In his nightmare, Ved wasn't asleep. He was trapped. The walls of his room seemed to close in, squeezing him like a giant python with a grudge. Okay, so maybe the giant python was overkill, but the claustrophobic feeling was real.
The giant beetle on his neon poster loomed closer, its segmented legs twitching as if contemplating a full-on facehugger move. Sweat broke out on his skin. The air thickened until each breath felt like trying to suck pudding through a straw. The temperature spiked – seriously, was his room the new hottest tourist spot in hell? He thrashed and gasped, a suffocating fish out of water. Then, the walls – the freaking walls – they were relentless.
Suddenly, a different sound cut through the suffocating nightmare. A sharp rattle, like something trying to break into his house. Or escape? Maybe it was a zombie? Nope, definitely the window. Just a gust of wind rattling the loose frame. Cool night air rushed in, dispelling the dream's stifling heat. Ved blinked in the dim light, the neon beetle poster a laughably harmless glow on the wall as his frantic breaths slowed.
His body was still damp with sweat. Gasping for air, he blinked in the dark – his room was a crime scene of strewn clothes. Apparently, his "undressing method" was more like an angry toddler throwing a tantrum than anything remotely civilized.
He shuffled across the floor, heart still racing, and pushed the curtains wide. Outside, the world seemed mockingly calm. Seriously, a streetlight, a couple of sad stars, it wasn't exactly a party out there. Ved took a deep breath, cool night air filling his lungs. It was just a dream. A stupid, freaky dream, the kind his brain cooked up with leftover stress and too many sci-fi movies.He felt shaky from the nightmare, but the cool air was helping him to calm down.
Surveying the wreckage of his room, he sighed. It was a disaster zone, the aftermath of a clothing hurricane. A few things caught his eye – his favorite Apollo 11 t-shirt (a gift from his mom, AKA immune from being lost to the laundry abyss), and a pair of mismatched socks. He shoved them into the already overflowing basket. No way he was sleeping in that bed again tonight.
His eyes flickered to the patch of floor he'd cleared earlier. Crappy bed? Sure, but it was away from the poster beetle and closer to the window. Grabbing a pillow and the thinnest blanket he could find, Ved made a makeshift nest on the floor. The hard wood was, well... hard, but at least he wasn't imagining giant insects plotting world domination. The breeze played across his face, chasing away the lingering remnants of his fear. It wasn't the Ritz, but it was open and free… and monster-beetle free, which was a huge plus.He closed his eyes, the distant flicker of the streetlight barely visible through his lashes.
The room was quiet, just the faint creak of the house and the soft whir of the fan above. Sleep, when it finally came, wasn't the most comfortable, but at least there were no giant insects. Score one for team human.
Ved woke up slowly, grumbling against his will. His phone alarm blared at 7:30 am, ripping him from a sleep that felt more like a prolonged nap. He barely got any decent rest - thanks, nightmare and uncomfortable floor.
Slamming his hand down on the nightstand, he blindly fumbled for the source of the noise. Where the heck was his phone? Last night, Hurricane Ved had passed through, and apparently, his phone was a casualty.With a groan, he threw back the covers. The room looked even worse in the daylight – Mount Laundry erupted overnight, it seemed.
He shuffled over to the basket, wincing at a stray Lego piece that decided to play kamikaze with his bare foot. Finally, after some rummaging that probably left the place even messier, he snagged his phone. Notifications exploded across the screen, a chaotic reminder of his missed practice. His coach's name lit up the screen, making his stomach clench.
He had missed practice. Like completely, utterly forgot it even existed. Oh boy.
"This is not happening," he muttered under his breath.
A wave of guilt washed over him, quickly followed by a jolt of panic. School at 8:30!
He couldn't be late – he was already on thin ice. Practice disaster aside, there were teachers to appease, tests to survive, the whole nine yards of high-school misery.Despite the exhaustion and a lingering annoyance at the whole situation, Ved forced himself to move. With a grunt that sounded more like a wounded animal than a teenage boy, he pushed himself off the floor and shuffled towards the bathroom.
