Prologue - 2023
I watch the towers of Dubai shimmer in the distance, their glass facades catching the golden sunset. My fingers trace the outline of an old photograph hidden in my wallet—four smiling faces from a time when everything seemed possible. Sometimes life takes you in circles, back to where everything began, though you're no longer the same person who started the journey.
1999-2008: New Beginnings
My earliest memories are painted in the warm hues of Emirati sands. Born to Indian parents in the UAE, I was a child of two worlds—Kerala's lush greenery lived in our home, while outside, Sharjah's sun-baked streets became my playground.
At Sharjah Indian School, I was just another wide-eyed child learning to navigate the world of textbooks and friendships. Nothing extraordinary about me—just a boy with unruly hair and oversized uniforms my mother insisted I would "grow into."
Then came 2008, and with it, the gravitational shift that would alter my orbit for years to come.
The tuition center was a bland place—fluorescent lights, the scent of whiteboard markers, and the perpetual hum of ceiling fans fighting a losing battle against the heat. I was thirteen, an age when the world starts revealing itself in new, confusing ways.
Rahul and I had been friends since the first grade. That day, he nudged me as we entered the classroom.
"New students," he whispered, nodding toward two girls sitting near the window.
I barely looked up, more concerned with finding my math notebook. But when I finally did glance their way, something inexplicable happened. The girl with the long braid and serious eyes looked up at the same moment, and for a fraction of a second, our gazes locked.
Her name was Aisha. She rarely spoke in class, but when she did, her voice carried a quiet confidence that made everyone listen. Her answers were always precise, her handwriting impeccable. I found myself looking forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays with an enthusiasm that only math alone could never inspire.
Rahul was smitten with her friend Priya, who was all laughter and animated stories. Our little group of four formed naturally—two boys harboring unspoken feelings, two girls unaware of the storms they'd stirred.
"Do you think they know?" Rahul asked one evening as we walked home.
"Know what?"
"That we like them."
I shrugged, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I don't like her. She's just... interesting."
Rahul's knowing smile said he didn't believe me for a second.
As months turned into years, my infatuation with Aisha grew roots. I memorized the sound of her laugh, rare and melodious. I noticed how she always helped others before completing her own work. How she unconsciously tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear when concentrating.
For four years, I carried this feeling, this weight that was somehow both burden and treasure. Four years of almost-conversations and what-ifs. Four years of rehearsing words I never spoke.
By 2012, the pressure of high school intensified. I made the difficult decision to stop attending tuition and study independently. The real reason wasn't academic strategy—it was cowardice disguised as practicality. Every time I saw Aisha, the unspoken words grew heavier.
The last day at tuition, she smiled at me and said, "Good luck with your studies."
Three simple words, yet I replayed them for weeks afterward. In that mundane farewell was the closing chapter of what never began.
But endings, I would learn, are sometimes just beginnings wearing different clothes.
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