POV: Ram (aka Mike)
It started with a plan to clean my room—a rare Sunday ritual. I was digging through the mess of old books, papers, and forgotten memories, when something slipped from the edge of a faded notebook.
Somewhere between the dusty shelves and the forgotten pages of old notebooks, I found her again.
Not physically.
Not by message.
But in the words I wrote during the most innocent days of my life—my school days. The golden time when love didn't need a name, just a heartbeat.
The paper slipped from between my tuition notes. It wasn't tuition where we met—that was Ren's chapter, not hers.
She came from a brighter page.
I saw her first at a school competition—she stood on stage, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the mic. She wore no extra charm, no forced confidence. Just honesty. Just realness with the sparkle of her small eyes.
And in that moment,
everything inside me paused.
I didn't even know her name then.
But I knew I wanted to.
I'd never believed in love at first sight—not until I felt it.
From that day, every school program, every corridor glance, every shared silence became a scene I stored carefully.
She was my junior.
But her presence felt older than time.
She carried a light I couldn't describe.
And all I did was follow.
When she finally spoke to me—a year later—it was something casual. Some small question about a book I carried, I think. But for me, it was like the universe finally acknowledged I existed in her orbit.
From there, slowly, we became something like friends.
Not close. Not loud.
But quietly connected.
There was this one evening—still etched in my bones.
She was walking home from school alone. Her friends had left early. She looked a little unsure. So I offered to walk her home. I had my cycle with me, and I remember pushing it beside us while we walked and talked about everything and nothing.
She laughed that day. At my lame jokes. At the way I told stories.
And when I told her my favorite color was blue, she nodded with a smile and said,
"You seem like a blue soul… soft and stormy."
She didn't call me Ramakrishna.
She didn't even call me Ram.
She whispered the name "Mike" once, randomly—when I helped her carry her files.
I asked her what that was.
She just smiled and said,
"Just someone I know in my mind. Someone who makes me feel safe. Feels like you."
And from then on…
I became Mike in her world.
Not a real name.
But a real place.
The time she saved my number, she added a blue heart next to it. She said it was just aesthetic.
But I liked to believe it meant she remembered.
The color.
The name.
The boy.
I kept writing about her. Secretly. In these pages.
I wrote when she shared her dreams.
When she got nervous before a test.
When she told me her favourite cartoon from childhood.
I wrote like she was already a poem.
Not knowing one day she'd walk away…
Without even realizing she was my first love.
Ram's Thoughts:
She never saw it—my quiet.
Never heard it—my silence.
But every piece of me, every shade of blue in me…
Belonged to her.
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