Stepping into the shower, he let the hot water wash over him. Fragments of his nightmare tried to surface, but he ruthlessly shoved them aside. Giant beetles, seriously? His brain needed to come up with more original ways to freak him out.
He scrubbed his face fiercely, the details of the dream fading with each wipe of his hand. It was frustrating - there was this nagging feeling that these nightmares might actually mean something, but the harder he tried to remember, the more it all slipped away.
Scoffing, he gave himself a mental pep talk. Superstitions were for losers. These nightmares were probably caused by stress, lack of sleep, and one too many episodes of some weird alien documentary he binged last week.
Turning off the water, he reached for a towel. There were bigger problems to face than fading dreams, like angry coaches and imminent academic doom.
He quickly got dressed in his St. Stephen's School uniform. As he pulled on his socks, a wrinkled nose told him something wasn't right. Glancing down, the crusty stain was a stark reminder of yesterday's... indiscretions. Fantastic. Just what he needed – a fashion statement nobody asked for. With a disgusted sigh, he tossed it aside. There wasn't time to find another pair. Shrugging, he hoped nobody would notice. His shoes, dulled from neglect, didn't inspire much hope either. Whatever, they'd have to do.The delicious smell of idlis wafted downstairs.
"Ved! You're up late," his mum chided gently.
"Sorry, Ma," he mumbled, snagging an idli and scalding his tongue in the process. At least breakfast was a win, unlike the rest of the morning. With a renewed sense of urgency, he raced through the rest of the meal, too preoccupied to truly enjoy it.
He grabbed his backpack – at least that was intact – and bolted out the door. Mom's protests about uneaten idlis and a forgotten lunchbox faded as he sprinted down the street. There was no way he was missing the bus now, not after the rest of the morning's disasters.The bus stop was only a five-minute jog, thankfully. Panting slightly, he scanned the area. Rehan, his buddy since elementary school, was nowhere to be seen. Where was that dude? Had he already ditched him?"Ved! Over here!" Rehan's cheerful wave saved him from another spiral of worry.Relief washed over Ved. "You're a lifesaver," he managed between gasps for air. "Where were you hiding?"Rehan smirked. "Let's just say I decided a banana detour was essential to starting the day right."Ved groaned. Rehan's healthy food obsessions were legendary, though nothing had ever possessed him to try banana breakfasts before. "Dude, you're weird," Ved affectionately nudged him, relieved to have some normalcy back in his chaotic morning.They boarded the bus just as it started to rumble away. Collapsing into the first available seat, Ved tried to recover from the mad dash. The bus was its usual chaotic self – teenagers chattering, laughter erupting, someone trying (and failing) to discreetly listen to music without headphones."So," Rehan leaned in conspiratorially, "what was the morning panic about? Missed alarm and zombie invasion?"Ved laughed, a real, genuine laugh after the tenseness of the past hour. "Close. Nightmare and the worst case of forgetting-a-major-event ever," he admitted. "Missed practice, angry coach, the whole deal."Rehan winced. "Ouch. Yeah, Coach D'Souza isn't exactly known for his sunny disposition when things don't go as planned."Ved grimaced. "Between practice, Elden Ring, and binging that new show… barely." He wasn't kidding. Every spare moment was a battle between homework and the irresistible pull of virtual adventures.Rehan nudged him with an elbow.
"Speaking of barely managing…" His gaze drifted pointedly downwards.Ved followed the direction of his friend's glance and sighed. Great. His stretched-out posture and slouched position had put his socks on full display. The crusty one was particularly noticeable, practically screaming
"Behold! The remnants of yesterday's questionable choices!".
"What can I say? I'm a sartorial genius," Ved deadpanned, a smirk playing on his lips.
