CHAPTER -3 THE HAND WAVE

The next day, I woke up feeling light. Not excited, exactly. Just... looking forward to something. Like when you know there's a good movie on TV later. Nothing big. Just nice.

I went to the kitchen. Amma was frying bajjis. The smell of chili and oil filled the room.

"Going to call Ayan?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. I took the box she handed me. "Extra for his friends?"

"For whoever is there," she said.

I walked to the ground. Not fast, not slow. Normal. But I was smiling a little. The sun was warm, not burning yet. A dog crossed the road with a puppy behind it. I stopped to watch them for a second. Then kept walking.

The ground was noisy when I arrived. Same as always. I looked at the wall.

Empty.

I sat down anyway. Opened the box. Ate one bajji while waiting. Told myself she was late. Told myself maybe she was helping her mother.

I finished the second bajji. Then the third. The game went on. Boys shouted. Dust rose and fell.

She didn't come.

I went again the next day. Same empty wall. Same excuses in my head. By the third day, I stopped making them.

On the fourth day, I asked Ayan.

"Ram?" he said, mid-bite of his bajji. "He's gone. Village. Some family thing. Back when school starts, I think."

"Oh," I said.

That was all. Oh.

I walked home slower that evening. The mangoes were ripe now, sweet and heavy. Amma had made aam ras for dinner. I ate it but didn't taste it.

I wasn't sad. Not really. I had known Maya for one evening. One conversation. You can't be sad about someone you barely know.

But I was... something. Disappointed in a small, stupid way. Like when you save the last piece of chocolate and someone else eats it. Not a tragedy. Just a small letdown.

I told myself it was fine. We would meet in school. Eleventh A and Eleventh B weren't far. We would pass in corridors. We would smile, say hi, maybe share a bench during assembly. We had time. All year, actually.

Never mind , I thought. We can meet after summer. We can become proper friends then.

It helped a little.

The next evening, I almost didn't go to the ground. What was the point? But Amma had made samosas, and Ayan would sulk if they got cold, so I went.

The wall was empty again. Of course it was. I sat down, pulled out my phone, pretended to be busy.

That's when I saw him.

Veer. Walking toward the pitch, bat in hand. He saw me too. Our eyes met across the dust and the noise.

He raised his hand. A small wave.

I waved back—too fast, too stiff, like a puppet with broken strings. Then I immediately looked down at my phone, cheeks burning. Why was I awkward? We had waved before. Nodded before. This was nothing new.

But something was different. I was different. Off-balance. The empty wall, the missing Maya, the samosas growing cold in my bag—it all made me feel exposed.

I stood up. The samosas in my bag were getting cold. Ayan would complain if they lost their crunch.

"Ayan!" I called out. "Snacks are getting cold!"

He looked at me, then at the game, then back at me. He knew Amma's samosas. He picked up his bat and walked over.

"You're no fun," he said.

"You're welcome," I said.

We started walking home. I didn't look back at the ground. But I felt it—that small moment sitting on my shoulders like a weight. His wave. My wave. The way I had turned away too quickly.

It was nothing. Just a wave between two people who went to the same school. That was all.

But I kept thinking about it the whole way home. The samosas were still warm when we arrived. Ayan ate four. I ate one and went to my room.

Stared at the ceiling. Told myself I was being stupid.

But I kept seeing his wave. Small. Casual. Nothing special.

And I kept seeing mine. Too fast. Too eager. Too much.

Never mind , I told myself. But this time, it didn't help.

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