It all started on Tuesday, a day that smelled like chalk dust and incense. A day that seemed like something small but important could happen.Clara sat by the window in her ninth-grade English class, her notebook open but untouched. She was drawing random pictures—stars, spirals, and tiny paper planes. She loved paper planes. They made her feel like anything, even a tiny folded piece, could fly.That’s when she saw him.He had just moved in a week ago. His name was Sameer, and he wore a backpack too big for his frames and glasses that slid down his nose. He always sat quietly in the back of the room, a little aloof from everyone else. But when he smiled—which wasn’t often—his whole face lit up.Clara had never spoken to him, but she noticed a few things. Like how he always brought his lunch in a neat steel tiffin box. Or how he sometimes stayed after class to help Ms. Bennett put her books away. Or how he read during lunch instead of sitting by the swing.On Wednesday, Ms. Bennett assigned a group project: “Write a modern rewrite of a classic love story.”Clara dreaded group projects. But this time, fate (and Ms. Bennett’s seating) had other plans.“Clara and Sameer,” Ms. Bennett called out.Clara looked back in surprise. Sameer looked up, eyes wide, then quickly looked down.After class, he walked up to her locker, shifting his weight nervously. “Hi,” he whispered.Clara nodded, more excited than she thought she would. “Sure. After school?”They met in the library that afternoon. Clara brought snacks; Sameer brought a printed list of classic love stories. He smiled when she pulled out a packet of cookies. She smiled when she saw that his notes were color-coded.He chose to retell *Cyrano de Bergerac*, the story of someone who helps someone else woo the person he secretly loves. It was complicated and a little sad, but also beautiful.The next week, they met every afternoon. They shared thoughts, stories, and slowly, pieces of themselves.“I lived in Delhi,” Sameer said one day. “I didn’t know anyone here before. I guess I’ve gotten used to being alone.”“I get it,” Clara replied.There was a pause. Then, Samir folded a piece of paper into a plane and slid it across the table. "Not invisible to me,"he said softly.Clara's heart skipped a beat.The story he wrote wasn't perfect, but it had heart. He changed the ending - made it happier. In his version, the secret behind the words didn't stay hidden forever. The story earned him an A grade, and a smile from Ms. Bennett. But neither of them cared about grades.After the presentation, Clara found a folded note in her locker. It was shaped like a plane."Would you like to go to the book fair with me this Saturday? - Samir."She smiled for so long that her cheeks hurt.That Saturday, they walked through the corridors of the school book fair, their shoulders almost touching. They stopped at the poetry section, where Clara read lines and Samir laughed at the way the authors made them dramatic.They each bought a book — Clara a collection of short stories, Samir a guide on how to make kites."You like kites?" he asked."They remind me of home," she said. "We used to fly them on the rooftops. There's something magical about watching something you've made fly."Clara looked at him for a long time. "Maybe you can teach me sometime.""Okay," he said, showing her his little finger.She wrapped her hand around his finger.They didn't kiss each other. Not that day, or even that week. But sometimes, they sat so close that their arms brushed against each other. Sometimes, they passed each other notes in the shape of planes. Sometimes, they laughed so much that they forgot to breathe.Samir had brought two kites. Clara tried to fly her kite in the air, but failed."You're so bad at it," he said teasingly.She laughed. "I know! Help me?"He stood behind her, guiding her hands. Clara laughed and turned to him, red with the wind."Thank you," he whispered."For what?""For not making me invisible."He looked at her again, as if he was seeing her for the first time, although he had been watching her all along.And just like that, there were no longer just paper planes or kites flying.Something else was flying - quietly, gently, innocently.
Love.
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