The board exams were approaching fast, and the pressure was mounting. With project deadlines piling up, the entire class was drowning in last-minute panic and incomplete charts.
Teachers paced the classrooms with stern expressions, calling out names, demanding updates. Everyone was stressed.
Everyone except ZARS.
Zia, Ruqayyah, and the rest of the group had completed their projects well in advance. It was a small victory in the middle of the storm, and it gave Zia a strange sense of calm—until one evening, her phone lit up with his name.
"Is your project complete? There are only three days left for submission," she asked him.
There was a pause before he replied, his voice low and tired. "No, it's still pending. I don't know what to do anymore."
Zia didn't even think twice. "Should I help you complete it?"
"You'll really help me?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes, of course," she said, her voice filled with a quiet certainty.
They decided to meet the next evening near the school gates. He promised to give her only two projects to file—he said he'd do the rest himself. Zia smiled at the screen. She didn't say it out loud, but she would've done all five if he'd asked.
The next evening arrived with a sleepy sun and a slow breeze. Winter had made everything quieter—like the city itself was holding its breath.
The school building stood tall in the heart of the neighborhood, its brick walls aged and comforting, covered in creeping ivy and shadows. In the distance, the honk of traffic and the chatter of students softened beneath the weight of the cold.
Zia stood near the school gate, glancing at the time on her phone, pulling her shawl tighter around her. Her fingers were slightly numb from the chill, but her heart was warm with anticipation.
Her phone buzzed.
"Where are you? I've already left."
She quickly typed back:
"I'm near the school. You come."
A few minutes later, she saw him walking slowly toward her. He wore an olive green hoodie, black pants, and clean white sneakers. The hoodie hood was pulled slightly up, and his glasses caught the soft glow of the streetlamp behind him. It was the first time they were meeting alone—no Ruqayyah, no group, no one else.
Zia felt her breath catch in her throat.
He stopped a few feet away. "Hi," he said, his voice quieter than usual.
Zia hesitated, nerves fluttering like moths in her stomach. "Hi," she finally said.
He unzipped his bag and handed her the two projects. "You'll really complete these?"
"Yes," she nodded, her smile shy. "But… some of the hard diagrams might not be possible for me."
"That's okay, no big deal," he replied, grinning gently.
For a few seconds, they just stood there. Not saying much. Not needing to.
She noticed the way he rubbed his hands together to keep warm, how his gaze dropped to the ground between them every few seconds. She tucked the files under her arm and whispered, "I'll get them done. Don't worry."
He looked up and smiled again. "I should go now."
"Okay. Go," she said, not wanting to say goodbye.
As he walked away, Zia stood still for a moment, her hands slightly trembling—not from the cold, but from the memory of his voice so close, his presence so real.
That night, she didn't wait. She placed the files carefully on her desk and brought out her pens, rulers, and glitter gel pens—the ones she used only for special assignments. She made a cup of tea and wrapped herself in a shawl, then sat under the soft light of her study lamp.
Each diagram she copied, each heading she colored, each sentence she rewrote—she did it with quiet care. She thought of him submitting the file. Would he smile when he saw how neat it was? Would he remember that she stayed up late just for this?
When she finished, it was nearly 4 a.m. Her eyes were heavy, but her heart was light.
She picked up her phone and texted him:
"Your projects are done."
His reply came instantly.
"Thank you so much! You're the best."
She stared at the screen, smiling. It wasn't a grand message, but it was enough.
---
The days flew by. With the projects submitted, the real storm began—the board exams. Tension gripped the entire school. Students walked with notes clutched in their hands, whispering formulas and definitions as if trying to breathe them in.
ZARS stuck together, helping each other revise. Zia and the boy often texted before and after exams. Little things. Encouragements. Check-ins.
"How did it go?"
"I think I did okay… but I messed up question 5."
"You'll still get good marks, trust me."
Every time he messaged her, Zia's heart beat a little faster.
Sometimes he'd say:
"You stayed up late just for my project. I'll never forget that."
And she'd reply:
"You'll do great. Just keep going. I'm with you."
Their bond grew stronger—not in grand gestures, but in quiet ones. In messages sent at midnight. In nervous glances exchanged after the exam bell. In jokes shared over physics formulas and the dread of math.
And in the silence after the last paper, when everything was finally done, Zia sat on her bed staring at her phone. She typed, then erased. Typed again.
Before she could overthink it, his message came.
"We did it. Thanks for everything."
Zia smiled softly to herself, typing back:
"You did great. I'm proud of you."
And after a pause, his final message:
"You made boards feel less scary. You made it feel… like home."
Zia locked her phone and placed it on the pillow beside her. Outside, the winter was finally fading—but inside her, something warm had just begun to bloom.