Where's the moon to my sun?

4.

"What are you writing, baccha?" Anaya asked, taking a seat across from Ishan on the canteen table, Mayank and Rishabh joining in a second.

"Well, I'm writing like a poem kinda thing," Ishan smiled, "For the writing class I took as an extra yesterday,"

"Can we read?" Mayank asked.

"Yeah, just a second. I'm almost done," Ishan mumbled as he read the whole thing again before sliding the notebook to his friends.

"Dude, your handwriting is horrible," Rishabh snickered.

Ishan rolled his eyes, "It's definitely better than yours. It's understandable, atleast,"

"Whatever," Rishabh mumbled, focusing on the poem.

"This is beautiful, Ishan," Anaya said as she finished reading.

"Thank you," Ishan smiled.

"You're gonna be a very wonderful writer one day," She said.

"And I'm going to read your every work," Rishabh exclaimed, "Even though I lowkey despise reading,"

"Me too," Mayank chimed in, "I don't despise reading though, I love it. And I love reading the things you write more than any other things. You're good," He told Ishan.

"Okay, guys, enough. Ho gaya," Ishan muttered, feeling embarrassed by the compliments being thrown at him.

His friends chuckled.

The bell rang, signalling the end of their break. Ishan bid bye to his friends as he went to his class, the writing one. The class was already filling up so he settled on an empty seat on the third row.

"Oh, hey, Shubman," Ishan greeted as he noticed his housemate beside him. This is the only class he have with him and none with Abhishek.

"Hii," Shubman smiled.

Their professor entered the class, making everyone go quiet.

"Good morning, everyone," Miss Mehta greeted, smiling warmly at the class.

"Good morning, mam," The class greeted back.

"So, remember, I told you all to write a little piece yesterday," She said, "First we'll see that so we get to understand everyone's writing styles, then we can work on improving accordingly,"

"Okay, so, Ishan you start since you're new," She added, smiling at him.

Ishan nodded as he made his way to the front. Holding his notebook infront of himself, he started,

"The moon whispers to me every night, "Are you waiting for your beloved?"

I smiles to myself, my thoughts falling in every place,
I close my eyes as my heart starts to race,

The smile I can carve on my heart, the one I've actually never seen,
These feelings in my heart, they're real, alive, raw but still unseen,

The yearning I feel, the one that sets my every nerve on fire,
I tell myself it's alright, not a big deal but that makes me a liar,

At night as the breeze brushes through my face, I wonder to myself,
Isn't it strange to feel things like these for someone you've never actually met?

But for what it is, it's a connection out of our control, it is a connection the universe uphold,
So I tell my heart it's okay to feel what it feels, to allow it to be a little consoled,

The moon whispers to me every night, "Are you waiting for your beloved?

I look up at the sky, allowing a smile to spread on my lips as I whisper back, "Yes, I am waiting for my moon."