The corridor leading to Class 12-B felt narrower than usual.
Students filed in, a line of stiff shoulders and forced politeness, their movements mechanical under the invisible weight of inspection pressure. Every step echoed, as if the walls themselves had decided to amplify the tension.
Navran Public School had always been chaotic beneath the surface, but today, even the chaos was wearing a pressed uniform.
As Aarav Sen and Kunal Deshmukh approached the classroom, the difference was glaring.
12-B, known for its casual disarray—crooked posters, half-erased whiteboard scribbles, and desks arranged more out of habit than plan—was transformed.
The desks were aligned in military precision, each perfectly parallel to the other, their wooden surfaces freshly wiped. Charts of historical timelines and scientific processes hung symmetrically on the walls, their edges pinned down meticulously, betraying no curl. Even the teacher's table had been stripped of its clutter, replaced by a single vase with a sad-looking plastic flower.
Aarav's foot dragged slightly as he stepped into the room, a habitual slouch embedded in his body language.
But his body had other plans.
The moment his sole made contact with the tile, his balance adjusted seamlessly. His other foot followed with unconscious grace, nullifying the casual stumble he had intended. His stride corrected itself, fluid and natural, making his entrance appear effortlessly smooth.
He noticed.
And he hated it.
Kunal, oblivious to the internal mutiny, leaned in with a grin.
"Sen, did they wax the floor with Rathore's cold glares? I'm slipping just walking straight."
Aarav snorted softly, grateful for Kunal's effortless ability to puncture the atmosphere.
"Careful. They might put you in the exhibit corner if you fall. 'Failed Student, Do Not Disturb,'" Aarav muttered back.
They stepped into the classroom together.
The air inside felt compressed, like the room was holding its breath, waiting for the inspection panel to materialize.
Anaya Rathore was already seated in her usual spot—second row, third seat from the left—her posture a living advertisement for discipline. Her books were stacked with clinical precision, her pen aligned perfectly parallel to the desk's edge. The crispness of her uniform seemed to challenge the wrinkles in everyone else's.
Her eyes, sharp and observant, tracked Aarav the moment he crossed the threshold.
There was no scowl. No sigh of exasperation.
Just a glance.
A fleeting scan that dissected him in an instant.
She noted his posture. His gait. The way his bag strap sat perfectly on his shoulder without slipping, the way his untucked shirt failed to look messy.
Her gaze sharpened.
Aarav responded with his signature lazy smirk, though internally, he felt the tension between his casual facade and his body's rebellious precision.
Kunal, ever the buffer, slid into the seat beside Aarav's usual spot at the back.
"Sen, I swear this classroom has never looked this suicidal before. Look at that flower. Even it's fake," Kunal whispered, jerking his thumb toward the plastic bloom on the teacher's table.
Aarav chuckled, his voice low. "Perfect. Matches the mood."
As they moved towards their seats, Aarav felt every step, every movement, adjusting with a subtle grace he hadn't authorized.
His feet found perfect alignment between the desks. His bag didn't swing awkwardly to the side. Even as he slouched into his chair, his body settled with an ease that mocked his usual nonchalance.
Kunal plopped down beside him, the chair screeching slightly against the floor.
Aarav's chair remained silent.
He exhaled slowly, masking the internal unease behind a stretch and a yawn.
The classroom, now filled with students, felt unnaturally orderly. Even the notorious chatterboxes of the backbench had subdued their tones, their whispers filtered through the palpable pressure.
On the whiteboard, written in bold, overly neat handwriting, was the day's mantra:
"Discipline Reflects Character."
Aarav's eyes rolled instinctively.
Kunal leaned over, smirking. "Bet that was Rathore's idea. Probably wrote it herself."
Anaya, though seated several rows ahead, seemed to hear the comment. Her spine straightened further, if that was even possible.
Aarav lounged in his chair, legs stretched into the aisle, arms lazily draped over the backrest. Yet, beneath the casual sprawl, he felt the subtle correction of his muscles, as if his body sought equilibrium on its own.
It was frustrating.
"Sen, you're unusually balanced for a guy who acts like he's allergic to straight lines," Kunal whispered.
"Must be the inspection air. Makes you hallucinate," Aarav retorted.
The class teacher entered moments later, clipboard in hand, glasses perched precariously on her nose. Her eyes scanned the room, visibly pleased with the orchestrated perfection.
"Good. Now keep this composure when the inspectors arrive," she said, her tone clipped but anxious.
Her gaze drifted to Anaya first.
"Excellent work, Rathore. As always."
Anaya acknowledged with a polite nod, her expression unreadable.
The teacher's eyes then shifted to the back.
"Sen."
Aarav raised an eyebrow.
"Let's hope you remember what a textbook looks like today," she added, a tight smile barely disguising the jab.
Kunal muffled a laugh behind his hand.
Aarav, without missing a beat, replied, "Of course, Ma'am. I even promised it a coffee date after school."
A ripple of suppressed snickers traveled through the classroom.
The teacher sighed, shaking her head as she returned her attention to the clipboard.
But Aarav's mind wasn't on the exchange.
He felt it again.
That internal shift.
His body straightened unconsciously during the interaction, his back aligning with the chair's spine without his input. His fingers flexed against the desk, registering every grain of the polished wood.
He forced himself to slouch again, a subtle war of posture playing beneath his smirk.
Anaya, from her seat, glanced back briefly.
She caught the exchange.
She caught the posture shift.
Her eyes narrowed, not in irritation, but in analysis.
Aarav noticed, and in response, exaggerated a yawn, stretching like a cat pretending not to care.
Kunal leaned in. "Man, Rathore's going to fry a circuit at this rate."
"Good. Then we might get a holiday," Aarav quipped.
But inside, his mind was churning.
His body was betraying his facade, and the morning had only just begun.