The clouds over Chennai gave way to sunshine the next morning, but inside Karthik, a storm still brewed quietly.
The rumors hadn't died down. If anything, they'd grown into strange fantasies—classmates theorizing, shipping, and scribbling "Karthik x Ananya" on benches like some teenage prophecy.
He hated attention.
But amidst the chaos, there was something grounding him: her sketchbook.
Ananya had handed it to him after school the previous day, saying, "Don't open it until you're home. And don't laugh."
Now, lying on his bed, Karthik flipped it open.
Page one: a sketch of their classroom. Precise, detailed. Everyone was drawn like little comic versions—exaggerated, funny, affectionate.
Page two: a scene from the library. Him, hunched over a book. Her, peeking from the shelf behind with a mischievous grin.
Page three: a drawing of him. Not dramatic. Not idealized. Just him, sitting alone under a tree, headphones in, lost in thought.
He paused. His chest tightened.
And then the fourth page…
Ananya had drawn the two of them walking side by side. Not holding hands. Not blushing. Just… walking. Peaceful. Comfortable.
Beneath it, in her neat, bold handwriting, she had written:
"With you, I feel normal. And I think that's rare. Thank you."
Karthik sat with that for a long time.
No one had ever shown him himself so gently before.
---
The next day, he found her in the art room after class. She was alone, packing up her brushes.
"You draw well," he said softly.
She turned, surprised. "You saw the sketchbook?"
He nodded. "That page… the one with the tree. That's exactly how I see myself."
Ananya smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "And the other pages?"
"I liked them. Especially the one with us walking. That felt real."
They walked together in silence for a bit, exiting the art room.
Then she asked, "Did it make you uncomfortable? Me drawing you like that?"
Karthik shook his head. "No. It made me feel… known. And I guess I didn't realize how much I wanted that."
She glanced at him, and for a second, he saw her usual teasing fade into something more vulnerable.
"I draw what matters to me," she whispered.
And for the first time in days, the noise of rumors faded into the background.
---
End of Chapter 67