It was just another day at Vikram Vidyalaya, a routine filled with the usual buzz of students attempting to survive the school day. The corridors were alive with chatter, a mix of discussions about unfinished homework, exaggerated cricket victories, and the latest rumors. Inside our classroom, the energy was chaotic yet oddly comforting. We all knew our teacher would walk in any moment, bringing with him the wrath of impending assignments or, worse, exams.
I had just settled into my seat, hoping for a rare quiet morning, when Gopi Sir, our notorious mathematics teacher, stormed into the room. He carried a single sheet of paper in his hand, folded as though it held the secrets of the universe—or, in this case, our doom. His footsteps echoed through the room, silencing the chatter instantly. The room braced itself as if collectively sensing something terrible was about to happen.
"QUIET!" he barked, scanning the room with his hawk-like eyes. It wasn't a request. It was a command. We obeyed without a second thought, knowing better than to test his patience.
"I have an announcement," he began, unfolding the paper with the dramatics of a seasoned actor. "Your half-yearly exams are scheduled to begin in two weeks."
For a moment, there was silence, the kind that only comes with sheer disbelief. Then, like a dam breaking, the room filled with groans, gasps, and panicked whispers. Two weeks? How were we supposed to cover the mountain of untouched syllabus in just two weeks?
"Silence!" Gopi Sir snapped, glaring at us as though daring anyone to speak. "This is not a discussion. The schedule is final. Prepare yourselves. And remember—math is non-negotiable. If you fail, don't bother showing up in my class again."
He began distributing the schedule, his glare daring anyone to complain. Meanwhile, my benchmates Kavitha and Josephine were already dissecting the timetable with their usual mix of curiosity and dread.
"Math and English back-to-back," Kavitha noted, her voice tinged with disbelief. "They really want us to suffer."
"Speak for yourself," I said, barely hiding my irritation. "You're practically invincible."
Kavi smirked. "Not everyone can be me, Paavna. You, on the other hand, have one very obvious weak point."
"Thanks for the reminder," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
She wasn't wrong. My Achilles' heel was English. In every other subject—math, science, social studies—I was on par with Aadav, the top ranker. But when it came to English, I barely managed to scrape by with 80%, a score that mocked me with its mediocrity.
Josephine, ever the voice of reason, chimed in. "At least math is your strength, Paavna. Imagine if you struggled with that too."
I shot her a glare. "Thanks for the encouragement, Jo. You're a real morale booster."
"Hey, I'm just saying," she replied, her tone as neutral as ever. "Some of us only have one strength."
Kavi, of course, couldn't resist adding her two cents. "And here I thought I was the only one who didn't need to worry."
"Don't be so smug," I retorted. "Even Aadav would admit you're untouchable."
Her smirk widened. "Speaking of Aadav…"
Kavi turned her gaze toward the back of the class, where Aadav sat in his usual spot, looking utterly unbothered by the chaos around him. He was leaning back in his chair, doodling in the margins of his notebook as though exams were a distant, irrelevant concept.
"Aadav," she called out, her voice carrying the kind of mischief that usually spelled trouble. "What's your plan for English?"
He looked up, his expression a mix of boredom and mild amusement. "Why would I need a plan?"
"Because even toppers need strategies," she replied, leaning forward like she was sharing some grand revelation.
"Do they?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought they just… topped."
The room erupted into laughter, a mix of genuine amusement and nervous energy. Even Gopi Sir paused to give Aadav a withering look before resuming his task of handing out schedules.
"Typical," Kavi muttered, shaking her head.
"Why do you even bother?" I asked her, unable to hide my amusement.
"Because it's fun," she replied, grinning.
As the laughter died down, the reality of the situation began to sink in. Two weeks to prepare for exams that would determine our rankings for the term. For some, this was just another hurdle. For others, it was a full-blown crisis.
Josephine, with her laser focus on math, was already mentally solving equations. Her strength in the subject was undeniable, but her struggles with literature essays were a constant source of stress.
Kavi, of course, remained unfazed. Her confidence was unshakable, her skills unmatched. She excelled in every subject, her rank secure at number two, just below Aadav.
As for me? The weight of English loomed over me like a storm cloud. It wasn't that I hated the subject—I just couldn't seem to conquer it. My essays lacked depth, my grammar was shaky, and my vocabulary was... well, let's just say it left a lot to be desired.
Meanwhile, Gopi Sir opened the floor for questions—a decision he would soon regret.
"Sir, will the math paper have grace marks?" someone asked, their voice tinged with desperate hope.
"Grace marks?" Gopi Sir repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. "Do you expect grace marks in life?"
Another hand shot up. "Sir, can we get extra credit for neat handwriting?"
"Of course," he replied, sarcasm oozing from every word. "And why not give marks for good behavior while we're at it?"
The class chuckled, the tension easing slightly.
Kavi, never one to miss an opportunity, raised her hand. "Sir, can we get bonus marks for full attendance?"
Gopi Sir gave her a long, exasperated look. "Miss Kavitha, if I gave bonus marks for attendance, half this class would still fail."
Even Josephine cracked a smile at that.
As the laughter died down, I stole a glance at Aadav. Not because I wanted to—okay, maybe I did—but because his complete lack of concern was fascinating. Here he was, the top ranker, acting like exams were a minor inconvenience.
But no one noticed my stolen glance. Why would they? I was just another student, too busy worrying about academics to entertain frivolous thoughts. Or so I told myself.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the period, and Gopi Sir gathered his papers with a final warning. "Prepare well. No excuses this time."
