Part 1: The Confession's Weight
I remember the day like it was a storm cloud hanging low, gray and heavy, threatening to drown everything beneath it. The smell of the principal's office still lingers in my mind — a blend of old wood, stale air, and the faint trace of lemon polish, like the place was trying too hard to be clean, to hide the dirt beneath.
Sitting there, across from Principal Sir, the words caught in my throat before they spilled out in a trembling whisper. I stole the question paper.
It wasn't just a sentence. It was a confession that cracked open my whole world.
My heart pounded like a drum — loud enough, I feared, to be heard by everyone in the building. I could feel the weight of every eye, real or imagined, sinking into me. I wasn't just confessing to a mistake; I was unveiling a betrayal. A betrayal of trust, of rules, of everything I thought I was.
I looked up at Principal Sir. His eyes were calm, but I saw a shadow flicker there — disappointment, maybe. Or maybe the burden of having to handle something bigger than a single student's mistake.
I wanted to disappear. I wanted to crawl under the heavy wooden table and stay there until the world forgot I ever existed.
But I couldn't.
Because the truth was out.
I wasn't alone in this. Mokbul Sir was part of the story too, tangled in the mess like roots of a tree choking itself. The man who once guided me, who taught me with stern patience, had crossed a line. We had made a pact, a dirty deal to cheat, to secure results that weren't ours to claim.
And in that moment, I realized — there is no honor in winning if you lose yourself.
Sweety Mam was there too, watching silently, like a shadow with no voice. Her loyalty was a mystery. Was she silent because she was afraid? Because she agreed? Or because she was waiting for something? I never knew.
Outside the room, the world was spinning faster than I could keep up with. Rumors spread, whispers carried by the wind like poisonous seeds. Khangari's name was everywhere — his reach beyond student politics, a puppeteer pulling strings in the dark. I was caught in his web, sometimes a willing spider, sometimes trapped like a fly.
Then there was Shekhor Ghaura — wild, unpredictable, a fire I couldn't touch but couldn't avoid. We were like two halves of the same chaos, battling and bonding in the same breath. His reckless energy was both a torment and a twisted comfort.
Raju Chumma and Montu Biri tried to bring laughter to the cracks, their humor a desperate attempt to patch what was breaking. But beneath their jokes was fear — fear that we were all losing control.
Jony's battered face haunted me. The bullying had stolen more than just his confidence — it had stolen pieces of his soul. I wanted to protect him, but I was drowning too.
And Naznin — her gaze pierced through me, soft yet sharp, filled with unspoken questions and tangled emotions. Did she see the storm inside me? Did she feel the same ache I did?
That day, the confrontation was more than just a scandal. It was the shattering of illusions, the exposure of our broken truths, the rawness of all our fears and desires.
I stood there, stripped bare, forced to face the wreckage I had caused.
But even in the darkness, I found a flicker of hope — maybe this was my reckoning. A chance to rebuild from the ruins, to find strength in my brokenness.
Because sometimes, falling apart is the only way to become whole again.
Part 2: The Web of Power and Fear
The college wasn't just a place of learning. It was a battlefield disguised as classrooms and hallways. Every smile hid a secret, every laugh veiled a challenge. And at the center of it all was Khangari — a shadow that stretched far and wide.
His influence wasn't just in student council elections or petty fights. It was deeper, darker. He was the puppet master, the kingpin whose grip extended beyond the campus gates. With his calculated charm and ruthless ambition, he controlled more than just votes — he controlled lives.
Prottoy Giringi — that was me — was caught in the middle of his plans. Sometimes I was his soldier, sometimes his pawn, sometimes a willing conspirator. But beneath the bravado, I was scared. Scared of losing myself, scared of what I might become.
And Khangari's power wasn't just a force outside me; it was a mirror. A reflection of all my worst fears — failure, rejection, insignificance.
I remember the late nights, the whispered meetings in shadowed corners, the exchanged promises wrapped in threats. I wanted to believe we were in control, that we were shaping our destinies. But slowly, I saw the truth — we were just pieces on his board, moved at his will.
And yet, defying him was harder than following. Because in the chaos, Khangari offered something many of us craved: belonging, purpose, power.
Part 3: The Torn Bonds of Friendship
Friendship in our world was fragile. Like glass, beautiful but dangerous. I looked at Shekhor — volatile, brash, full of reckless energy — and I saw a reflection of myself in his chaos. We fought, clashed, tore at each other, but underneath all the noise was a bond no one else understood.
He was my storm, my wild fire. I hated him and needed him in the same breath.
Raju Chumma and Montu Biri were the balance, the lightness in the madness. Raju's jokes and Montu's nervous smiles were lifelines. They tried to keep us grounded, tried to hold the pieces together even when everything was breaking.
But beneath their laughter, I saw the fear — fear that we were all spiraling, fear that nothing would ever be the same again.
Part 4: Jony's Pain and Naznin's Silence
Jony's story was a silent scream. The bruises on his face, the trembling in his voice — they told a story no one wanted to hear. Bullying had stolen his joy, his innocence. I wanted to shield him, to take his pain away, but I was drowning too, caught in my own storm.
Naznin was the quiet observer. Her eyes held questions and pain I couldn't answer. She was caught in a web of feelings — for me, for others — tangled in confusion and silent longing.
Her silence was louder than words.
Part 5: The Final Storm
The confrontation that day was inevitable. Tensions exploded like fireworks, raw emotions spilled unchecked. Prottoy's dominance clashed with Shekhor's volatility. Raju and Montu wove between the chaos, trying to bring humor and truth.
It wasn't just about the question paper scandal — it was about all the broken pieces, all the unspoken fears and desires.
I stood exposed, vulnerable, forced to face the wreckage I had caused.
But in that moment, I found a flicker of hope. Maybe this reckoning was my chance to rebuild, to become more than my mistakes.
Because sometimes, falling apart is the only way to become whole again. At the end of the long noon, stress got in my way, and I took my diary and started writing
Life's a Trick, Says Prottoy Giringi
Life's a prank, a sneaky thief,Stealing snacks and all my beef.One day rich, next day broke,Lost my phone, and blamed the goat!
Teachers plot with secret grins,Throwing tests with hidden sins.Mokbul Sir's got eyes like hawks,Sweety Mam just loves to talk.
Khangari's power's big and mean,Like a boss in a gangster scene.Prottoy tries to play it cool,But ends up looking like a fool.
Jony's bullied, poor guy's stuck,Naznin's crush? It's bad luck!She acts cold but hides a spark,While I'm here tripping in the dark.
Montu Biri's nerves all fried,Shekhor's plans? I've tried, I've tried.Raju Chumma cracks a joke,But my life's a bad joke poke!
So here I stand, with hair undone,Wondering why I can't just run.Life's unfair? That's no surprise—It's a circus in disguise!
Laugh it off, or cry instead,But don't forget: I'm way ahead—At losing battles, making mess,And still, somehow, I cause distress!