The day after the showcase, the school was alive with whispers of the Photography and Poetry Fusion Event. Riddhi walked through the corridor, her notebook pressed close to her chest. She felt exposed, as if her poems had unraveled pieces of her she wasn’t ready to share.
“Your work was amazing,” a girl she didn’t know called out as she passed.
“Loved the one about the streetlight and shadows!” another added.
Riddhi mumbled her thanks, cheeks flushing as she hurried away.
In the art room, Aarav sat alone, scrolling through photos on his camera. One picture—Riddhi sitting by the window during their brainstorming session, sunlight tracing her face—made him pause.
He hadn’t meant to take it. It was one of those moments his lens naturally gravitated toward. There was something about her—quiet but full of depth, like the poems she wrote.
Kunal’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You’ve been staring at that for ages. What’s the deal?”
“It’s nothing,” Aarav said, quickly switching to another photo.
Kunal smirked. “Sure, it’s nothing. You’ve only mentioned her name, like, a dozen times since the event.”
“I have not,” Aarav muttered, but his friend’s words lingered.
Later that day, Riddhi found herself in the library, flipping through a collection of poetry books. She was startled when Aarav slid into the seat across from her.
“Hey,” he said, his camera bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hi,” she replied, surprised but not entirely unhappy to see him.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Aarav began, his voice quieter than usual. “How do you come up with those poems? They’re... they feel so personal.”
Riddhi hesitated. “I guess... they are. Writing helps me process things I can’t say out loud.”
Aarav nodded, as if he understood that on a deeper level. “I think that’s what makes them so powerful. They’re real.”
Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. “Your photos are amazing too. They tell stories without words. That’s not easy.”
Aarav smiled, his heart skipping a beat. “Thanks. But I think your words bring them to life.”
For a moment, the library’s usual hum seemed to fade. Riddhi looked at him, noticing the softness in his expression, the way he was studying her like she was part of a picture he was trying to capture.
Anyway,” Aarav said, breaking the silence, “I came to give you this.”
He pulled out a printed photo of their showcase piece, “Fragments of the Unseen.”
“I thought you might want a copy,” he said.
Riddhi took it, her fingers brushing his for a fleeting moment. “Thank you. This is... perfect.”
That evening, Aarav sat by his window, staring out at the city lights. His thoughts kept circling back to Riddhi—her quiet confidence, the way she smiled when she was nervous, how her poems seemed to echo his own thoughts.
He’d always believed his world revolved around photography, capturing what he saw. But now, he found himself wanting to capture something he couldn’t frame: her.
“Do I...” Aarav started to ask himself, but the thought was too big, too new to finish.
The next day, as Riddhi packed her things after class, Aarav approached her.
“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, there’s this local art festival this weekend. They have a poetry reading and a photography exhibit. I was wondering if you’d want to go. Together.”
Riddhi blinked. “Together?”
“Yeah, I mean... as friends. Or collaborators,” he added quickly, feeling his pulse quicken.
Riddhi smiled, feeling her own nerves bubble up. “I’d like that.”
On Saturday, they wandered through the festival together. Aarav snapped photos of everything—colorful stalls, street performers, even the way Riddhi’s hair caught the light.
“Stop,” she said, laughing as he aimed his camera at her.
“You’re part of the festival too,” he teased, grinning.
Later, during the poetry reading, Riddhi leaned closer to him as the speaker recited a verse about love and longing. Aarav glanced at her, his heart thudding in his chest.
“I think you could do this,” he whispered.
“What?” she asked, looking at him.
“Read your poems here. They’d love it,” he said.
Riddhi shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” he said softly.
For a moment, their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, a connection. Aarav felt his breath hitch, and he realized then that it wasn’t just admiration he felt for her. It was more.
As the evening ended, they walked together toward the exit, the sounds of the festival fading behind them.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Riddhi said.
“I’m glad you came,” Aarav replied.
They stopped near a streetlamp, the glow casting soft shadows on their faces. Aarav hesitated, then spoke.
“Riddhi, I... I wanted to say something.”
“What is it?” she asked, her voice quiet.
He swallowed hard. “I think... I mean, I feel like we’ve become more than just collaborators. And I don’t know if this is crazy, but I—”
Riddhi’s phone buzzed, cutting him off. She glanced at the screen and sighed.
“I should go,” she said apologetically.
“Yeah, of course,” Aarav said, hiding his disappointment.
As she walked away, Aarav watched her, his heart heavy but hopeful. He knew this was only the beginning of their story.
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