Arav had always believed that some people enter your life like seasons—beautiful, brief, and impossible to hold on to. He didn’t know this belief would be tested the day he met Aashi on the school terrace, sitting cross-legged with a stack of pastel-colored papers scattered around her like fallen petals.
It was the lunch break, and the terrace was Arav’s secret escape from the chaos of classrooms. So when he pushed the metal door open and saw her there, folding tiny squares into delicate shapes, he froze.
Aashi looked up, surprised but smiling. “Hey… you want a paper crane?”
Arav blinked. “A… what?”
Without answering, she handed him a pale-blue origami crane. It was neat, elegant, balanced. Unlike his life.
“I make them when I’m stressed,” she said casually, returning to her folding. “Helps me breathe.”
Arav nodded, unsure why he didn’t simply leave. Something about the quiet determination on her face, the way her fingers moved so gracefully, anchored him there.
“What are you stressed about?” he found himself asking.
She paused. “Everything? Exams. Expectations. The future.” Then she tilted her head. “What about you?”
He hesitated. “Nothing.”
Aashi raised an eyebrow. “That sounded exactly like something. Want to sit?”
He did.
In the days that followed, the terrace slowly became theirs. Arav would always find Aashi there—sometimes folding cranes, sometimes sketching clouds, sometimes just letting the wind play with her hair.
He learned that she loved colors, hated chemistry, and dreamed of becoming a writer. She learned that Arav loved quiet places, hated crowds, and hid a sketchbook full of pencil drawings he never showed anyone.
Aashi laughed easily. Arav didn’t—but he found himself wanting to, whenever she was around.
Soon they fell into a rhythm: shared biscuits, shared stories, and slowly, shared silences.
One windy afternoon, she asked, “Arav, what scares you the most?”
He shrugged. “Losing people.”
She frowned slightly. “Have you lost someone?”
“No,” he said, looking at her. “And I don’t want to.”
It took her a moment to understand.
Aashi didn’t say anything—she simply placed a half-folded crane in his hand and smiled softly. “Then don’t push them away.”
Their friendship grew like a slow-burning flame—warm, gentle, but bright enough to change everything it touched.
Arav started talking more. Aashi started listening deeper. And somewhere along the way, both started noticing things they didn’t talk about—how his gaze lingered on her smile, how her hands brushed his a second longer than necessary, how the terrace felt empty without the other.
But neither said the word love.
Not yet.
The winter of their final school year arrived with the pressure of exams and the fear of goodbyes. Aashi seemed more stressed than usual, folding cranes almost furiously.
One day, Arav found her wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
“What happened?” he asked gently.
She shook her head. “Nothing. Just… college applications. My parents want me to apply abroad.”
“Abroad?” The word stung more than he expected. “You’re leaving?”
“Maybe,” she whispered. “I don’t want to. I mean, I do—but I also don’t.”
Arav felt something tighten in his chest. “Aashi…”
She looked at him with trembling eyes. “I don’t want everything to change.”
He swallowed. “Then tell me what you want to keep.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then quietly, she whispered, “You.”
The word felt like a spark in cold air. But before he could respond, the bell rang, and Aashi hurried away, leaving Arav holding a pink paper crane—her hands shaking too much to fold it properly.
For days, Arav thought about that single word.
You.
It echoed in every sketch he drew, every step he took, every breath he inhaled. He wanted to tell her he felt the same. That he wasn’t afraid anymore. That the thought of her leaving terrified him more than anything else.
He planned to tell her on the terrace.
But Aashi didn’t come for three days.
On the fourth day, Arav found her near the basketball court, looking pale.
“You didn’t come,” he said without greeting.
She forced a smile. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“You could’ve told me.”
She exhaled, tired. “Arav… I need to stop relying on the terrace so much. On you so much. What if I really have to leave? I’m trying to learn to stand on my own feet.”
He felt the sting, but stayed quiet.
“Sometimes,” she whispered, “the people who make you feel the safest are the ones you must learn to survive without.”
Arav clenched his fists. “I don’t want to be someone you survive without. I want to be someone you choose to stay with.”
Aashi’s eyes softened, but she stepped back. “Arav, I’m scared. What if you’re only important to me because you’re here? What if distance breaks everything?”
“It won’t,” he said firmly.
“But what if it does?”
Arav took a step forward. “What if it doesn’t?”
Aashi looked torn, unsure, fragile.
He gently placed something in her hand—a sky-blue crane.
Her eyes widened. “You folded this?”
He nodded. “For you.”
Aashi laughed through her tears. “It’s terrible.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But I still made it.”
And for the first time in days, she smiled.
The exam months blurred by with endless stress, late-night calls, shared notes, and silent fears neither voiced.
Then came the results—and with them, the news:
Aashi had been accepted into a top university abroad.
Arav didn’t reply to her message for hours. He didn’t know how to.
His heart felt heavy, like someone had placed a suitcase full of unsaid words inside it.
Finally, late at night, she messaged:
Can we go to the terrace tomorrow? One last time?
He typed yes.
The terrace was cold under the evening sky. Aashi stood with a box in her hands.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“My cranes,” she said, smiling faintly. “A thousand of them. I finished.”
She opened the box, and Arav’s breath caught.
Inside were cranes of every color—some delicate, some clumsy, some creased with panic, some folded with joy. A year of her emotions, preserved in paper.
“A wish comes true when you fold a thousand cranes,” she whispered. “Do you want to know mine?”
Arav’s voice cracked. “Yes.”
Aashi stepped closer. “I wished… that no matter where life takes us, I never lose you.”
He felt the world blur for a moment.
Then, gently, he held her face and whispered, “You won’t.”
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. “Arav… do you love me?”
He swallowed. “I think I’ve loved you since the day you gave me the first crane.”
Aashi smiled, tears sparkling like stars.
“And I’ve loved you since the day you chose to stay.”
Their foreheads touched, warm against the cold evening breeze. Neither kissed. They didn’t need to. Some moments are too sacred for anything more.
Aashi left two weeks later.
But the day she boarded the flight, Arav found a letter in his locker.
Inside was a pale-blue crane and a single line:
“Wait for me, and I’ll come back with a sky full of stories.”
He smiled, pocketed the crane, and whispered to himself:
“I’ll wait.”
And for Arav, that was enough.