To everyone who lived through those strange, slow days
the brave hearts, the silent fighters, the families who
stayed together, the friends who survived through screen,
the teachers who tried there best through weak networks,
and the kids who grew up quietly while the world wasn't watching.
this book belongs to all of us who didn't even notice
when childhood ended in quarantine .
Author's note
This book is shaped by million of untold stories.
to the healthcare workers
who wore courage like armour.
to the teachers
who refused to give up on connection.
to the parents
who hid their fear behind brave smile.
to the students
who learned lessons, life never planned to teach
so early.
your resilience lives in these pages.
your hope breathes between the lines.
this is not a story of just fear or loss
it is a story of becoming.
of learning to breathe through uncertainty,
of missing people we once saw daily,
of feeling too much, too early.
these pages ae stitched from real feelings
a little messy, a little tender.
If you find a part of yourself inside these words,
know that you weren't alone.
we all were learning how to grow without a guidebook.
Prologue
we were still children when the world suddenly paused.
One day we were laughing in the classroom,
and the next-silence.
school locked, streets empty, skies clearer
than our confused hearts.
we cheered as holiday were "gifted" overnight,
not knowing that growing up would arrive with that silence.
we lite Diyas with hope,
banged thalis like warriors,
and watched the news more then cartoons.
love found us in those lonely online days-sweet, silly,
and sharp enough to leave a mark.
between fear of cough and the wait for test results,
we learned what it means to care.
time slipped by quietly, like pages turning themselves...
and when we stepped outside again,
we realised- we weren't the same anymore.
when years grew faster then us
In the beginning of 2019 , life was simple in the way childhood always is - soft ,
uncomplicated , quietly beautiful. I was just another school going kid who came
home in the afternoon , threw my bag on sofa and sat beside my mother to watch
her and even mine favourite show " ye rishta kya kehlata hai " . Evening belongs to
the playground, nights to homework that i always delayed , and the life was a small
world where everything felt sorted .
Back then my happiest memories lived on the last bench of my class room.
Where i sit with my comfort person Garima and she was little extrovert for me I can
say she was the colour in my black and white life. At that time the biggest pressure
of our life was that one sentence from the teacher " NOW I WILL ASK TO
ANYONE I WANT " my heart started beating as fast as it could as it is racing in the
marathon and want the first position , my brain goes blank and in those tiny
moments childhood felt like a comedy show .
Garima and I shared gossip - the kind of tiny stories that feel huge when you're
twelve . She told everything happening at her home , and I told her everything that
happens in school as well as in my home i used to give all type of school gossip she
requires to survive the school life . She always loved the idea of trio friendship as at
that time she want every other person as her friend existing in this world *just
kidding* people came and gone and I was constant irreplaceable from her life .
Everything was predictable ...
Until the day December arrived with news of virus spreading somewhere far away
in China .
I still remember that evening -
I was sitting with my mother , watching TV as video flashed from a supermarket in
China . Shelves empty, people rushing , fear everywhere.
India still felt untouched ,safe, distant .
But fear travels faster then footsteps.
The first patient appeared in India, and suddenly life changed its colour .
No one realised that single case in India would turn into strom that touched every
home. At first, people tried to stay calm ... But day by day , the news grew heavier. faces that ones smiled freely were now hidden behind the mask, eyes quietly showing fear and worry. School shut down in a heartbeat . The laughter of classrooms , the noisy corridors ,
the morning assembly -all of it disappeared. Student stared at screen instead of
friends, learning lessons but missing life . Birthday were celebrated through calls
and hugs became memories we waited to feel again .
The busiest streets turned empty , like the world suddenly forgot how to live . Cities
were divided into red zones - places where everyone was praying for healing . Even
the the Chirping of birds felt louder because humans had gone silent.
Doctors became real-life heroes, stepping outside while the rest of the country
stayed in. They fought day and night , holding on to hope for everyone else .
Families held onto each other a little tighter, learning how precious every breath,
every moment, every "see you Tomorrow" truly was .
And in that quite - behind closed doors - we all grew up a little faster.
Life shifted 180 degree
School closed for few days .
Those few days become weeks , and the weeks became a strange new routine.
We had one phone at home - my mother's .
Two kids , many class sometimes on same time rarely on alternate time
A battlefield of schedule have formed . I barely attended classes in the beginning.
