She was the quiet one in the computer science program, always focused on her laptop, lost in lines of code. He was confident, popular, and equally talented, always ready to help classmates debug their programs. They shared the same classes but had never really talked—until a group project paired them together.
At first, their conversations were about assignments and deadlines. But slowly, they began staying after class to discuss ideas, swapping coding tips and sharing study snacks. They discovered a comfort in each other’s company, a space where no one else mattered.
They started meeting secretly between lectures, in the library, or in empty labs. Sometimes they just sat side by side, headphones in, coding quietly together. Other times, they talked about everything else—their dreams, favorite apps, or their favorite programming challenges. Each small moment became precious.
One evening, after finishing a long debugging session, they sat together in the empty lab, screens glowing dimly. The silence between them was thick but familiar. She looked at him, heart racing, and he met her gaze, just for a moment. Both knew something unspoken was growing between them, but neither dared say it aloud.
She pulled out a small notebook from her bag and scribbled a verse:
“ہزاروں خواہشیں ایسی کہ ہر خواہش پہ دم نکلے
بہت نکلے میرے ارمان لیکن پھر بھی کم نکلے”
(A thousand desires, each one more intense than the last
So many wishes I’ve had, yet still they don’t seem to last.)
— Mirza Ghalib
He noticed, smiled softly, and then whispered a line from Ahmad Fraz:
“کیوں تُجھ سے محبت کا سوال کروں
کیوں تُجھ سے محبت کا جواب کروں”
(Why should I ask you about love?
Why should I ask you to answer with love?)
Their eyes met. No words were needed. Every stolen glance, every shared code snippet, every late-night lab session had already said what words couldn’t.
And yet, neither of them confessed first.
They left the lab that night, side by side, hearts full, silent in understanding. And they realized—they would never know who loved first.