Arya was a master of being invisible. While most people came to college to be seen, Arya came to blend into the cream-colored walls of the lecture hall. As an average student with a predictable routine, his world was confined to his sketches and the rhythmic tapping of his pen.
He sat in his sanctuary—the last bench—waiting for the Physics professor. But today, the air in the room changed.
"Is this seat taken? Or is it reserved for your brooding thoughts?"
Arya looked up. It was Meher. If Arya was a quiet sunset, Meher was a lightning storm. She was the girl everyone knew—the heart of every festival, the voice of every debate, and a complete extrovert.
"It's... it's free," Arya stammered, his heart doing a nervous somersault.
Meher sat down, her bright yellow scarf brushing against his arm. "Good. Because the front row is too loud, and I have a feeling you're the only one here who actually knows how to listen."
Throughout the lecture, Arya couldn't focus on a single word about E = mc^2. He was too busy noticing how Meher doodled stars on the corners of her notebook and how she hummed under her breath. For the first time, his invisible corner felt bright.
The Subtle Twist
As the bell rang, Meher didn't just leave. She leaned in and whispered, "I saw your portfolio in the library yesterday, Arya. You're not an 'average' student; you're a genius with a pencil. But if you keep hiding, the world will never know."
She slipped a small, neon-green sticky note into his book and walked away.
Arya opened the note. It wasn't a phone number. It was a date for an upcoming National Design Scholarship—an elite program that only accepted ten students nationwide.
"Apply," the note read. "Because I don't sit with losers."
Arya looked at the door where she had disappeared. His quiet life had just been hit by a whirlwind, and for the first time, he didn't want to be invisible anymore.The lecture hall of St. Xavier's College was a sea of noise, but Arya was an island of silence.
While other students huddled in groups discussing last night's party or the upcoming cricket match, Arya sat in his usual spot—the extreme corner of the last bench. It was his sanctuary. From here, he could observe everyone without being observed. To the world, Arya was just an 'average' student with average grades and an even more average social life. But inside his bag, hidden between the pages of a dusty Physics textbook, was a sketchbook that held a world far more vibrant than reality.
He was staring at the blank chalkboard, his fingers absent-mindedly tracing the edges of a charcoal pencil, when the heavy oak doors of the hall swung open.
The chatter died down for a split second before erupting into a different kind of buzz. Meher had arrived.
Meher wasn't just a student; she was an event. With her messy ponytail, a bright yellow scarf that seemed to carry the sun's glow, and a laugh that could be heard from three corridors away, she was the definition of an extrovert. She was the girl who knew the name of the canteen boy and the principal alike.
Arya quickly looked down, pulling his hoodie slightly lower. Don't look this way, don't look this way, he chanted internally.
"Is this seat taken? Or is it reserved for your brooding thoughts?"
The voice was like a sudden splash of cold water. Arya looked up, startled. Meher was standing right in front of his desk, tilting her head with a playful smirk.
"It's... it's free," Arya stammered, his voice cracking slightly. He quickly moved his bag to the floor.
"Great! The front rows are full of people trying to breathe down the professor's neck. I need some space today," she said, sliding into the seat next to him.
As the professor started droning on about E = mc^2, Arya found it impossible to focus. Usually, his mind was a calm lake, but Meher's presence was like a stone thrown into it, creating endless ripples. He could smell her perfume—a mix of vanilla and old books—and every time her elbow accidentally brushed his, a small electric jolt ran through him.
He tried to look busy by sketching a small eye in the corner of his notebook.
"You're very good, you know," Meher whispered suddenly, leaning closer.
Arya froze. "It's just a hobby."
"Liar," she smiled, and for a second, Arya forgot how to breathe. "A hobby is something you do to pass time. This... this looks like you're trying to capture a soul."
Before he could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lecture. But Meher didn't rush out like everyone else. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, neon-green sticky note. She scribbled something on it and stuck it firmly onto Arya's open sketchbook.
"I saw your portfolio in the library art section last week, Arya. The librarian is a friend of mine. She told me the person who drew those was 'just an average boy'." She leaned in, her eyes locking onto his. "I told her she was wrong. Average people don't see the world the way you do."
She stood up, adjusting her scarf. "There's a National Design Scholarship opening next week. Only ten people in the country get it. It's not for the average, Arya. It's for the invisible geniuses."
She started walking away, but stopped at the door, looking back over her shoulder with a wink. "Apply. Because I don't sit with losers."
Arya sat frozen as the room emptied. He looked down at the neon note. It wasn't a phone number or a 'cute' message. It was a link to the most prestigious design competition in the country—a path to a career he had only ever dreamed of in secret.
His heart, which usually preferred a steady, quiet beat, was now drumming a new rhythm. The invisible boy had been seen.