Sometimes my father opened the app and said "join the class beta"
And I did , out of guilt , not interested.
Sometimes later , when I heard exam would also be online, I felt the type of over
confidence every teenager feels at least once in life .
I told myself " now I'll become a topper. Perfect chance " .
I cheated a little, got bored , then ticked random answers .
By luck , pure luck - my marks came good .
My brother didn't know how to cheat , so i taught him the " holy rule " .
Search the question and the first word or the first result is always the answer ( not
every time but what you expect from a 13 year old child )
And he actually did it with this we assumed ourselves as the smartest kids alive .
Apart from all this , there was no school fun , no last bench , no gossip .
Only a phone in hand , notifications ringing like broken clock , and the strange
emptiness settling quietly in the corners of the day .
My father started fitness challenge -
"Chaie ban jao !"
Whoever stayed longest won some random prizes ( that we never received)
He himself stayed in chair pose half the day .
He went to dairy every morning
Later my brother and I joined him . Those morning walks became our tiny
adventure (as in our area there was no park so near dairy there was lot of parks with
swing ) those 40 minutes of morning were literally our favourite. Meanwhile, online
classes became a comedy show - sometimes the cooker whistled loudly, sometimes
the vegetable Vander visits, sometimes network vanished like magic .
I slowly stopped attending regularly.
I was one of the rare student who joined once in a blue moon .
Teachers tried so hard , showing up every day with patience, though they were
learning too .
Phone became the world.
Books , TV, games , classes - everything in one device
and then some thing changed one day...
The boy with muted camera
Online classes were supposed to be boring. Just faces in boxes, teachers asking,
“Am I audible?”, and the same four walls every day. But then I noticed him — the
boy who never turned on his camera.
Every class, I would wait… just in case.
Maybe today he’ll switch it on.
Maybe today I’ll finally see who he is.
I didn’t know his voice at first — he never spoke.
He was just a name on the screen, quiet and hidden, yet somehow the reason I
didn’t miss a single class after that day.Then came the teacher’s birthday. One by one, everyone turned on their mic and
wished her. I didn’t expect anything different from him. But suddenly, a voice —
soft, unsure, but kind — said,
“Happy Birthday, ma’am.”
For the very first time, I heard him.
I stared at the screen, waiting for a camera to flicker on… but it didn’t. Still, that
one line felt like a whole introduction. I wished the teacher too — maybe a little
more cheerfully just because he had spoken.
It was strange…
How someone you barely know can make a dull day feel like a story worth
remembering.
He didn’t even know I existed.
And maybe that was the strangest part.
While he remained just a silent name on the screen, I found myself noticing every
time the teacher called his roll number… every time his mic flickered for a
second… every time he was present but unseen.
My curiosity became a tiny secret I carried with me.
Why was I waiting? What did I want to know? Even I had no answers.
I wasn’t falling in love — I barely knew anything about him.
It was just… this feeling that he might have a story worth uncovering. This quiet
fascination that made me believe . maybe some people enter your life not loudly,
but silently like a question waiting for you to grow up enough to answer.
And yes, I was just a kid.
Yet for the first time, I felt something new — a mix of wonder and hope — like life
was telling me that even inside the most ordinary days, a little bit of destiny might be hiding.
The search
Once I realized he wasn’t from my section, the mystery only grew bigger. We had
one huge class WhatsApp group — every section mixed together — and suddenly,
that silent list of contacts felt like a maze I needed to solve.
I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for Maybe just a name that matched the voice.
Maybe proof that he was real and not just a camera-off ghost.
So I scrolled through numbers and names… one after another.
My introvert self had never stepped beyond my own section.
But that day, curiosity pushed me farther than I expected.
Hours went by. I almost gave up.
Then—there it was.
His name. His number. His tiny invisible place in the digital crowd.
No camera. No photo.
Just simple text on a screen…
but finding it felt like solving a secret puzzle.
My heart didn’t race because it was love.
It raced because I had discovered someone who changed my routine, someone who
made me attend class without missing a day, someone who reminded me that even
through screens, people can make life feel interesting again.
I didn’t message him.
I didn’t say “hi.”
I just smiled at the fact that I had found him.
Sometimes… curiosity is enough.
Assumptions & overthinking
In my head, he was the kind of student who never missed homework, who probably
got full marks in every test — because why else would he attend every single class
without missing anyone of them . He seemed like the quiet type who kept
everything sorted, everything perfect.
