The alarm bell was my first betrayal of the day, though I had no one but myself to blame. Sleepless, disoriented, and caught in a whirlwind of panic, I realized it wasn’t the first time it had rung—it was the fourth.
My heart sank as I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes left. Fifteen minutes to not just get ready but to make it to Xaver Hall, where punctuality wasn’t just expected—it was demanded.
Without thinking, I jumped out of bed and dashed to the washroom. A quick shower—what we humorously call a Lahore bath—ensued. No soap, no shampoo, just a hurried splash of water to erase the night’s weariness. Time was slipping away. My tie felt like a puzzle, and the pocket square an unnecessary luxury. Still, I somehow managed to look half-decent, grabbing two cookies on my way out. I crammed them into my mouth, chewing as I sprinted, and the crumbs falling like my lost seconds.
The hall loomed ahead, its grandeur mocking my haphazard state. I adjusted my tie one last time, took a deep breath, and stepped in.
The room was already alive with whispers and faint scribbles of pens. Heads turned briefly in my direction, but my attention was snagged by one gaze in particular—Sanvi’s.
Her eyes met mine, and I could swear there was a glimmer of amusement in them. My heart stuttered, caught between embarrassment and intrigue. That’s when it happened. My diary, clutched loosely in my hands, slipped and tumbled to the floor. I bent down to retrieve it, only for my phone to slide out of my pocket and crash onto the cold tiles. A soft giggle reached my ears—her giggle.
I glanced up. Sanvi’s lips pressed together in an attempt to stifle her smile, but her eyes betrayed her. She was enjoying this; my state of disarray, my frantic movements. And not for the first time. She always seemed to relish these moments, not out of malice, but with a kind of endearing mischief.
As I straightened up, clutching both my diary and phone, I couldn’t help but feel oddly grateful for the chaos. In that fleeting moment, her smile made my disastrous morning seem a little less catastrophic. Perhaps, amidst all my fumbling, I had stumbled onto something else entirely.
As she attempted to draw attention away from my obvious confusion and disarray, she spoke, 'Attention, please.' Everyone immediately turned their focus to her, and I silently thanked her with a glance, grateful for her attempt to shield me from the discomfort of my embarrassment. But she didn’t acknowledge my silent gratitude. Her expression remained unreadable, her gaze cool and indifferent, despite meeting mine. I felt like I was slowly dying under the weight of it all.
I sat in the lecture hall, my mind a jumbled mess of thoughts. Everything felt unclear, like I was trying to put together pieces of a puzzle, but they just wouldn’t fit. Yesterday, Sanvi—our trainer—had been so warm, so friendly. It had felt like more than just professional kindness, something I had convinced myself was a little bit special. But today? She was distant, cold even. It was as if I were invisible.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I dreamt about her all night. Her smile. Her laughter. Her words. And I couldn’t help but wonder: why did she care about my embarrassment yesterday? Why had she been so warm towards me? Maybe it wasn’t anything personal. Maybe she just had that kind of friendly nature. She had said it herself when we first met—“I’m here to make memories and make friends.”
I replayed those words in my mind again and again. At the time, they had felt so genuine, so full of possibility. But now, with her distant attitude, it felt like I had misunderstood everything. I had let myself hope for something more.
Musavir, shut up, I scolded myself. She’s just a trainer. Just a trainer.
The words sounded harsh in my mind, but they were the truth. Sanvi was just a trainer. She liked meeting new people, making friends. That’s all.
But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. Why did I even care? It was just a silly crush. It wasn’t real. Get over it, I told myself again.
Lost in my own thoughts, I barely noticed someone calling my name. Mr. Musavir. It wasn’t Sanvi’s voice—of course not. I assumed it was someone else. But then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. A heavy, confident hand that jolted me back into reality.
I turned, startled, to find a man with a beard and a smile standing in front of me. My heart thudded in my chest. I had no idea who he was at first.
"Mr. Musavir," he said, his voice warm but with a certain authority. "Where have you been? I believe you weren't here earlier."
I blinked, still disoriented. "I… I’m here, sir," I managed to say, almost in a whisper. He smiled again, but I could hardly focus on what he was saying after that. His lecture continued, but my mind kept racing, trying to figure out where Sanvi had gone. Was she still here? Did she notice my awkwardness? Or had she already moved on, forgotten about me like I was nothing?
I tried to listen to the lecture, but it felt pointless. My mind was elsewhere, trapped in this whirlwind of confusion. I remembered how I used to skip classes back in the Civil Services academy. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but it was something I did. And now, sitting there, I felt that same rebellious urge rising in me again. I wanted to escape. I didn’t want to deal with the confusion, with the mixed signals.
I stood up quietly, hoping no one would notice, and slipped out of the classroom. The door clicked shut behind me, and I was free. Free to think. Free to get away from all the questions that swirled in my head.
Walking down the empty hallways, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About Sanvi. Her kindness, her smile, her words. Did I mean anything to her? Or was I just another student in a room full of them? The truth was, I didn’t know. And maybe that was for the best. Maybe some things were never meant to be figured out.
I smiled bitterly to myself as I stepped outside into the cool air. I didn’t know where I was going, but I needed to clear my head.