"Let's bunk this class," Aksh whispered, leaning so close I could smell whatever cheap gum he'd been chewing all morning. It had barely been a month since 11th grade started, and I still had no clue what this guy ran on. Some mix of caffeine and expired food most probably.
"Are you stupid? It's only the second period," I hissed back, trying not to draw Miss Pathak's laser eyes. If I got kicked out of English one more time, my spot on the football team would go up in smoke — and maybe my father along with it. Aksh slumped back dramatically, arms crossed, pouting like a five-year-old denied candy. His eyes did that thing — big, sad, impossible to ignore. Guilt-tripping was his favorite sport, and I was on a losing streak.
It was an English lecture, and Miss Pathak was one certified jerk. I swear she had a vendetta against me — probably because I once slept through her entire lecture. Worth it nonetheless.
"I thought we were… best friends," he muttered, in this disgustingly pitiful voice—like a wailing puppy.
We'd only met a month ago, after he transferred here from his old school. But in just a few weeks, he'd bulldozed his way into my life. And I won't lie—these weeks had been the most fun I'd had outside winning a medal on the field.
We'd go on aimless strolls, mess with our buddies from different sections, and explore uncharted corners of the school like it was a video game map. I didn't hate the idea of bunking, in fact I loved it. But I had to keep up appearances.
"The art exhibition's in the next period anyway," he said, this time louder, more persuasive. "Teachers will be on duty. We should sneak out then!"
He had a point. A rare event. And I might get to see some of our school's beauties as well. But still—
"Miss Pathak won't let the two of us leave together, especially not us. Let her step out first, at least," I tried to reason with the bonehead.
"OKAY!" he groaned, frowning like a kid who just got denied candy. Sometimes I honestly couldn't believe we were the same age. And sometimes I wonder what goes on in that head of his. The class dragged on—and so did the torture of this subject. I knew enough English to watch Netflix without subtitles. Wasn't that enough already?
"...And in 'The Ball Poem', John Berryman expresses his grief for the kid who loses his ball, teaching us the importance of letting go." Miss Pathak and her usual habit of exaggerating petty things. I couldn't care a single bit about why that kid was sad. All I wanted was to leave. It's just a ball.Buy a new one. Easy. Though — I guess I would be upset if I lost my ball—either the football kind or the other kind.
But staying still? That was the real punishment for me. I shifted in my seat, restless. Set my hair a bit knowing, Aksh must be dying a slower death than me. I turned my head left ,to check what the dumbass was up to —
Scrolling YouTube. ON HIS PHONE.
The fans were on full throttle—and so was the noise.
Miss Pathak's class always had this eerie, funeral-like silence. It wasn't respectful. It was fear. The woman had the aura of an executioner. One wrong move, and whoosh– you were gone.
Outside, the wind howled unnaturally today, slamming the curtains against the windows violently. And amidst all this, this idiot—this absolute idiot—was on his phone. Unfazed. Where he gets this level of stupidity from is a mystery to me. He'll get me killed along with him someday.
"You've got to be kidding me. You actually brought your phone? At least pretend to look up. Look mildly interested or something." I whispered while leaning off my seat.
I tried to reason with him. Which, I've come to realise now, was as productive as talking to a wall. An overly dramatic one at that. Aksh laughed, but sometimes I couldn't tell if he was having fun or trying to do everything at once. Like a clock was on his head.
"You worry too much. It's the last bench anyways. Go study—hmph."
He pouted. Actually pouted. Like some toddler whose candy got stolen. His tantrums were getting worse, and honestly, I was starting to feel like I had a bell tied to my neck. Without consent.
I slouched back into my seat and that's when it happened.The sound of death. A sharp voice cut through the fan's humming: "Ayan! What's so interesting back there? Focus—or I'll send you out!"
Instant panic.
"Sorry, Ma'am." It flew out of my mouth before I could even think. Why doesn't he get scolded!?
Then came the whisper. "An Opportunity has appeared! Let's GO!"
I could see it in his eyes — pure thrill. He lived for this solely.
This guy. He really thought I was going to get kicked out of class for a bunk plan?
We waited another fifteen minutes for the storm to pass. And when it did, that looming, suffocating feeling of doom seemed to lift with it. Finally, breathing felt normal again.
"NOW! Let's go!?" Aksh shot out of his seat like someone had pressed a spring under him – slipping his phone back into his bag of wonders. There could be a pistol in there and I wouldn't be surprised.
"Yeah, yeah—let's go." I was just as eager to leave. That classroom felt cursed.
We slid out from our benches and walked down the aisle past the unfortunate souls who were the nearest to death. With a smile on our faces , they looked at us like prisoners watching escapees. But we weren't alone. Kids participating in the art exhibition were also packing up—grabbing sketch pads, models, paint boxes, canvases, all kinds of creative shit.
"Where to now, captain?" Aksh asked, eyeing the dispersing crowd like a spy in enemy territory.
"Probably the art room. Or maybe the bio lab?" I muttered.
Then, I gazed at the corridor's end.
"The inner quadrangle is also a good spot. Let's check that first—it's the farthest."
More walking. More time out of class. Higher chance of running into authority.
Adventure.
As we moved forward, we noticed other students lugging their art gear, some balancing giant canvases, others holding paint palettes and mini sculptures.Only one or two had signed up from our section. Typical. Our class was a mix of boring people, most of them were toppers though.
That's when I saw her. A girl from Section A. She stood just outside her classroom, clearly struggling with a canvas that looked bigger than her. Paint bottles and sketchbooks lay scattered at her feet—like she'd tried to carry everything at once and lost the battle.
I don't know what caught my eye first—the giant canvas or how determined she looked under it. It was cute honestly.
Then, something clicked in my head.
"Hey. I've got an idea." I turned to Aksh, grinning.
"Let's help her—actually help her. Carry her stuff and boom—easy access to the exhibition area. No questions asked." I was proud of that one. Honestly, genius.
"Perfect," Aksh said, mirroring my smirk.
And just like that, we made our way to the girl with our noble intentions rooted in evil.