Today, I left early for class again.
It was becoming a pattern — a silent strategy. I planned to keep this up every single day until the next official outing, when Appa would come to pick me up. That day couldn't come soon enough.
After what happened yesterday — my public takedown of the warden's false accusation, right in front of the principal, vice principal, and chief warden — I knew things wouldn't go back to normal. The warden wouldn't dare cross a line now, not like before. But I could already predict how she'd behave — her words would carry that syrupy edge, her tone just sharp enough to draw blood if I slipped. Not excessive, no — she wouldn't risk another report. But polite? Not a chance.
And honestly? I could have let it slide. Could have lowered my head, accepted her version of the truth. That would've been easier.
But if there's one thing I've learned, both in this life and the last, it's this:If you show submission to the wrong people, they won't give you peace. They'll take it as permission to keep pushing.So I did what had to be done — fought back, made it public, and made it sting.
Now? I had to be smart. Her next move would probably be trying to complain to my parents, twist things around like I was a troublemaker. Until that card was played, it was best to stay under the radar. Hide in plain sight.
That meant:
Early to class
More time in the school library, study hall, and even the playground
Less time in the hostel where I could be cornered, questioned, or quietly sabotaged again
I walked into the classroom. As expected, I was the first one there. I opened the windows to let in some fresh air, cleaned the dust from the front desk, and set my books down. The silence was a comfort.
A minute later, Nishanth walked in — almost like he'd been timing it. I glanced up, surprised.
He gave a half-smile. "You're early."
I nodded. "I like having the room to myself."
He placed his bag beside mine and sat down. "Or avoiding someone?"
I raised an eyebrow but didn't reply. We both knew the answer.
He didn't push it. Instead, he started taking out his notebooks and glanced over at me again. "You really blew things up yesterday. Didn't think you'd take that route."
"I didn't plan to," I admitted. "But I wasn't going to let her do that to me again."
He nodded slowly, then leaned back. "It was bold. Risky, but bold."
I didn't know if it was approval or just observation. Either way, it meant something. I wasn't alone in that room anymore — not just physically, but mentally too. At least someone had seen it all and hadn't judged me immediately.
The classroom began to fill in slowly. Quiet conversations. Footsteps. Chair legs scraping the floor. I sank into my desk, letting the rhythm of the morning settle around me like a buffer.
If I had to survive here, this was how I would do it: stay ahead.Out of reach, out of trouble — but never out of control.
The first class of the day was Mathematics. I didn't mind — Math was predictable, logical, and best of all, impersonal.
Math sir, walked in right on time, adjusting his spectacles as he set his register down on the desk. "Before we begin," he said, scanning the room, "I've posted a list of reference books and question banks you can use for revision. Check the noticeboard after class. Also, for those of you working ahead of the syllabus," his eyes flicked briefly across the front row, "I'll be preparing some extra worksheets. You can collect them from me during break if you're interested."
Perfect.That meant I didn't need to waste time hunting for good materials. I could work through things at my own pace without waiting for the class to catch up. It was exactly the kind of structure I needed right now.
Math sir, continued, "Also — about yesterday. Nila came to me during study time with some excellent previous-year papers. The kind that had tricky questions. I explained a few of them to the boys during study hall." He paused, glancing toward the back where the girls sat. "Since the girls were in another study room at the time, I suggest you ask your classmates to share the questions. If you still have doubts, you're welcome to come see me privately during the break."
There was a flicker in the air, almost like a shift in pressure. Then I felt it — dozens of eyes turning in my direction. The girls.
Their expressions weren't hostile, just... sharper. Curious. Some whispered, eyebrows raised.So that's why she was late coming back yesterday.That's what she was doing.
It explained everything they must've speculated about — why I walked back to the study room late, and why the warden had intercepted me. Maybe even why she was seething that whole evening.
It wasn't like I had planned to be singled out like this. But now that it happened, I held my posture — straight back, eyes on the board, pen uncapped. If they wanted to whisper, let them. It was better than being pitied or ignored.
Math sir, turned to the board and started working through a set of new problems. My notes filled up steadily as I solved along with him.
The rest of the day moved like a blur. Politics class was a buzz of dates and names I already knew. English was more of a revision, and French — well, it was French. I tried not to fall behind, but I also didn't put any pressure on myself to master it in a day. I had time.
After lunch, the final period of the day was Personality Development. Most people treated it as a low-stakes hour, a class where you could relax and not worry about tests or homework. But today, there was a shift in tone.
Our instructor — a cheerful woman in her early thirties with sharp eyes and a surprisingly calm voice — entered with a stack of small slips in her hand.
"Today," she announced, "we're going to do a mini-debate exercise."
That made the whole class sit up.
"You'll each speak for one minute. The topic: Does the world run on love and hate, or does it run like a business transaction — where everything lasts only as long as there's something to gain?"
A few students exchanged glances. Some looked nervous; others excited.
"This will help you overcome stage fright, improve your argument framing, and think critically without preparation. I'll randomly call names, and you'll have fifteen seconds to decide your stance before speaking."
I took a deep breath and sat straighter. I didn't mind public speaking — not when I had something to say.
Names were called one by one. Most students chose love and hate. They talked about how emotions drive the world — wars, revolutions, relationships, and art. Some were shaky, a few confident. But all of them echoed the same idea: emotion ruled reason.
I watched, silently noting how the class nodded and smiled supportively after each speaker. It was almost like they were performing, saying what sounded noble or idealistic. Not necessarily what they believed.
Then my name was called.
"Nila."
I stood up slowly.
"You may begin."
"I choose the second option," I said, my voice clear. "The world runs like a business transaction."
There was an audible shift in the air — quiet gasps, raised eyebrows, a few chuckles. Someone muttered, "She's going to lose this."
I ignored them.
"The most sacred relationship we know," I began, "is between parents and children. It's rooted in love, yes — but also in expectation. Parents raise their children with the hope that, in their old age, their children will take care of them. That's not wrong. But it's still a transaction."
The class went silent.
"Marriage," I continued, "is a transaction of security, companionship, and often status. Friendships thrive as long as both people feel seen, heard, and supported. When that balance breaks, even the strongest friendships fade."
I looked around. Some students were fidgeting. Others leaned in.
"Even corruption," I said, "is a transaction. Money in exchange for power. And charity? Even that's a trade-off — of resources for social goodwill, reputation, or peace of conscience. It may not be a material gain, but it's still a gain."
I let that sit for a second before I went on.
"This doesn't make the world cruel. It just makes it real. The idea of transaction doesn't mean there's no love or kindness. It means both parties, in any situation, are gaining something, tangible or intangible. Support. Respect. Identity. Meaning."
I met the teacher's eyes briefly. She gave me the slightest nod, her face unreadable.
I finished, "So yes. I believe the world runs like a business transaction. And understanding that doesn't make you heartless. It makes you clear-eyed. Aware. Less likely to be used."
Silence followed. Not awkward — more like a pause held in place by surprise.
Then someone started clapping. Then another. And suddenly the whole class joined in. Not loud or over-the-top, but real. Not because I said something emotional, but because I made them think.
I sat back down, heart still steady. Not from pride. From control.
In that one minute, I hadn't just spoken. I had claimed space. The kind of space where people looked at you differently afterward.