A white stain Well, that was just another glorious layer in his symphony of chaos.
"More like a master of laziness," Rehan teased, bumping Ved's shoulder playfully as they finally stood to collect their backpacks.
"And questionable fashion choices," he added, with a pointed glance at the socks of discord.
"Hey, these socks are a statement," Ved retorted, flashing a playful grin.
"A statement about… bold color choices and the fleeting nature of laundry."Rehan snorted, shaking his head.
"Yeah, yeah. Come on, let's survive this test, and then you can offer your apologies – and brilliant fashion philosophy – to Coach."
The bus had come to a stop in front of St. Stephen's. He could hear the clamor of his classmates as students started piling out. Ved and Rehan were never fans of the mad dash to exit the bus. They usually hung back, waiting for the crowd to thin out before joining the flow. As their classmates spilled onto the school grounds, the two friends stretched, yawning in unison.
"Dude, do you even remember what a hypotenuse is?" Ved asked, a slight tremor in his voice.
Rehan scoffed. "Please. I have a foolproof strategy. The answers are multiple choice, right? I'll just mark all 'True'. Statistically, I have to get some right."
Ved's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Genius! Why didn't I think of that? But wait, I have an even better plan. I'll alternate – true, false, true, false… it'll be like a code! Mathematically unbreakable!"
"Or mathematically disastrous," Rehan countered, a grin tugging at his lips. "What if the test starts with three 'False' answers in a row? Your whole system collapses!"
"Fine," Ved conceded, feigning disappointment.
"But you can't deny the logic. Look, marking all True or False is like picking a single lottery number – sure, you might get lucky and hit it big, but the odds are stacked against you. Same with this test. Blind guessing might get you a couple right, but it's a recipe for disaster. Now, my alternating True-False system – that's pure genius! Think about it – it doubles your chances of getting each question right! It's like spreading your bets at the casino, maximizing your potential for mathematical victory… well, maybe not victory, but avoiding complete humiliation."
Rehan rolled his eyes sarcastically. "If only math worked on luck and random chance, like some kind of RPG game. Maybe we should've spent less time grinding for loot and more on, you know, actual studying."
Ved raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Point taken. But hey, at least we'll fail in style," he said, glancing down at his mismatched socks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
The test paper landed on Ved's desk with a thud, a stark reminder of his impending doom. A quick scan confirmed his worst fear – the objective section was just a measly 10% of the battlefield. The rest was a sprawling landscape of subjective questions, demanding explanations, theories, and proofs. Ved stared blankly at the words, his mind a whirlwind of panic and sarcasm."Multiple choice, huh?" he muttered under his breath, a bitter laugh threatening to escape. "More like 'multiple chances to prove I know absolutely nothing."
His eyes drifted across the questions, each one seeming to mock him.
"Explain the Pythagorean Theorem… as if I haven't spent the last few weeks battling dragons instead of studying triangles," he thought sarcastically.
A wave of frustration washed over him. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! Those practice sessions, the late-night coffee-fueled cram sessions… it all seemed like a cruel joke now.He glanced at Rehan, who was furiously scribbling away. Was his whole "true/false" strategy actually working? Or was he just better at faking confidence?
Ved's gaze landed back on his own paper. "Well," he thought with a tinge of desperation, "at least I can write my name correctly. That's worth a point, right? Maybe two?" His mind raced, trying to conjure up any scrap of knowledge. A vague memory of a geometric formula flickered – or was that just a wishful hallucination?
Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him. 'Define the concept of probability…' Ah, finally, a question he could actually tackle! He began writing feverishly, channeling his frustration into a scathing essay about the probability of passing this test being akin to winning the lottery after being struck by lightning twice... while riding a unicorn.With a sigh that was equal parts resignation and sarcasm, he glanced at the clock.
At least this torture would be over soon.