And then there was me — sitting behind a screen, arguing with myself.
Should I text him?
What if he doesn’t reply?
What if he thinks I’m weird? What if everyone comes to know and I become a joke?
My heart would say, “Just say hi.”
But my brain — my overthinking brain — would shout louder.
I was fighting a whole war inside myself over a simple message.
Isn’t it funny how the tiniest step can feel like the biggest risk?
I didn’t want him to ignore me.
But more than that…
I didn’t want to feel embarrassed or foolish.
Maybe I wasn’t trying to talk to him —
maybe I was trying to defeat my own fear.
That’s the thing about growing up:
Sometimes the person you’re curious about isn’t the challenge…your own thoughts are.
THE FIRST TEXT
In the end, I didn’t ask him anything magical.
No “hi,” no deep conversation, nothing dramatic.
Just a simple message:
“Hey… can you tell me the bio notes pattern that ma’am explained today?”
I already knew most of it — but the pieces were scattered in my mind, and this felt
like the safest excuse.
My hands were literally shaking as I typed. I stared at the screen for a full minute
before pressing send.
It wasn’t really about the notes.
It was about proving to myself that I could do it
that I could step outside my comfort zone,
that curiosity could be stronger than fear.
Seconds felt like hours.
every notification sound made my heart jump.
i kept thinking-
what if he doesn't reply?
what if i ruined everything by texting first?
but, somewhere inside- i was proud.
even if he never texted back... at least i had stopped overthinking long enough to take that tiny step.
sometimes courage looks likes a tiny msg.
The voice behind the silence
The notification popped up.
My heart did a tiny backflip.
He didn’t ignore me.
He replied.
And not just with a short “yes” or “no.”
A voice message.
For a second, I just stared at it — unsure if I should play it or not. Then, finally, I
tapped.
His voice… quiet but clear.
He explained the pattern step by step, each point straight and simple — no
unnecessary words. Just exactly what I had asked for.
It felt strange and special at the same time.
When the message ended, a text followed:
> “Understood or not???”
Three question marks.
Not rude. Not soft .Just… him.
I smiled without meaning to.
Maybe he wasn’t talkative. maybe he liked keeping things short.
maybe that was what made him different.I typed back a quick thank you — nothing fancy — but inside, a tiny celebration
was happening. Because for the first time, the voice that wished “Happy Birthday,
ma’am” was now talking to me .And that was enough to make the day feel different.
When the Conversation Ends Too Soon
For the first time, he knew I existed.
Just that one exchange made me weirdly happy like I had opened a tiny door to a
new world.
But then… silence.
No more questions.
No more excuses to chat.
His reply was so short that the conversation ended before it even began.
A part of me celebrated:
You did it. You talked to him. That’s huge.
And another part whispered:
Why did you ask something so simple? Why didn’t you think bigger?
I kept wishing I could rewind time. Ask something smarter.
Something longer.
Something that didn’t run out of words so quickly.
But life isn’t an online class where you can rejoin again and again.
Moments don’t repeat just because you want them to.
So there I was, holding onto two feelings at once —
proud that I finally spoke to him,
and quietly wishing I had spoken better.
its strange isn't it ?
How courage and regret can live in the same heart.
But maybe this is how growing up works
we learn that not every step leads to a next one…
sometimes it’s just proof that we can take a step.
Attending for a Presence
After that tiny chat, nothing really changed on the outside.
He still kept his camera off.
He still spoke only when necessary.
He still stayed hidden behind that one little square on the screen.
But something had changed inside me.
Every morning, when the alarm rang, when the classes felt boring, when the screen
felt too heavy — I still joined. Just to see his name pop up in the participants’ list.
Just to hear his voice if attendance was taken. Just to feel like we shared the same
moment, even if we were miles apart.
I didn’t need him to talk to me again.
I didn’t need anything dramatic to happen.
His existence was enough to make my routine feel less dull, less lonely.
Isn’t it funny how someone who barely notices you can still add a little spark to
your day?
Maybe it wasn’t about him at all.
Maybe it was about me
finally having something to look forward to.
Some people don’t become memories because of big moments…
they become memories because their presence reminds you that even ordinary days
can have a little magic .Curious About a Stranger
Sometimes I look back and wonder why I cared so much.
