Shreya stood beneath the berry tree, her eyes fixed on the clusters of red fruit hanging far above her head.
She rose on her toes and stretched her fingers as far as they would go, the tips barely brushing a leaf before slipping back down. She tried again, this time pulling at a lower branch, hoping it might bend enough to bring the berries closer.
It didn't.
The branch sprang back into place, unmoved and unapologetic.
Shreya exhaled slowly and brushed her hands against her skirt, leaving faint traces of dust behind. "Just one," she murmured under her breath, more hopeful than annoyed. "That's all I want."
She stepped back and looked up at the tree, studying it as if patience alone might convince it to help her. The berries remained out of reach, glowing softly in the sunlight, tempting and distant.
Around her, the orchard rested in a gentle stillness. Afternoon light filtered through the leaves, painting shifting patterns on the ground. Somewhere nearby, water flowed steadily from a borewell, its rhythm calm and familiar, carrying life to the surrounding fields. The air smelled of warm earth, leaves, and ripening fruit, a scent that belonged only to this village and nowhere else.
Shreya tried once more to tug at a branch, knowing it was pointless, yet unwilling to give up.
"Planning to climb it?"
The voice came from behind her.
She turned quickly, startled, her heart jumping before she realized who it was.
Saurabh stood a few steps away, hands tucked casually into his pockets. His shirt bore faint marks of soil from the fields, and his hair was slightly damp, as if he had just finished working. He looked relaxed, but there was something careful in the way his eyes rested on her.
"I wasn't planning," she said, a little too quickly. "I was just… trying."
A small smile appeared on his face. "Looks like the tree doesn't agree with you."
She glanced back up at the branches, then shrugged. "It never does."
They stood there in silence for a moment, the kind that wasn't awkward but still felt fragile. They had grown up in the same village, crossed paths countless times, shared laughter and long looks they pretended not to notice. They both knew what lived quietly between them. And they both knew better than to speak it aloud.
At seventeen and sixteen, some feelings felt too big to name.
Saurabh bent down and picked up a few small stones from the ground. "Let me try."
Before she could respond, he tossed one upward. It missed. So did the next. And the next.
Shreya pressed her lips together, turning slightly away so he wouldn't see the smile tugging at her face. "You don't have to," she said gently. "I was just passing time."
But Saurabh was already scanning the ground. He found a long stick and struck the trunk firmly. The tree shuddered, leaves rustling loudly. A few berries fell, but the ripest ones dropped straight into the muddy water pooled near the roots.
He frowned. "That's not fair."
Shreya laughed softly. "Maybe the tree doesn't trust you."
He didn't answer. His gaze traveled upward, following the branches, calculating distances. After a moment, he said quietly, "I'll climb."
Her smile vanished instantly.
"No," she said, stepping closer without thinking. "The branches have thorns. You'll hurt yourself."
"I'll be careful."
"You always say that," she replied, worry slipping into her voice despite her attempt to hide it.
He hesitated, then looked at her, his expression softening. "Just a handful."
She shook her head. "For berries?"
"For you," he said, before he could stop himself.
The words hung between them, heavier than either of them expected.
Shreya didn't reply. She only looked at him, her breath caught somewhere in her chest, and for a moment, everything they never said seemed dangerously close to being spoken.
Then Saurabh turned toward the tree and began to climb.
Shreya stood below, fingers clasped tightly together, her eyes never leaving him.
"Be careful," she called, trying to keep her voice steady. "Please."
"I am," he replied from above. "Almost done."
He reached for a cluster of ripe berries, his fingers closing around them—
—and his foot slipped.
Time seemed to shatter.
Saurabh fell straight into the muddy water below with a heavy splash. Shreya screamed his name and ran toward him without a second thought, her feet sinking into the mud as she grabbed his hands.
"What were you thinking?" she cried, panic flooding her voice. "Why would you do this?"
He winced, clutching his knee, but then slowly opened his fists.
The berries were still there.
Her anger dissolved instantly, replaced by fear and something far more vulnerable. Her eyes filled as she whispered, "You're impossible."
Together, they struggled out of the mud. Shreya supported him as they walked toward the nearby pond, her shoulder steady beneath his weight. They sat at the edge, close but careful, as if afraid that moving too much might change something.
She cupped water in her small palms and gently washed the mud from his face, again and again. Her hands trembled slightly, and she didn't look away even once.
"You could've been seriously hurt," she said softly.
"But I wasn't," he replied, trying to sound light. "Don't worry."
She turned away, splashing water onto her dress, scrubbing at the stains with more force than necessary. "Always trying to be a hero," she muttered.
Saurabh watched her for a moment, then flicked a little water onto her face.
She gasped. "Saurabh!"
"You missed a spot," he said, smiling.
She tried to glare at him, but it didn't last. She splashed water back at him, and soon they were laughing, water flying between them, the sound of it echoing through the orchard and across the quiet fields.
Their laughter softened, blending into the afternoon, as if the land itself was listening.
They never spoke of what lay between them.
But in the warmth of that moment, in the silence that followed their laughter, both of them felt it clearly.
Some beginnings don't announce themselves.
They simply exist—quiet, fragile, and unforgettable.