The bell for Chemistry ended like a release, shaking the room from the slow, dragging monotony of the last periods. Our teacher had that strange combination—strict, a little sleepy, demotivating, yet somehow capable of teaching in a way that sunk formulas into your brain. Sarthak and I sat upright, pens moving, as usual, while the rest of the squad alternated between doodling, whispering, and pretending to follow along.
As soon as the recess bell rang, the class erupted. White metal benches scraped against the floor as kids scrambled for their lunchboxes. The noise bounced around the third-floor classroom, voices colliding with the clatter of tiffins. I stretched, the metallic frame of my bench creaking under me, and watched Sarthak reach for his lunchbox.
He dug in eagerly, finishing quickly, then straightened. "Duty," he muttered. The badge clipped to his shirt reminded him that his lunch duty awaited him. He left the room with his usual precise march, ready to monitor the hall during recess, leaving me to enjoy the chaos.
Shashwat spun in his seat, brandishing his tiffin as though it were a weapon. "Oi! Who's ready to lose their lunch?"
Aditya tried to shield his meal, but Shashwat's hand was faster. A chunk of sandwich vanished before anyone could react. Monitor Adi laughed, nearly tipping his chair in amusement.
I leaned toward Sarthak's empty seat. "Ready for a battle?"
He grinned. "Always."
The next twenty minutes were glorious chaos. Food flew, laughter rang, and the room shook with playful conflict. Some of it spilled into the hall as we chased each other around, white benches squeaking as we went. It was pure 11A energy—fun, harmless, and noisy.
Eventually, Sarthak returned from duty and slipped back into his seat as lunch wound down. The rest of the class settled gradually, the echoes of laughter fading into scribbling notes and quiet chatter. The sunlight through the windows hit the white benches, casting long streaks across the floor. It smelled like a mixture of food, sweat, and dust—a strange, comforting combination.
The remaining periods passed in the usual blur. Sarthak and I stayed attentive, scribbling down notes, while the others switched between quiet jokes, daydreaming, and occasional snickers. By the time the final bell rang, everyone was ready to spill out into the freedom of the afternoon.
I left the classroom first, cycling down the third-floor stairs, hand scraping along the railing. Outside, the air was fresher, the noise of the schoolyard buzzing faintly. I walked toward the cycle stand, waiting for Sarthak who was now finishing his duty for dispersal.
While I waited, I saw Chacha walking toward us, van parked for his second shift. He fell into step naturally, joking, teasing, his usual grin in place. Monitor Adi and Shashwat were already near the gate, leaning on his cycles and chatting.
Sarthak arrived, neatly finishing his dispersal duty, and joined me. "All yours," he said, swinging his bag over his shoulder.
We headed together toward the chauraha, the five of us moving in our usual formation. The conversation was casual—teasing, arguing over who had stolen whose lunch, random commentary about the day. Monitor Adi, reckless as always, raced ahead on his cycle, almost colliding with Shashwat twice before spinning back to mock him. Laughter filled the air, footsteps clanged, cycles clicked. Everything was perfectly normal.
We reached the chauraha. Four roads met at perfect symmetry, the junction a familiar sight. The honking of autos, chatter of pedestrians, and the faint scent of asphalt greeted us—everything as usual.
Then, as we crossed the center of the junction, the world snapped.
Suddenly, the honks, voices, and smells vanished. The asphalt beneath our cycles became soft, swaying green grass. The buildings, shops, and streets disappeared. A sharp breeze carried the scent of earth and salt.
I froze, gripping the handlebars. "What the—?"
The others froze as well. For a heartbeat, there was only stunned silence. Then Shashwat's voice cracked, "…This… isn't our world."
Monitor Adi's grin faltered, his hands tightening. Chacha stepped back, eyes scanning the horizon like the world had betrayed him. Sarthak stood rigid, trying to understand, searching for something familiar.
The green grass stretched endlessly, interrupted only by the distant shimmer of water. Waves lapped faintly, the horizon impossibly wide. The sky looked sharper, clearer, almost surreal.
Everything we knew—the roads, the junction, the school—was gone, replaced by this alien expanse.
We were together, yes. Same clothes, same bags. But the world—the foundation of our lives—had blinked out.
Silence hung, heavy and suffocating. No laughter, no teasing, just raw, shared disbelief.
And then the realization sank in.
We weren't in our world anymore.