The class erupted into chatter the moment he left. Some were already planning study groups, while others debated the fairness of the timetable.
"Paavna," Kavi said, nudging me. "You're awfully quiet. Planning your English comeback?"
"Something like that," I replied, trying to sound confident.
"Well, don't forget to prepare for math too," Josephine added. "Gopi Sir isn't bluffing about his no-fail policy."
"I won't," I assured her, though the weight of the upcoming exams felt heavier than ever.
As we left the classroom, the noise and chaos of the corridors enveloped us. The day carried on, but the looming shadow of the exams stayed with me. This wasn't just about scores or rankings—it felt like a battle, one I was determined to win. And maybe, just maybe, I'd figure out why Aadav's carefree attitude annoyed—and intrigued—me so much.
The bell rang, signaling the start of the next period, but the energy from Gopi Sir's announcement lingered in the room like an unshakable storm cloud. While the teacher for the upcoming subject hadn't arrived yet, the class was abuzz with speculation about the exams.
Kavi leaned over to me, her expression alight with amusement. "So, do you think Aadav is actually going to study this time, or will he ace the exams by sheer magic again?"
I smirked, pretending to focus on the timetable in front of me. "Why don't you ask him? You seem to enjoy talking to him more than the rest of us."
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Kavi retorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. "He's practically the school's unofficial prince. I just like poking fun at his royal arrogance."
Josephine, who had been quietly jotting down the exam schedule in her notebook, finally spoke up. "I think he studies more than he lets on. You don't just stay at the top without effort."
Kavi raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "Effort? The guy doesn't even submit his homework. He probably has some genius hack we mere mortals can't comprehend."
"And yet," I added with a sly grin, "he's the only one who's consistently beaten you in rankings."
Kavi gasped in mock outrage. "Et tu, Paavna? I thought we were friends!"
The class burst into laughter at her dramatic outburst, and for a moment, the stress of exams felt a little lighter. But the laughter faded quickly as the door creaked open, and our English teacher entered.
The collective groan that rippled through the room was almost comical. Everyone knew this teacher had a knack for assigning essays that could drain the life out of even the most enthusiastic students.
"Settle down, everyone," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Before we begin, I have a surprise for you."
The word "surprise" immediately set off alarm bells in my mind. Surprises in school rarely turned out to be pleasant.
"We're going to have an essay-writing activity today," she announced, ignoring the chorus of protests from the class. "It'll help you prepare for the English exam. The topic is 'The Person Who Inspires Me the Most.' You have thirty minutes. Begin."
The room descended into a hushed chaos as everyone scrambled to start writing. I stared at my blank sheet of paper, my mind racing. Who was I supposed to write about? My parents? A famous scientist? A historical figure?
Kavi, as usual, was already halfway through her essay, her pen moving with practiced ease. Josephine, on the other hand, was staring at her paper with a thoughtful expression, her introvert tendencies evident in the meticulous way she began crafting her sentences.
I sighed, deciding to write about my mother. It was a safe choice, one that wouldn't draw any attention. But as I wrote, my mind wandered—not to my mother, but to someone else. Someone who, despite his infuriating arrogance and complete disregard for rules, managed to inspire me in ways I didn't fully understand.
Of course, I couldn't write about him. That would be ridiculous. But the thought lingered, refusing to leave even as I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.
At the back of the class, Aadav was leaning back in his chair, his pen barely touching the paper. Was he actually writing, or was he just doodling again? I couldn't tell, and I wasn't about to stare long enough to find out.
"Five minutes left," the teacher announced, and I scrambled to finish my essay. My handwriting grew messier with each passing second, but I managed to complete it just as the bell rang.
"Pass your papers to the front," the teacher instructed, and a flurry of activity followed as we handed over our work.
As we headed out for the lunch break, Kavi turned to me with a mischievous grin. "So, who did you write about?"
"My mom," I replied quickly, hoping to avoid any follow-up questions.
"Predictable," she said, smirking. "What about you, Jo?"
"Marie Curie," Josephine answered, her tone matter-of-fact.
Kavi raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Trust you to pick someone academically inspiring."
"What about you?" I asked, eager to change the subject.
"Malala," Kavi replied, her voice surprisingly serious. "Her story always makes me want to do better."
I nodded, impressed despite myself. Kavi had a knack for surprising me in moments like these.
As we reached the canteen, the chaos of lunchtime engulfed us. Students crowded around tables, their conversations overlapping in a cacophony of voices. We found our usual spot near the window, and Kavi immediately launched into a detailed analysis of the essay topic, her words punctuated by bites of her sandwich.
Josephine listened quietly, occasionally nodding in agreement, while I let my thoughts drift. My mind kept circling back to Aadav, to his strange mix of arrogance and mystery, to the way he seemed to effortlessly excel at everything.
But I pushed those thoughts away, focusing instead on the challenge ahead. The exams were just two weeks away, and I had a mountain to climb—especially when it came to English.
As the lunch break ended and we headed back to class, I stole a glance at Aadav. He was surrounded by his usual group of admirers, his expression as unreadable as ever.
No one noticed. Why would they? I was just another student, too busy worrying about academics to entertain frivolous thoughts. Or so I told myself.
The day continued, a blur of lectures and assignments, but the weight of the exams stayed with me. This wasn't just about scores or rankings—it felt like a battle, one I was determined to win.
And maybe, just maybe, I'd figure out why Aadav's carefree attitude annoyed—and intrigued—me so much.