Tera deedar hua
pehla sa payaar hua
pehli hi baar hua
Iss dil ko...
Na toh inkaar hua
Na hi ikraar hua
Jane kya yaar hua
Iss dil ko..
♡♡♡♡♡
˜"*°•.˜"*°• Kashish x kavya •°*"˜.•°*"˜
✧✧✧✧✧
"Asmaan...
इश्क़ के नाम से डर लगता था दिल के अंजाम से डर लगता था आशिकी वोही मेरे साथ होगई जिससे डरते थे वोही बात होगई राह में उनसे मुलाकात होगई जिससेडरतेथेवोहीबातहोगई।
•*✧๑˙❥˙๑✧*•
⛄ HAPPY READING ⛄ 🦄{ DO VOTE TOO }🦄
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First class of the day – Social Science. The one subject that could rival a lullaby in putting me to sleep. Seriously, haye Ram, kaise bhi karo par ye pehla bell jaldi se bajwa do, please! Sitting there with my head propped on my hand, I stared at the clock, counting every second like it was a jail sentence.
After what felt like an eternity (a century, even!), the bell rang. Relief washed over me like ganga jal. But before I could celebrate my freedom, our class teacher called my name from outside the classroom. “Hey mere Kanha ji, maine abhi tak kuch kiya bhi nahi hai! Fir kyun sir mujhe bula rahe hain?!” I whispered dramatically, panic seeping into my voice.
And, of course, Mishu—the ever-smiling menace—slapped my shoulder just hard enough to annoy me. Biting her lip to stifle a laugh, she leaned in and sang in an exaggerated devotional tone, “Jao bulawa aaya hai, class teacher ne bulaya hai!” Huff. This girl. I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, “Tumhara time bhi aayega, bachu.”
Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of the classroom. Outside, the teacher gave me one of those looks. You know the one. That “I-know-what-you-did” look. We had a little chat—well, more like he lectured, and I nodded like a bobblehead—and I returned to my seat.
The moment I sat down, Mishu’s face lit up like Diwali. She pounced on me, eyes gleaming with overexcited curiosity. “Kya bola? Kya kand kiya tune pehle din hi?” she teased, bouncing on her seat.
“Bas ek apology letter likhna hai,” I grumbled, annoyed.
Her grin widened, and she asked, “Kyu?” Again, the curiosity was practically spilling out of her. This girl needs a reality check, I thought. Taking a deep breath, I explained, “Morning mein, I was late for prayer. Teacher ne dekh liya and—obviously—report kar diya. So now, class teacher ne mujhe apology letter likhne ko bola.”
Mishu’s reaction? She laughed. No, correction—she laughed like an actual insane person. “Who even writes letters these days?” she cackled. Haan yaar, bas application likhna aata hai. Letter? Kaise likhu? Kaha phas gayi main?!
Lost in my spiraling thoughts, I barely noticed when Mishu flicked my forehead with her tiny finger. “Don’t worry, babes,” she said with a mischievous smirk. “When your Kishmish is here, then don’t fear!” She looked at me like she was some queen bestowing her benevolence on a poor subject. And yes, in this scenario, I was the poor subject.