The rumble in Ved's stomach distracted him from the lingering doom of his math test. Lunch. A chance to forget the debacle and drown his sorrows in... well, whatever the cafeteria was serving.As he entered the sprawling space, a wave of familiar smells assaulted his senses - the acrid scent of overcooked vegetables, the strangely artificial tang of fruit punch, and that indescribable mystery-meat odor he could never quite place.
Still, his hunger overruled his better judgment.Joining the queue, he surveyed the offerings. It was the usual depressing suspects – limp fries, a watery-looking curry that might have been chicken (or possibly a distant relative of chicken), and a questionable pile of wilted greens claiming to be a salad. Ved sighed. Sometimes he wondered if the cafeteria staff were locked in a secret competition to invent the world's least appetizing lunch.
Grabbing a tray and a spoon that had seen better days, he scooped up a portion of whatever-it-was, a few token fries, and trudged towards an empty table. Before he could settle in, someone cleared their throat."Excuse me, could you move up, please?"
Ved looked up in surprise. A girl stood there, her dark hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail. She carried her plate with a queenly air, like it was a platter of gourmet delicacies. And she was staring at him. At least, he thought it was at him, but with her height, it was hard to tell.
"Umm… yeah, sure," he mumbled, sliding forward in his seat. Apparently, even his meager existence was taking up valuable lunch space. As she passed by with the practiced precision of a cafeteria veteran, Ved found himself irritated. Not only had his thoughts been interrupted, but her tone had rubbed him the wrong way."What's her problem, anyway?" he grumbled to himself with a shake of his head.
His internal rant about the cafeteria and its patrons raged on. Maybe his failed test had made him extra grouchy. But seriously, did the lunch ladies have some kind of vendetta against flavor? He poked at the sad-looking fries, the greasy exterior masking a mushy, potato-flavored disappointment. Suddenly, the idea that had been tickling at the back of his mind solidified. Should he report them? Was there some kind of student food-quality task force he could alert? Perhaps a scathing online review, exposing the true horrors of the St. Stephen's cafeteria? The image of the school principal being confronted with a plate of that mystery-meat gave him a flicker of amusement.
"Hey, can I sit here?" Ved blinked, startled out of his food-borne revolution. It was Rehan, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. As his friend plunked his tray down, Ved finally registered the silence – had he been muttering his cafeteria conspiracy aloud?
"Dude," Rehan nudged him with an elbow, "you look like you're about to lead a student rebellion over those fries."
"Wouldn't be the worst idea…" Ved quipped back with a smirk, taking a vengeful bite of an overcooked vegetable.As Rehan launched into a recap of an equally harrowing math exam, Ved's thoughts wandered again. His eyes flickered over to the girl from earlier. She'd conquered a strategic spot right under the AC vent, seemingly oblivious to the grumbling stomachs and disapproving glances around her.The rest of the chaotic lunch period passed by in a blur of bland food and Rehan's animated storytelling.
As classes resumed, the lingering memory of the mystery-meat, the girl with the regal air, and his own half-formed plans for a cafeteria exposé still lingered in the back of his mind. Maybe life at St.
Stephen's wasn't all about tests and theorems; there were smaller, weirder battles to be fought...and perhaps, won.
The rhythmic hum of the ceiling fan competed valiantly against Mr. Kumar's lecture, valiantly and unsuccessfully. Even the mind-boggling mysteries of velocity and momentum couldn't hold Ved's attention. His mind was buzzing, but not with the thrilling potential of physics.
That pesky beetle was back. He doodled in the margins of his notebook. Scribbles turned into segmented body parts, twitchy legs, pincers fit for a B-grade horror movie. The sketch was the artistic equivalent of a toddler's tantrum, but it perfectly matched the level of freak-out happening in his head. Why couldn't his nightmares just stay in the realm of bad dreams? Nope, this beetle had to be a clingy, multi-dimensional mind parasite. It hung around the cafeteria, ruining his appetite for questionable meatloaf, and now here it was, taunting him during the one class where he could at least pretend to care about things like "acceleration."Mr. Kumar's voice broke through the buzzing. "…and remember, class, velocity is a vector quantity.