I didn’t know his face.
I didn’t know what he liked, how he laughed, or whether he was kind.
All I knew was a voice, a name, and a silent box on a screen.
And yet… something pulled me toward him.
It wasn’t love — how could it be?
It was more like… interest mixed with imagination.
Maybe my mind filled the empty spaces with stories.
Maybe I wasn’t attracted to him —
maybe I was attracted to the mystery of him.
Online classes had taken away real interactions.
Everyone felt distant.
And suddenly, here was someone who made me feel something new even without
knowing anything about him.
It wasn’t foolish.
It was just a young heart trying to find connection in a world that had suddenly
turned silent.
And honestly?
There’s a quiet kind of courage in admitting that.
PLOT TWIST
Just when I had convinced myself that he would remain a quiet mystery… life
decided to shake everything up.
School announced a project
to help students interact again,
to make us feel connected after months behind screens.
Each group had ten students.
And somehow, in Group 3, my name appeared right next to his.
For a second, I genuinely wondered: Is this destiny or just another lesson waiting to
happen?
We created a separate group for discussions.
And that’s when I saw a completely new version of him.
He talked.
Not just a little —
a lot more than I ever expected.
There was laughter, ideas, arguments —
and I realized he wasn’t the silent shadow I had imagined.
Maybe the online class wasn’t his world…
but here, he was comfortable.
Roles were assigned.
I became the neighbor who discovers a Covid-positive family next door.
And he ,
he was part of that family.
We weren’t strangers anymore.
We were characters sharing a scene,
a small story inside the bigger story of our lives.
JOKES & REAL VOICES
The discussion group was louder than any online class had ever been.
Everyone was laughing, throwing ideas, acting like we were in the same room
again.
In the middle of all this chaos, he suddenly spoke to me directly.
“Dude, since I’m the Covid positive one…
Will you please get some fruits for me from outside?
I’ll pay you back when I recover!”
He said it with that joking tone — the kind that makes everyone smile without even
trying.
Before I could think of a reply, SUMIT jumped in:
“PAGAL mat BANA! you are not going to live ,to return her money "
He’s already acting like he won’t survive!”
The group burst into laughter — including me.
And then, teasing again, Sumit said:
“You eat the fruits! You stay strong!
He’s the one who’s doomed!”
Again, all jokes.
All laughter.
All harmless fun.
But for me, the moment wasn’t about the joke.
It was about this simple truth:
We were talking.
We were laughing.
We were part of the same moment.
He wasn’t just a silent name anymore.
He was someone who made others laugh.
Someone who felt real.
And for the first time, I felt like our story wasn’t just in my head.
FROM STRANGERS TO COMFORT
Slowly… without even realizing when it began…we started becoming each other’s
safe space.
Not in a dramatic way.
Just in that everyday way where you share the tiny things first —
a funny moment from class,
a teacher’s weird habit,
a meme that only the two of you would get.
We talked about everything that made our online school life feel normal again.
"You know SUMIT is dating Arya…?” I messaged one day,
feeling like a detective with top-secret gossip. (I know it was just my assumption i
don't know if I am correct or not )
“What? How do you know?” he replied, half shocked.
“AREE… I just know,” I wrote, trying to sound smart.
He sent a laughing emoji and typed:
“AREE, you know he’s my best friend. Woh MUJHSE KUCH NAHI CHUPATA. They are in a
private relationship for now.”
I stared at the screen for a moment and smiled
not at the gossip,
but at the way he told me.
Like I was someone who could be trusted.
Someone who deserved to know the inside stories.
Someone who mattered in his world — at least a little.
We weren’t just classmates anymore.
We were two people who found comfort in talking ,even if everything around us still
felt uncertain.
And maybe… that’s all teenagers really need during tough times
someone who listens ,someone who laughs with them ,someone who reminds them
that life is still happening .Even through screens.
We used to send each other friendly reels all the time.
Funny ones, relatable ones, little snippets of songs or dialogues — nothing serious,
just casual ways to keep the conversation going.
Each reel became a tinythread that pulled our chats forward.
Even on the dullest days, exchanging these small things made it feel like someone
was really there, listening, sharing, noticing.
I always stayed within limits.
I kept my messages neutral, my reactions polite but not too flirty.
I didn’t want to cross any lines, didn’t want to misread anything.
