Eighth grade was a roller coaster of emotions, especially with Ishan. Everyone knew there was something between us, and it seemed the whole school was talking about it. Ishan had been shifted from Section B to Section D, and the rumors spread like wildfire. Even the students in Section B got wind of our story.
In Section B was my old friend, Tushar Dahiya. Tushar and I had studied together from first to fifth grade before I changed schools. A year later, he took admission in the same school as mine. Seeing him again was a pleasant shock. We even shared the same bus route.
One day, as my stop was approaching, Tushar shouted, "Hey Incia!" I turned around to see him waving enthusiastically.
"What's the matter?" I asked, curious.
"Come over here. I want to talk," he said, excitement evident in his voice.
I walked over, and he asked, "Is there something between you and Ishan?"
I almost smiled at the thought.
I wished there was something.
I wish.
We had a special bond. But I replied, "No, there's nothing. Just friendship."
He smirked and said, "Oh, I was just asking because Pratibha asked me to ask you this."
"Who is she, by the way?" I asked, intrigued.
"She used to love Ishan way too much," he explained.
Now it was my turn to smirk. I knew exactly what to do. Life was getting spicier day by day. Ishan greeted me in the corridor, and Pratibha watched from behind, sending her friends to Section D to see if I was talking to him. She gave me death stares, and I would yawn right in her face. I didn't care about her that much. I was just enjoying the bond that Ishan and I had. We laughed a lot together.
I remember once, our Hindi teacher was dictating something, and Ishan was a paragraph behind. I was sitting in front of him. He asked me to show him my copy. I did, but from my bench. He tried to snatch the copy, but I resisted. Just then, Pratibha entered the classroom with her friend to borrow a duster. At that moment, my copy's page tore into pieces because we were both pulling it from opposite ends. The teacher made both of us stand, and we were still laughing.
Pratibha saw this and wasn't very happy, and neither was her friend Aanchal Deswal. (Remember this name because in twelfth grade, I have a story to tell about her too). The cold war between Pratibha and me was never-ending, and I was enjoying it throughout the eighth standard.
Ishan and I continued our playful interactions, much to Pratibha's annoyance. She kept sending her spies, and I kept ignoring her. We would laugh during class, share jokes, and help each other with homework. Our bond was special, and no amount of jealousy from Pratibha could change that.
The days went by, filled with laughter and a hint of tension. Every time Pratibha glared at me, I just smiled wider. Life was a game, and I was winning. The cold war made the school year exciting, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.
Looking back, those days were some of the best. The thrill of the secret bond with Ishan, the playful banter, and the ever-watchful eyes of Pratibha and her friends made eighth grade unforgettable. The cold war continued, but it was a war I was more than happy to fight.