Date: March 11, 2009
Time: 1:30 PM
Location: Playground, Bahuru High School
The final bell echoed through the corridors of Bahuru High School like a long-awaited sigh of relief. The English exam had concluded, marking the end of weeks of relentless preparation, sleepless nights, and emotional roller coasters. Students flooded out of the classrooms like water bursting through a broken dam—some cheering, some groaning, and others simply too exhausted to react.
Aritra stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. The warmth of the day wrapped around him like an old blanket, comforting yet slightly overwhelming after hours spent in the sterile, cold environment of the exam hall. The dusty playground stretched ahead, its patchy grass and uneven dirt paths serving as the backdrop for countless stories—of triumph, failure, heartbreak, and now, freedom.
He slung his bag over his shoulder, his steps light despite the weight of the past few weeks. There was a strange emptiness, like standing at the edge of a cliff after climbing for days, only to realize the journey was over. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a quiet space filled with reflections and echoes of graphite against paper.
As he walked toward the usual hangout spot beneath the large banyan tree at the far end of the playground, he spotted Deep Halder and Arnab Das, his closest friends, waving frantically.
"Oye, Einstein!" Deep shouted, grinning ear to ear, his tie already loosened and his shirt untucked in post-exam rebellion. "Did the English paper survive your genius?"
Aritra chuckled, shaking his head. "Barely. I think the paper is filing a case against me for excessive scribbling."
Arnab snorted, nearly choking on the puchka he was devouring with the grace of a starving hyena. "Bro, if words were weapons, you just committed literary murder."
The three collapsed onto the dusty ground, not caring about the dirt or the unforgiving sun. For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, letting the reality sink in—the board exams were finally over.
"Okay," Deep said, dramatically throwing his hands in the air, "serious question—was it just me, or did that comprehension passage feel like it was written by someone high on sugar and bad poetry?"
Arnab burst into laughter, nearly spilling his puchka water. "Dude, yes! 'The majestic clouds danced across the cerulean sky like poetic marshmallows.' What even was that?"
Aritra wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "Honestly, I think the writer just stared at the sky, got emotional, and decided, 'Yep, let's confuse teenagers.'"
Their laughter echoed across the playground, mingling with the sounds of other students celebrating—or recovering from—their own exam-induced traumas.
And that's when Aritra saw her.
Rimi Saha.
She stood near the water tap, her trademark overconfidence radiating like an unspoken aura. She laughed—loud and deliberate—tilting her head just enough to make her earrings catch the sunlight. But it wasn't the laugh that caught Aritra's attention.
It was who she was laughing with.
Anirban Roy.
The guy who had secured the first rank.
The human embodiment of a walking, talking, smug smile.
Aritra froze mid-laughter, his smile lingering out of habit rather than feeling. It wasn't jealousy that twisted in his chest—it was something far more ridiculous.
"Seriously? Anirban? The guy who once spelled 'physics' as 'fizzix' in a school debate?"
Deep noticed the sudden shift and followed Aritra's gaze. "Oh ho, look who's here. Madam Rimi and Mister First Rank. What's next? A joint book titled 'How to Pretend You're Smart'?"
Arnab choked again, this time from laughing mid-chew. "Plot twist: Anirban thinks 'Gutenberg' is a type of sandwich."
Aritra snorted, shaking his head. "Honestly, good for them. They deserve each other. Two egos walking hand-in-hand into the sunset."
But despite his words, his eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary.
Rimi flipped her hair dramatically, laughing at something Anirban said—probably a joke about calculus that wasn't even funny. Anirban, with his signature smirk, leaned against the wall like he was posing for a magazine titled "How to Look Smart Without Trying".
"Man, his hair looks like it's afraid of gravity," Deep muttered. "Bet he spends more time styling it than studying."
Arnab added, "Do you think he uses shampoo or intellectual superiority to keep it shiny?"
Aritra burst out laughing, the tension dissipating with every joke. Because that's what friends do—they turn heartbreak into punchlines and bad memories into stories worth telling.
As they left the playground, the sounds of students, teachers, and the occasional rickshaw blended into the background. The weight of exams, exes, and expectations felt lighter—not because life had changed, but because Aritra had.