It felt comfortable, safe, predictable.
But then… one day, he sent a reel that was different.
It wasn’t the usual friendly type.
It carried a tone I couldn’t ignore — a hint, a signal that he might be thinking
differently.
For a moment, my heart raced.
Part of me wanted to respond, to test the waters, to see what he meant.
But another part — the stronger part — reminded me to stop.
To ignore it.
So I did.
I didn’t react. I didn’t comment.
I didn’t let that spark push me out of the boundaries I had set for myself.
You might be thinking, “What was she even doing? Why didn’t she reply?”
I get it. It doesn’t make sense at first glance.
But today, looking back, I understand.
I appreciate my decision.
Because sometimes, ignoring a subtle hint isn’t rejection or fear — it’s wisdom,
self-respect, and protecting your own heart.
It wasn’t easy at the moment, but that choice taught me something valuable:
Not every signal needs to be followed.
Not every spark needs to be chased.
And sometimes, saying “no” to a feeling — even one that seems exciting — is the
bravest thing you can do .I used to tell Garima everything.
Every tiny thought, every little moment — she always knew it all.
Of course, I told her about him too.
One day though… something felt off.
While we were talking, she didn’t sound like herself.
Her usual excitement, the spark in her voice-it was missing
I kept asking her what happened, again and again.
And after avoiding it for a while, she finally said:
“What if you block him?”
I froze.
My heartbeat suddenly got louder, my mind confused.
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
And then I told her to explain properly.
She took a breath… and then the truth came out.
He was a walking red flag.
Not just talking to multiple girls
He had actually proposed to four girls during the same time he was talking to you .
One of them was even our senior.
And the worst part?
Almost everyone knew this.
Everyone… except you .
I felt like the ground under me shifted.
All my assumptions, my overthinking, that tiny hope I was guarding —
everything crashed in a single moment.
I went silent.
Not the comfortable silence…
but the kind that stays with you ,that stings ,that haunts you.
The moment the call ended with Garima…
I didn’t waste another second .I blocked him.
Not because he broke my heart —
but because I finally understood my worth before he ever got the chance to.
I appreciated myself for ignoring his hints .I was proud that I didn’t fall into something that could hurt me more.
Yes… I made the right decision.
I knew that.
I still know that.
But deep down?
It hurt. A lot.
Heartbreak isn’t always about love…
Sometimes it’s about expectations, about trust, about the little future we build in our
head .I kept thinking,
“How could someone who breaks hearts so easily look so normal?”
When you’re hurt like that, everything feels heavy.
Food doesn’t feel like food.
Sleep doesn’t feel like rest.
And even if you wake up in the morning,
the first thing your mind remembers
is the reason you’re hurting.
There’s this strange ache —
not loud, not dramatic…
just quietly sitting in your chest, reminding you
that something you cared about
didn’t turn out the way you hoped.
But here’s the truth your future self will always be proud of:
You didn’t lose anything.
You saved yourself.
You chose your dignity over a temporary excitement.
You walked away before someone could disrespect your trust.
That kind of strength ? not everyone has it but you do.
back then after so many days i became normal i realised what really was happening in my own family, with so much time together, fights with my mother also increased like on small things, silly but enough to burn tiny holes in patience.
My Mother
During the lockdown, it felt like life suddenly slowed down.
for us, it almost seemed like a unexpected vacations.
but in the middle of all these excitement , we didn't notice one thing
our mother
her routine changed more then anyone else's.
from early morning to late nights, she kept running around the house, handling every little task. on normal days these chores were shared or spread out, but during lockdown everything felt on her shoulders. there was no maid in our house that time even we don't want anyone. siblings weren't old enough to understand anything - they only added to the mess, expecting her to clean it up as she always did, patiently, quietly. and sometimes i even argue with her over small things, lost in my own bubble of boredom and restlessness.
we enjoyed our unexpected vacations
but for her, it was nothing like that.
she had no breaks, no pause, no one ask how she felt.
and on the top of all that, she had our constant demands-
"MUMMA ,talk to us".
"MUMMA ,play with us".