Mr. Ved? Care to enlighten us?" Ved blinked. Was Mr. Kumar speaking English or some obscure alien dialect? Vector… magnitude… was he supposed to understand this? He glanced down at his notebook, and for a brilliant, terrifying second, he swore those beetle legs moved. It was official: his brain was melting.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea crashed over him, the room spinning like he'd been teleported to a faulty carousel. Was the beetle giving him motion sickness now? Oh, the injustice!
"Sir… bathroom?" he croaked, shoving his notebook (and its damnable beetle art) into his bag. He didn't wait for a reply, staggering out of the classroom.
Mr. Kumar's concerned look followed him, and he couldn't help but think, "Yeah, I look stable. Totally the picture of sanity."
Searching for Calm.
He found a deserted corner of the hallway and dramatically slumped against the cool tiles like he was starring in his own low-budget tragedy. Deep breaths. In... out... Focus on the buzzing in his ears, that's way less freaky than mind-beetles. Eventually, the nausea faded, leaving only a lingering sense of existential dread and a deep annoyance with his malfunctioning brain.
The beetle lurked in the back of his thoughts, a constant reminder of his own weirdness. Great. This was exactly what he needed – imaginary insects and a side of crippling anxiety.
The bell rang with its usual cheerful disregard for his mental state. Back to class? Face questions he couldn't answer and explain his impromptu hallway meltdown? That sounded like the most appealing option, right after volunteering as tribute in some dystopian reality show. But since hiding wasn't exactly feasible, he picked himself up. Maybe he could pull off a "mysteriously ill" act and get sent home.
Hey, it was worth a shot.
He stumbled from his semi-dramatic hallway pose towards Mr. Kumar's classroom. Entering felt like surrendering to an invisible enemy. The class looked on with mild curiosity, some with a flicker of pity in their eyes. Mr. Kumar gave him a slightly raised eyebrow, a silent question of "Are you okay, seriously?"Ved managed a half-hearted shrug and an unconvincing, "Feeling under the weather, sir." He tried for a sickly pallor but knew it was hopeless. His tan wouldn't cooperate with on-demand fainting spells.It took all his willpower not to glance at his notebook, the one with the incriminating beetle doodle. He slid into his usual seat, avoiding contact with the concerned stares of a few classmates.Mr. Kumar seemed to buy his half-baked excuses – or maybe the man had seen enough hormonal teenagers try to dodge science to know better. Either way, he just gave a curt nod and continued with his lesson on forces and their delightful equations.The rest of the class passed in a haze. Each word that left Mr. Kumar's mouth transformed into a muffled buzz, like insects swarming inside Ved's skull. The walls, usually a mundane backdrop of chipping paint and motivational posters, now felt claustrophobic, a blurry echo of his nightmare.As soon as the bell rang, he practically shot out of his seat. The hallways, normally a chaotic parade of teenagers, offered a strange, isolated comfort compared to the suffocating classroom. Now, he just had to survive one more thing: the admin office.The school's admin office was a fortress of paperwork and stern looks. The secretary was a legend – Mrs. Pinto, with her iron-grey hair and a gaze that could freeze a speeding teenager right in their tracks. Ved squared his shoulders, trying to look more pathetic and less "about to ditch for a burger.""Yes?" Mrs. Pinto's clipped question sliced through his practiced air of malaise."Um, I… I'm not feeling well," he stammered, channeling his inner whiny puppy. "Think I need to go home."Her brow furrowed with skepticism, but after several more coughs (some possibly faked), a sigh, and a begrudging, he was granted a temporary victory.With the sick-leave pass clutched victoriously in his hand, Ved navigated out of the school building. The air outside felt refreshingly cooler than the stuffy atmosphere within the school's walls. A wave of relief washed over him.
Escape successful.