Somewhere Between Almost and Always

Tanvi

The next day, Tanvi woke up drenched in sweat, her hair clinging to her forehead. The fan was off-again. She didn't need to guess who was behind it. Her mother had already left early for school, switching off the fan like a silent morning ritual meant solely to wake her up in the most dramatic fashion possible.

She groaned, tossing aside her blanket with irritation. "Why does she always do this?" she mumbled to herself, dragging her feet out of bed. The silence of the room felt louder than usual. Maybe it was the weather-or maybe it was just one of those mornings where everything felt heavier than it should.

She made her way to the washroom, yawning and mentally preparing herself for the chores of the day. School was still closed, but the tension of the upcoming academic year loomed quietly in the background.

Today would be a self-care day.

No overthinking, nothing no spirals of thoughts about what-ifs. Just her. She washed her hair, letting the cool water rinse away the heat and the irritation. She played her favorite music, letting the rhythm carry her across the room in soft, carefree movements. And then came the crown jewel of her day: ice cream. Her sweetest escape from everything.

She sat on the small porch, slowly licking her favorite ice cream, her eyes wandered to the children playing outside. Their laughter and shouts filled the warm afternoon air. Watching them, her mind drifted back to the previous evening at the village ground.

She remembered him-the quiet boy who always stood on the sidelines, bat in hand but rarely given a chance to play. She had noticed him several times before, watching the game with a mixture of hope and hesitation.

She often visited that part of the village because her father had some work there. Normally, after finishing her badminton game, she would head straight home, but that day had been different. Just before she left the court, her father had called out, "Bas 2 minute ka kaam hai, jaldi aa jao, chalo."

There she saw him again fielding.

The moment she asked him to bat replayed vividly in her mind-the way his eyes flickered with surprise, the way he nervously gripped the bat, and then how, with one powerful hit, he surprised everyone.

But this time, in her thoughts, the memory was softer, warmer. She imagined him smiling confidently, feeling proud-not just from the cheers of the others, but from knowing someone believed in him.

She wondered what his life was like, what dreams he held beyond the cricket ground. The simple conversation they'd shared played on repeat, but now filled with a tender curiosity and something more - a quiet connection, fragile but real.

With another bite of ice cream, she smiled to herself, feeling a strange, comforting warmth. That evening had been ordinary, yet it left an imprint - a reminder that sometimes, a small act of kindness could change everything.

Later that day, she made up her mind to visit the teacher Krishna had once mentioned a renowned mathematics instructor whose reputation seemed to echo across town. She had even overheard someone say he was a gold medalist in the subject. That alone sparked a mix of curiosity and excitement.

In the late afternoon, once her mother returned from school and her father wrapped up his work, they set off together to visit the institute. The place had a calm yet disciplined atmosphere, and she felt a quiet sense of reassurance the moment she stepped in.

What came as a pleasant surprise was learning that the institute offered coaching in all subjects meaning she wouldn't have to juggle different tuitions across the town. Her parents, after a brief discussion, agreed this was the right place for her. And best of all Krishna would be joining the same institute. She smiled to herself, silently thankful for the comfort of a familiar face. At least she wouldn't be alone.