THEM 'Ishman'

A Fairytale Beneath the Stars

The library was hushed, except for the faint rustle of pages turning and the soft scratch of Shubman's pencil. 

He was in his favorite corner, surrounded by bookshelves towering like gentle giants. His sketch was coming to life—a quiet forest illuminated by dappled sunlight.

"Fairytales, huh?"

The familiar voice startled him. Shubman glanced up, his pencil hovering midair. 

There stood Ishan, dressed in a warm sweater that made him look impossibly cozy. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose, and he pushed them back up with an elegant flick of his finger.

"Not exactly. "More like... peaceful escapes." Shubman replied, his voice cautious.

Ishan smiled, pulling out a chair. "Escaping from what?"

Shubman hesitated, unsure how much to say. "Just... reality."

"Fair enough," Ishan said, settling in with a notebook and pen. "But you know, sometimes reality has its own kind of magic—if you look closely enough."

Before Shubman could respond, Ishan added with a playful glint in his eye:

"In the quiet corners of the world,
Where shadows and light entwine,
I've seen a heart that hides itself,
Yet beats with something divine."

Shubman blinked, caught off guard. "You always carry poetry around like that?"

"Only when the moment calls for it." Ishan replied with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on Shubman for a moment longer than necessary.

Their meetings became a pattern: Shubman sketching while Ishan wrote. 

It wasn't planned, but somehow, they always ended up in the same corner of the library.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and cast golden rays through the windows, Ishan leaned back in his chair and closed his notebook with a satisfied sigh.

"Done for today?" Shubman asked, not looking up from his drawing.

"Almost..." Ishan said, then reached for one of Shubman's discarded sketches. It was a rough drawing of a lone castle perched on a hill, its turrets reaching for the clouds.

"You're secretly a romantic." Ishan teased, holding up the sketch.

Shubman rolled his eyes. "It's just a drawing."

"Mm, sure...." Ishan said, then began to speak softly:

"In the castle of your quiet heart,
I'd knock a thousand times.
Through locked doors and guarded walls,
I'd weave my gentle rhymes."

Shubman's hand stilled, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. "Do you always talk like that?"

"Only when inspired." Ishan said, his smile playful but his voice warm.

It was late, the kind of night where the air felt heavy with dreams. The campus was asleep except for the faint chirping of crickets. 

Shubman and Ishan found themselves on the rooftop, a blanket of stars above them.

Shubman stared out at the sky, his mind a whirl of thoughts. "Do you ever feel like... you're not enough?"

Ishan looked at him, his expression softening. "All the time. But then I remind myself: even the moon has craters, and yet it still lights up the night."

Shubman turned to face him. "You always know what to say."

"Not always..." Ishan admitted, brushing his fingers lightly over the railing. "But with you, the words feel easy."