The classroom was quieter than usual for the 3:30 to 4:30 self-study hour. Outside, the last stretch of sunlight was starting to dull behind the neem trees that stood outside the corridor windows. The fan made a slow creaking sound above us, rhythmically humming like a tired lullaby.
Today, our class teacher was the in-charge. She also happened to be our Social Science teacher — one of the rare few I genuinely liked. She didn't raise her voice unnecessarily. Her sarees were always plain, usually cotton, but the colours were strong — bottle green, brick red, navy blue — and something about that made me trust her seriousness. She taught like someone who actually read the textbook, not just skimmed it between tea and staffroom gossip.
Fifteen minutes into the study hour, she called my name softly from the front. I froze for a second. I thought, Did someone complain already? Did I mess something up again without realizing?
But when I walked up to her desk, she smiled. A rare one — small and calm, but real.
"Nila," she said, leaning forward just a little, "Your argument in today's personality development class… I was quite impressed."
I blinked, processing her words slowly, unsure if I was hallucinating compliments now.
"You had a direction in your thought," she continued. "You built the idea, didn't fall apart midway, and ended with a firm conclusion. That's what a good argument is. Even if I didn't personally agree with your point, I could see you believed it."
I nodded, unsure how to respond without sounding too eager. Inside, I was glowing like a festival light. Outside, I just said, "Thank you, ma'am."
She glanced down at her attendance notebook, then looked back up. "Have you ever thought of participating in debates or interschool presentations? If I recommend you, would you be open to it?"
I straightened up. "Yes, ma'am. I'd love that."
It wasn't even about the stage. I'd always hated stages. But this-this was acknowledgement. After all that cautious hiding, it felt strange and new to be seen without being attacked for it.
She gave a thoughtful nod, then paused.
"And," I added quickly, voice a little lower, "if I ever want to start something… like a group discussion initiative or any sort of regular activity — is that allowed? Or is it against any rules?"
She looked curious, almost amused. "Depends on what kind of initiative. You have something in mind?"
"Not yet," I said honestly, "but I was wondering if it's possible. Just... something small. Productive."
She studied me again, eyes narrowing slightly, not in suspicion but in quiet calculation. Like she was seeing past just the day's performance.
"Well," she said, "if you're serious and responsible with your academics, no one will say no to good ideas. But first... prove that consistency. And don't bite off more than you can chew."
I nodded again.
As I walked back to my seat, I noticed a few girls watching me curiously. Maybe they thought I was getting warned or scolded. Let them think that. I wasn't ready to explain the shift in wind just yet.
Not until I had a real direction to sail.
When I came back to my desk, I didn't expect anything more than silence or maybe a scribbled note from the girl beside me asking why the teacher had called me. But instead, Nishanth turned his head slightly and asked in a low voice, "What are you planning now?"
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, eyes not on me, but still managing to smirk while pretending to be flipping through his Social Studies notebook. "You've got that look again."
"What look?"
"That look you get when a plan is being born in that brain of yours." He tapped his pen against his temple twice. "Don't act like I haven't seen it before."
I frowned, slightly thrown off balance. The idea of starting something had just brushed the edge of my mind during that chat with ma'am. It wasn't even a fully formed thought yet. And Nishanth — he'd already sensed it?
"Whatever it is," he said, straightening in his seat now, "I also want a part in it."
"What?" I tried to sound stern, but I was more amused than anything.
"Don't act innocent now." He gave me a dramatic squint. "School life is boring enough already. If you have any idea that might make things even slightly spicy, I'm up for it."
"Are you aware," I said slowly, lowering my voice as a few students around us glanced over, "that if you join me in something, you're willingly handing over your precious school freedom and peace of mind… directly into my control?"
Nishanth grinned like it was a challenge. "Nothing's under my control nowadays anyway."
I narrowed my eyes. "What?"
"Never mind." He shrugged and looked out the window like he hadn't just dropped a cryptic little bomb in the middle of our conversation.
"Anyway," he added, before I could question him, "what's your plan?"
"I want to start something," I said honestly. "But I'm not sure what yet."
"Whatever it is," he said, "I have great computer skills. That's non-negotiable. Take that into account. I can make presentations, posters, whatever you need. And I'm good at drawing too."
I smiled. "You've already given yourself every department."
He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Just making sure you know what you're signing up for when you get the best talent in the class."
"I'm not even sure I have a proper idea yet. Or any actual skills to lead something."
Nishanth dropped his hand and leaned a little closer. "Don't start that humble nonsense now. You're good at writing, you talk well, and you explain things in a way people actually listen. And you've already got management written all over you. You probably colour-code your emotions."
I snorted before I could stop myself.
He leaned back, satisfied. "So, yeah. Whatever it is, keep me in a good posting. I'm already in."
Before I could reply, the bell rang — sharp and final — and the spell of our conversation broke like chalk under a shoe.
Chairs scraped back. Bags were zipped. Pages fluttered. People started standing, stretching, and moving toward the corridor. The hour was over.
I didn't move. Not right away. I just looked at the spot on the table where his hand had rested, then at the back of his head as he walked out chatting with someone about a football match.
He said nothing's under his control anymore.
What did that mean?
I didn't go for dance practice today.
Instead, I wandered toward the basketball court — needing something that involved running, jumping, letting out energy that had been twisting into words and strategies all day. I wasn't sure what I expected. Maybe just some mindless dribbling.
But the seniors were already there, mid-practice. When they noticed me walking over, I expected a nod at most. But instead, Priya akka smiled and waved me in.
"Heard what you did yesterday," she said, tossing me a spare hair tie while the others gathered around. "Clarifying the rules straight with the principal? That's gutsy."
I blinked. "It wasn't meant to be dramatic…"
"No, no," another senior laughed, spinning the ball on her fingers. "It wasn't drama. It was smart. When rules are vague, people take advantage. You did the right thing."
There was a short moment of quiet acknowledgment — the kind that felt heavier than cheering or high-fives. Then Priya akka grinned and clapped her hands. "Now, show us some fire on the court too. Not just in the staff room."
That made everyone laugh, and just like that, the tension I hadn't even realized I'd carried all day melted. We broke into teams. I ran harder than I usually did, missed half my shots but passed well, played defense with sharp focus, and laughed freely every time someone fumbled. It wasn't about proving anything — it just felt good to move.
We ended the game sweaty, breathless, and lighter somehow.
By the time evening study rolled around — the long, stretched-out block from 6:00 to 8:00 — I was calmer, more grounded. I picked my usual seat beside two classmates who were good at science and pulled out our assignment sheet to work through it together.
As I sat down, I noticed the warden pass by.
She paused for half a second. I waited, spine stiffening out of habit. A part of me was still expecting a comment — a snide word, a disapproving look.
But it didn't come.
She moved on, silently, as if I were just another student doing what I was supposed to do.
The girls beside me exchanged glances but said nothing. And neither did I.
Maybe it was a fluke. Or maybe she'd finally decided I wasn't worth the trouble.
Either way, I took a breath and smiled to myself.
The storm of the last few days — with its staff room tensions, principal visits, sharp glances, and whispered warnings — felt like it had finally passed.
Not forgotten. Not forgiven. But past.
And for now, that was enough.
The days ahead… they might actually be peaceful.