"MUMMA ,do this for me".
we never stopped to think that maybe she didn't have the energy left.
all she ever need was simple words: "thank you"
but we never said it .
we didn't appreciate her.
we didn't notice her slowly losing the spark in her eyes...her smile fading a little everyday. she stayed strong for all of us, pretending everything was fine, because seeing us happy made her hold herself together.
but inside she was tired.
she had dreams too-little things she wanted to try, small hobbies she wished to explore.
yet no one ask her what she wanted. no one wondered what was going in on her mind.
looking back now, it hurts to realise how blind we were...
how wrapped up we were in our own tiny worlds.
The TV became a daily reminder :
How many infected ? To how many dead ?
The world outside was collapsing.
Inside the home , we were surviving day by day .
I made a YouTube channel in excitement. My only mistake was to use my mother's
phone for recording. She started with her taunts and that literally haunts me so i shut it down after 3 months .
Exploring lockdown
Lockdown made my mother do things she never did before .
She cooked dishes she never had time for . I remember back before this lockdown
there was time during short curfew she had made samosas just like this lockdown
she repeated.
On RAKSHA BANDHAN , she made 5-6 types of sweets , ofcourse i helped her , and
today she says - "we should have recorded those days "
But memories slip without leaving evidence.
A new family shifted into our neighborhood.
I had no close friends in the colony . So my mother , seeing me lonely walked up to
their daughter and said
Beta , take her with you while playing. She gets bored at home
(I can also say this by my own but the only thing was I am little introvert as well as
shy type )
Her words changed everything for a while .
I made a friend ANSHIKA.
We played badminton every evening even talked for long hours while taking round of whole colony.
There were the time when I have no friend before ANSHIKA my mother used to play badminton with me for hours giggles all over terrace i share every detail of my life with my mother ( always regret after this because she take my words all against me) what to expect from a typical Indian mother.
Slowly 2020 settled like dust on old furniture.
Life wasn't normal, but it was unbearable anymore.
2021 - when fear returned
stronger
School reopening news brought joy , the kind of joy you feel after months of
missing a life that once belonged to you .
But happiness didn't last .
The second wave hit India like a storm tearing through homes , through families,
through hearts .
Testing camps everywhere.
Ambulance everywhere
Fear in every breath.
My father felt a slight fever one day and decided to get tested . My mother said ,
"THIK H KRWA LO".
I stayed silent , but inside I was the one who felt everything the hardest . When papa
didn't return for more then an hour , my mother called and asked , "how was the test? Positive or negative? " .
He replied,
"They're calling names one by one . Let's see".
And my mind answered for him -
If it's positive...is this it ? " No never , never
I ran to washroom and cried for more than an hour .
I kept repeating,
Please god , make it negative . Please I will do everything, everything you say but
just make it negative please I begged , i cried like a Little kid ."
An Hour later I came outside, i showed no expression, but inside I was shaking. I was very mean at that time , I only want my family I don't want anything i kept repeating in my heart , that this virus is not for us , It won't harm my family , we
are not the target .
Around 3 hours later papa came home and said the test was negative,
Everything inside me collapsed into relief .
But the second wave didn't stop for anyone.
From 2019 to this day -
These were the years where childhood dissolved quietly.
Years where laughter mixed with fear .
Years where we learned responsibility too early .
Years where we lost time ... And gained memories
The second wave of COVID -19 wasn't just frightening...it was terrifying to the
core .
Fear lived in year , heavier then silence . Every breath felt like a risk , every touch
like mistake .
On TV, there was nothing but breaking news about the thousands dying every day ,
hospitals overflowing , families crying and number rising like a nightmare that
refused to end .
Buying vegetables became an act of courage -
"What if the vendor is infected ?"
Even exchanging money felt dangerous -
"What if the virus is hiding in these notes ?" .
We sanitized the currency like it carried poison ,
Spread the notes under the sun as if sunlight could burn away the virus and give us
a little hope to cling to .
It was a time when even standing near someone felt like standing too close to death.
When distance became love ,
And basic human contact turned into a luxury we deeply missed
Sudden strangeness
For days, our neighbourhood felt strangely quiet. Houses that were once full of noise, laughter, doors opening and closing… suddenly felt distant, almost forgotten. And among those houses was one that held a special place in my mother’s heart—our neighbours, who had been missing for so long.
My mother and our neighbour aunty had been close for years.
The kind of close where they didn’t need invitations or formalities—one cup of chai was enough to bring them together. But in the lockdown, even that felt like a memory from another life.
Every time my mother passed their gate, she slowed down a little.
