A simple text from her felt like everything had shifted. 

The morning breeze danced lazily across the school ground as students lined up for the assembly. 
Sayra stood near the front, her 5'2 frame nearly swallowed by the taller girls around her. But Ishaan, standing a row beside her, had no trouble spotting her. His gaze, as always, found its way to her effortlessly. His 5'9 self stood with a casual grace, arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced by a strange stillness.
She stood straight, hands behind her back, chin up—disciplined as ever while others whispered and shuffled restlessly. She looked like she belonged in a frame. Poised, precise. He watched the way her hair shifted slightly in the wind, the quiet focus in her stance, and something in his chest fluttered.
This was new. Ishaan Malhotra—the boy who usually spent assemblies in the punishment line or sneaking out to the music room—was for once standing silently, almost... willingly. Why? Because she was standing right there.