each day, waiting to catch a glimpse, unknowingly becoming attuned to his presence. It became a habit: in the hallways, I would catch glimpses of him, a laugh shared with friends, a casual toss of his hair.

Over the following weeks, the coincidences piled up. He was on the same house color-how have I never noticed before? It felt ridiculous that a boy could captivate me so thoroughly without me knowing his name or anything about him. Yet here I was, drawn in like a moth to a flame, eagerly watching from the sidelines, waiting for a glimpse of him.

Ami aishob ki korchi? (What am I doing?)

I often asked myself, brushing aside the absurdity of my infatuation.But I admired him from afar, like a star I could only see in the night sky-beautiful, distant, and utterly unreachable yet mesmerizing, eagerly waiting for school just to see him again, as if he had become my secret muse.

Each day at school became an adventure, an exploration of moments spent hoping to catch sight of him. I didn't need to know his story; it was enough to simply see him. It was like waiting for the stars to twinkle each evening, a silent promise that he would be there, lighting up my world in ways I couldn't articulate.

Then came the day of my chemistry lab class, a day that felt like any other until it wasn't.

As I entered the lab, the teacher announced that the seniors were still practicing for their upcoming exams, meaning our entry would be delayed. A small part of me felt disappointed but was also curious.

Hoyto oi cheleta oikhane ache? ( Maybe that boy is in there? )