Her eyes would linger for a second longer, hoping to see aunty standing there like old times. But the silence stayed.
And she grew worried.
One afternoon, while we were sitting together, mummy suddenly said,
“I haven’t seen her for so many days… I hope everything is fine.”
There was a heaviness in her voice that I didn't understand at that moment.
A few days later, we finally heard the truth—quietly whispered by someone in the lane.
Uncle had suffered a major heart problem.
It had all happened so suddenly… so seriously… that the family had rushed him to Delhi for treatment. Aunty hadn’t stepped out since. She had been caring for him day and night, trying to stay strong while her whole world felt shaken.
So much had happened, yet my mother knew nothing.
The realization stung her. Until that moment, she had been worried… but now she felt helpless too. Without wasting time, she walked to their house. I went with her.
When aunty opened the door, there was a strange stillness on her face—like someone who had used up all their strength just to keep going.
She looked at my mother.
And in the very next second, her expression melted.
Her voice trembled as she said,
“You didn’t even know… all this time…”
And before any more words could come, she burst into tears.
Not just a few tears—she cried with the weight of everything she had been hiding, everything she had been carrying alone.
My mother held her gently and kept saying,
“I’m here now… it’s okay… I’m here.”
Standing behind them, I watched silently.
And that moment changed something inside me.
Because for the first time, I realized how big the world truly is.
How much pain stays hidden behind closed doors.
How people live through storms we know nothing about.
Aunty wasn’t the only one hurting.
My mother had been exhausted for weeks.
People everywhere were scared, tired, overwhelmed.
In those months, it felt like every home carried its own story of struggle, and every heart carried its own weight.
I had been so consumed by my own little problems—my boredom, my frustrations, my tiny heartbreaks—that I forgot the world doesn’t revolve around me.
Life kept moving.
People kept fighting.
And sometimes, all they needed was someone to simply show up.
That day, as I watched my mother comfort her best friend, I learned something I never want to forget:
Everyone is doing their best to survive something.
Everyone is hurting in ways we may never see.
And a little kindness can mean more than we imagine.
Terrifying days
My father had never stopped me from going out to play .
Not once .
He always believed children must laugh , run and live freely .
But there was one day ... One strange , heavy day during the second wave ...
I was outside with ANSHIKA , trying to forgot the fear the world had wrapped around
us .
And papa came out , worry written all over his face .
He didn't shout ,
He didn't stop me ,
He just said softly -
"If you play ... Keep at least two feet distance. If we ever see you standing close to
each other, it won't be good ."
His voice wasn't angry , it was afraid.
The kind of fear that comes only when someone you love is in danger .
And in that moment i realised -
I wasn't just a kid trying to live her childhood...
I was someone he was trying to protect from an invisible enemy that could take
everything away .
I remember the first wave felt like an unexpected break - a strange excitement that
suddenly, the whole family would be together.
No rushing to school, no office, no going outside.
Papa would be at home , MUMMA would smile more , and we would finally spend
time as a complete family -
Playing, cooking, laughing...
As if the world had paused just for us .
But this time this second wave was nothing like that .
It wasn't a break, it was a storm .Everywhere - every news channel, every phone call, every whisper -
There were stories of lakhon , crores of people dying .
Hospitals overflowing , ambulance crying on the empty roads.
Fear spreading faster than the virus itself .
It felt like death was walking just outside our door, and every passing second
carried a silent question:
"Are we next ?"
There was no excitement.
Only fear , only prayers , only the desperate hope that every family would remain
safe and alive .
The sound of ambulance became a part of our daily life .
Every hour - sometimes every few minutes, their sirens screamed through the
silence of the streets , reminding us that someone , somewhere, had just lost their
battle to breathe .
That sound used to haunt me .
Each time it echoed a shiver ran through my heart - as if the world was slowly
collapsing right outside our home .
Whenever papa had to step out - even for a few minutes, a fear gripped me so
tightly that I could barely breathe.
I would stand near the window and wait for him ,
Counting a every second as if time itself could protect him .
And when he returned, only then did my heartbeat calm down ,only then did I feel
alive again .
Even going outside to buy something essential felt like playing with danger . We
would disinfect every packet, wash every single item - as if a tiny invisible monster
was hiding on everything we touched .
The world outside looked empty, but the fear inside us was overflowing.
Do I Am Covid Positive?
