Arpan Patil had always chosen the back row.
It wasn't out of defiance or laziness; it was a quiet rebellion against the world. The back row was his sanctuary—a place where the noise of the classroom couldn't quite reach, where the hum of the fluorescent lights above was muted by his thoughts. It was where he could drift away, sketching half-formed dreams in the margins of his notebook while the teacher's voice became just another part of the background music.
He wasn't the worst student—he wasn't a slacker, but he wasn't the first to raise his hand either. He floated just below the radar, a shadow among the stars. And in a school where the stars shone as brightly as they did, blending into the background was the best he could do.
But there was one star who stood out more than the others. Samruddhi Shyam Bhakre.
She was in the front row. Always. Always sitting up straight, poised, with her books laid out like a perfectly aligned constellation. There was an aura about her that made her seem untouchable—too perfect to be real. Samruddhi wasn't just the class topper. She was the one teachers spoke of in hushed tones. "Did you see her project? It's next-level." "Samruddhi's already done with the semester's assignments. She's way ahead."
To Arpan, she was like the moon—distant, unreachable, but impossible to ignore. He'd catch glimpses of her during lessons, her pen moving swiftly, her eyes focused, her lips sometimes curling into a tiny, knowing smile when she solved a problem effortlessly. She was the gold standard, and he was the quiet shadow.
But on the last Tuesday of August, the universe made a mistake.
"Arpan Patil, switch seats with Samruddhi," Rohini Ma'am called out from the front, her voice ringing with the authority that only a teacher of ten years could wield.
Arpan froze. He blinked, trying to process what he had just heard.
"Ma'am, are you sure?" he asked, his voice almost too soft, unsure if his question would even make it through the suffocating silence of the class.
Rohini Ma'am raised an eyebrow, the faintest of smiles tugging at her lips. "Yes, Arpan. Now, please. We need to balance the rows."
There was no escaping it. The chair in front of him was empty, waiting. He could feel Samruddhi's eyes on him as he stood up awkwardly, the heavy weight of the moment settling on his chest. His palms were a little sweaty as he moved past desks, not knowing if he was stepping into the fire or if it was simply the warmth of proximity.
Samruddhi's gaze didn't hold judgment, just curiosity. She glanced up, a brief moment of surprise flickering across her features. Then, with a gentle nod, she gathered her things—slowly, quietly—and slid into the seat behind him, a shadow now.
For a split second, Arpan thought he might suffocate. The space between them felt immense and awkward. It wasn't just a seat change. It was a disruption in the quiet order of his world.
When he finally sat next to her, he couldn't help but notice the small things. The way her pencil case was impeccably organized with delicate gold accents, the way her hair always seemed to fall just right over her shoulders, and the soft scent of lavender—something he hadn't noticed before—lingered in the air around her.
He tried to focus on the lesson, but his thoughts were clouded by the proximity, the strange charge in the air. He could hear her soft breathing, the faint tapping of her pen against the desk. It was all too much, and at the same time, it was like nothing at all. He was aware of everything and yet nothing at once.
What he didn't realize was that Samruddhi had already been noticing him long before their seats had shifted.
She'd seen Arpan in the back row, day after day, his eyes lost in whatever world he was drifting into. She'd seen the way he looked at his notebook, as if it held some secret only he understood. She'd seen the slight curve of his lips when he was amused, though it was rare. He wasn't the talkative type, but there was something captivating about him. A quiet intensity, like he carried the weight of a thousand thoughts but said very little.
When the seat switch had been announced, Samruddhi had felt a flutter of something unfamiliar—a mix of curiosity and... maybe even anticipation. For all her achievements, for all her high marks and accolades, no one had ever made her feel this unsure before.
Now, sitting beside him, she couldn't help but notice how he leaned in ever so slightly to get a better view of the board. The way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his notebook. And how his eyes would briefly flicker towards her when he thought she wasn't looking.
Samruddhi found herself intrigued.
The class went on, but Arpan couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. The distance between them had closed, and yet the air felt thicker. Every sound seemed amplified. Every movement felt more deliberate.
At one point, Samruddhi's notebook slipped from her desk, and she bent to pick it up. In that fleeting moment, their hands brushed against each other—just a whisper of contact.
Arpan felt the shock of it shoot through him like an electric current. Samruddhi's fingers were soft, warm, and for a brief second, his world stopped spinning.
Her eyes widened in surprise as she pulled her hand back, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
But the silence between them wasn't awkward. It was... charged.
"Sorry," Samruddhi said, her voice barely above a whisper. She offered him a faint smile, her cheeks flushed slightly.
"No... it's okay," Arpan replied, his heart thumping louder than it ever had before. His mind struggled to find words, to grasp onto something coherent, but all he could do was nod, staring down at his notebook.
He noticed her. She noticed him. And for the first time, they both realized that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to this seat swap than just a random act of fate.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, neither of them stood immediately. They lingered—two people in a crowded room, yet completely alone in the quiet space between them.
"See you tomorrow," Samruddhi said, standing up.
Arpan nodded. "Yeah... see you."