He realized something simple yet profound.
It's not about who stays in your life.
It's about who makes you laugh when they don't.
And with Deep and Arnab beside him, Aritra knew he was exactly where he needed to be.
The afternoon sun hung lazily over Bahuru High School, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked concrete and dusty patches of the playground. The faint sound of laughter, mixed with the occasional holler of victory and groans of regret, floated through the air like echoes of battles fought and survived. Aritra felt an odd lightness in his chest, not just from the relief of the exams being over, but from the sheer absurdity of the human experience—the way the mind could swing from the intensity of calculus to the ridiculousness of teenage drama in mere seconds.
Deep and Arnab were still in the middle of their post-exam roast session, competing to see who could deliver the most dramatic re-enactment of their "near-death experiences" during the mathematics paper. Arnab waved his hands dramatically, pretending to faint. "I swear, when I saw that differential equation, my soul left my body, looked back, and said, 'You're on your own, bro.'"
Deep, not one to be outdone, chimed in, "Forget the equation, the invigilator's face was scarier. She looked like she had personally written the question paper as revenge for all her past heartbreaks."
Aritra laughed, his voice mixing with theirs, the tension from the morning slowly dissolving into nothingness. But his laughter faltered slightly when his gaze, as if on autopilot, drifted back toward the far end of the playground where Rimi and Anirban were still deep in their animated conversation.
Rimi threw her head back in laughter, the sun catching the strands of her hair just right, making it shimmer like it had been specifically choreographed for maximum impact. Anirban leaned in slightly, his hand casually resting against the wall behind her, his expression smug in that universal "I'm-the-guy-who-aced-the-exam" way. It was a scene straight out of every high school cliché Aritra thought he'd outgrown.
Deep noticed Aritra's lingering gaze and nudged him with a grin. "Dude, are you seriously giving them free real estate in your head?"
Aritra rolled his eyes, forcing a smirk. "Nah, just amazed at how Anirban's hair defies the laws of physics more than our exam paper did."
Arnab nearly choked on his puchka, laughing. "Maybe he's found the secret formula: E = mc², where E equals ego, m equals maximum gel, and c is the constant level of cringe."
Aritra chuckled, the bitterness fading under the warmth of their friendship. It was strange how humor could be both a shield and a sword, cutting through awkwardness while protecting the fragile corners of one's heart. He realized that while Rimi's absence had once felt like a hollow space, it was now just another story to laugh about someday.
The bell from the nearby temple drifted through the air, mingling with the soft rustle of the banyan tree's leaves. The moment felt oddly cinematic, like life was giving him a gentle nudge, reminding him that chapters end, and that's okay.
Arnab stretched, dramatically flopping backward onto the dusty ground. "So, what's next for us, gentlemen? We've survived the wrath of the West Bengal board. Feels like we should be knighted or something."
Deep grinned, sprawling beside him. "I say we start a club. The Survivors of the Impossible Math Paper Society. Motto: 'We didn't die, but we thought about it.'"
Aritra joined them, lying on his back, staring up at the sky where clouds drifted lazily like they had all the time in the world. "How about we just promise to live? No clubs, no titles. Just… life."
They lay there for a while, not speaking, just breathing in the simplicity of the moment. The playground buzzed around them—students celebrating, complaining, and existing in their own bubbles of teenage chaos—but for Aritra, the world had narrowed down to this patch of ground, this slice of sky, and these two idiots who made everything feel lighter.
Eventually, the spell broke. Arnab sat up, brushing dust off his uniform. "Well, I'm starving. Let's find the greasiest, most unhealthy food available and eat like we've never heard of cholesterol."
Deep groaned dramatically. "Finally, someone speaks my language."
Aritra stood, dusting off his pants, feeling the weight of the past few weeks lift a little more with every step they took away from the school grounds. As they walked toward the food stalls, laughter trailing behind them, he glanced back one last time.
Rimi was still there, still laughing at Anirban's not-so-funny jokes.
And for the first time, Aritra felt absolutely nothing.
Just a quiet, liberating kind of peace.
The kind that whispered, "You're free now."