In the middle of all this fear, I developed a cough,A cough that refused to leave me .
A cough that made everyone look at me like I was the danger .
I took medicines...so many medicines.
Syrups , tablets , home remedies - nothing worked .
We visited doctor after doctor...
Still , the cough stayed ,
Like an unwelcome shadow following me everywhere.
Everyone had one suggestion:
"Get a COVID test done ,
She might be positive " .
That sentence became a sword hanging above my head .
Inside the house , i coughed constantly.
But outside , the moment my mother stepped out - even just to buy vegetables ,
People stared at her with fear in their eyes .
I could almost hear their thoughts:
"What if her daughter has COVID ? "
"What if we catch it from them ? "
"Did you hear her coughing?"
I wasn't just a girl with a cough ...
I had become a suspicion , a walking question mark , a reason for people to step
back and whisper behind masks .
And inside
I wasn't only fighting a cough, I was fighting the fear of being labelled as the virus
itself .
And then ... Almost after six months ,
My cough finally disappeared not because of fancy medicines , but with one small CHURAN that magically worked when everything else failed.
by that time the covid vaccine had arrived.
Healing Started
Vaccine camps started everywhere - in schools , hospitals, community halls . Even
our school arranged one .
There were two round of vaccination. The first dose was given in schools,and the
second one was our choice - wherever we felt safe to get it .
After the vaccination, everything slowly began to calm down again . Lives tried to
return to what we once called "normal" .
But the news from other countries still showed Chaos, fear and collapsing hospitals.
Meanwhile, here ... In my small world...school began to reopen .
That's when I realised something terrifying:
I had barely studied anything the entire year of class 8th .
And suddenly we were told : "final exam will be offline "
We had to go physically to school.
I was in shock for a whole week.
How am I supposed to complete the entire syllabus in just one month ? "
But somehow ...with fear , luck , last minute notes and may be a little bit of grace - i passed.
And just like that,
Class 9th officially began - offline, in the real world again.
I walked into class with one thought: this time , I am going to make a comeback.
Garima and I were back on the same seat smiling, gossiping, laughing like the old days .
New friendship were forming , new memories were waiting to be written.
When the lockdown started , I was just a kid carefree , messy and innocent. But by
the time it ended , I had grown into a so called teenager with bigger dreams, bigger
fears , and a heart that understood like a Little deeper .
Everything around us became normal again ...
But we were no longer the same .
We weren't kids anymore, we had grown up -
faster then we expected.
Realisation
We never even realised when growing up happened.
When did the world outside become so frightening that we forced to act older than we are ?
When did tears turns into laughing emojis , and real conversation turn into blue tick chats ?
Somewhere between those scary news headlines and online classes...
We stopped being kids.
Childhood didn't walk away loudly, it quietly slipped through our Fingers like sand .
While we were stuck behind screens , learning to mute out feelings and unmute our
mics , time kept running ahead mercilessly .
We missed the small , innocent moments the care free laughter in corridors , the silly fights with friends, the joy of Sharing lunch boxes , the freedom of running without fear .
Instead , we learned to stay silent , to stay indoors, to grow up faster ... Than our hearts were ever ready for .
One day we opened our eyes and found ourselves changed -
No longer children, but teenagers with stories too heavy for our age .
We scrolled, we survived... But somewhere in those scrolls,
our childhood got left behind.
Epilogue
We returned to life
like strangers returning home.
Masks hid our faces,
but our eyes told entire stories.
The bell rang again,
yet we didn’t run like we used to.
We walked slower, wiser,
carrying invisible memories —
a quiet strength that comes from surviving
what once scared us.
Friends looked the same,
but felt different —
maybe because we were.
We laughed again, yes.
But this time,
we understood the value of laughter.
Between 2019 and 2025,
we didn’t just grow tall —
we grew strong,
we grew hopeful,
we grew up.
And we didn’t even notice
when childhood slipped away
like a last sunset
before a long night.
Author’s Bio
MAHII SHARMA is a young writer who believes that ordinary days carry the most extraordinary stories. Growing up during the global lockdown, she discovered a love for words that helped her make sense of the changing world around her.
She writes about memories, growing up, and emotions that often go unspoken — especially the ones teenagers feel but can’t explain.
"THE LONG PAUSE" is her debut book, a heartfelt tribute to the generation that learned how strong it could be… when everything stood still.
