Date: January 15, 2009
Time: 4:30 AM
Location: Aritra's Bedroom, Dakshin Barasat
The faint glow of dawn had yet to creep into the dark corners of Aritra's small room. Shadows clung to the cracked walls, the brittle paint peeling like faded memories. The thin winter air seeped through the gaps in the old wooden window frame, wrapping around him like invisible fingers. But it wasn't the cold that kept Aritra awake. No, it was the relentless thudding of his heart, each beat a reminder that today wasn't just another day. It was the day—the day his pre-board exam results would be revealed.
Aritra lay flat on his narrow bed, his eyes tracing the faint spiderweb of cracks on the ceiling, as if searching for answers hidden in their fragile patterns. His mind was a whirlwind of questions:
What if I failed?
What if I'm not good enough?
What if this one result changes everything?
The old plastic clock on the wall ticked with cruel precision, its mechanical heartbeat louder than usual in the stillness. Each passing second felt like a countdown to judgment, dragging him closer to 11:45 AM—the moment when his fate, sealed in ink on a white sheet of paper, would stare back at him.
The blanket twisted around his legs, much like the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He tried to shift, to find comfort, but sleep had long abandoned him, leaving behind only restless thoughts and the suffocating weight of expectations.
Physics.
The word itself sent a shiver down his spine. The questions from the exam replayed in his head like a broken record—vectors, Newton's Laws, friction problems he had rushed through, convinced he had more time. Why didn't I double-check that calculation? The regret was sharp, biting deeper than the cold.
At 5:00 AM, Aritra gave up the pretense of sleep. He swung his legs off the bed, his feet meeting the icy floor with a jolt. The cold tiles grounded him, but not enough to silence the storm in his mind.
His school uniform hung on the back of his creaky wooden chair—white shirt, slightly faded grey trousers, and the DBSA High School badge stitched neatly on the pocket. The uniform looked crisp, a picture of discipline and pride, yet he felt none of that. Instead, he felt like an imposter dressing up to face a trial.
Standing before the cracked mirror above his desk, he examined his reflection. Dark circles hugged his eyes, evidence of sleepless nights spent chasing perfection. His hair, stubborn and messy, refused to cooperate, much like his scattered thoughts. This wasn't the face of a topper. This was the face of a boy terrified of his own potential.
He splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would wash away the anxiety. It didn't.
Time: 5:30 AM
Location: Kitchen, Naskar Household
The familiar sounds of the kitchen were already alive—the rhythmic hiss of oil heating in the pan, the soft clinking of utensils, and the faint crackle of the radio broadcasting the morning news. His mother, dressed in her simple cotton saree with her hair tied in a loose bun, moved with mechanical efficiency. Her hands expertly flipped parathas on the hot tawa, the golden-brown layers puffing slightly with trapped steam. The aroma of ghee should have been comforting, but Aritra's stomach churned with unease.
She didn't turn around when she spoke, her voice slicing through the haze in his mind:
"Eto taratari utli je? Aj result-er din, tai na?" (You're up early? Today's the result day, isn't it?)
Aritra cleared his throat. "Hmm," was all he could manage.
His father entered, the morning newspaper tucked under his arm, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses as he glanced at Aritra. His gaze lingered on the boy's pale face before shifting to the untouched plate his wife had just placed on the table.
"Kheye ne , aj ar tention kore ki hbe." (Eat. Nothing extraordinary will happen from tention.)
Aritra sat down, picking at the paratha with little interest. The food felt heavy in his mouth, tasteless despite the spices. He chewed mechanically, his mind elsewhere—stuck on marks, ranks, and the fear of disappointing the very people sitting beside him.
His mother finally sat down, watching him closely. "Chinta korish na. Ja hoyar se hoye gache." (Don't worry. It already happen.)
But the worry had already settled in his bones, growing roots that no amount of reassurance could pull out.
Time: 7:00 AM
Location: On the Way to School, Dakshin Barasat
The streets of Dakshin Barasat were slowly waking up. The morning mist hung low, blurring the outlines of small shops and bicycles lined along the roadside. Tea stalls were already bustling, the clinking of glass cups punctuated by the hiss of boiling water. The aroma of strong, sweet chai mingled with the faint scent of diesel from passing autos.
Aritra walked the familiar path to school, his bag slung loosely over one shoulder. His steps were slow, hesitant, as if he could somehow delay the inevitable by walking slower.
The world around him moved as usual—vendors shouting about fresh vegetables, a group of schoolchildren laughing as they ran ahead, stray dogs chasing after a cyclist. But Aritra felt like a ghost, detached from the scene, his mind replaying every mistake he feared he'd made.
Why didn't I review the last question properly?
Was that answer in Chemistry even correct?
Did I bubble the wrong option in haste?
His chest tightened with every thought. The memory of Rimi's confident posture during the exam flashed uninvited in his mind. She had sat two rows ahead, her pen gliding effortlessly across the paper, her handwriting neat and organized. A stark contrast to his own scribbles born from panic.
As he passed the old railway crossing, the rhythmic clatter of an approaching train filled the air—a sharp, repetitive reminder that time waits for no one. Not even for a boy dreading his pre-board results.
By the time Aritra reached the towering gates of DBSA High School, his heart was pounding. The school, usually just a building of routine and monotony, now felt like an imposing fortress, guarding the verdict that would define his worth.
The faded blue paint on the gates, chipped and peeling, seemed symbolic of his own crumbling confidence. Students were already trickling in, their voices buzzing with anticipation. Some wore expressions of excitement, others masked their fear with nervous laughter.
Aritra paused at the entrance, taking a deep breath that did little to steady his nerves.
This wasn't just another school day.
It was judgment day!