FROM NOW ONWARDS THE STORY WILL BE ON KRISHANU'S POV
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A new class started.
Same desks, same classrooms, same voices in the corridor.
But all of it seemed a little… subdued.
Mayank wasn't here anymore.
PK, Krrish, and I shared the same class still, but his absence made the air lighter — and emptier, too. He had been the balancing act between my serenity and PK's turbulence, the one who filled all silences with laughter. Now he was gone, and the three of us attempted to keep the same beat, but something was off.
So I immersed myself in routine.
I concentrated on my studies, my look, my way of speaking, my walk. Folks commented that I'd changed — more together, more remote — but it wasn't remoteness; it was control. I had learned how harmful it was to lose it.
Roshan remained in my row. The same Roshan who used to believe he controlled the class until that fight during 6th grade.
Now he sat quietly by the last bench, eyes cast down, as if invisible. Powerlessness is so amusing once fear is gone. I did not hate him anymore. I did not even think about him. He was a reminder of myself whom I did not wish to be again.
That's when she walked in.
A new transfer student — Nikita Singh.
Her uniform was crisply ironed, hair neatly pulled back, and that wary but inquiring smile informed me she wasn't shy, merely guarded.
The teacher announced, "Students, this is Nikita Singh. She recently joined us from Delhi Public School."
A muted round of applause, some whispers, and she sat down two rows in front of me.
She meshed in pronto — courteous to teachers, friendly to all, the kind of person who could brighten anyone's day just by conversing with them. I saw her occasionally during breaks; she laughed readily, offered notes to others, and somehow even got the usually grumpy class monitor to chat with her.
But one afternoon, she focused elsewhere.
On Roshan.
He sat at the window, scribbling something in his notebook. Nikita, being nosy, leaned over to her friends and whispered, "Who is that boy? He doesn't socialize with anybody."
Ayushi, one of the class gossip queens, said immediately, "You don't want to know. He's bad news. A bad boy. Just avoid him."
Nikita raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't seem like it. He's just… quiet."
"Because he has to be silent," Ayushi whispered, dropping her voice to a dramatic level. "Last year, he messed around with Krishanu — the guy sitting in the back — and got annihilated. Him and three others. It was pandemonium. You should've seen it."
Nikita angled her head slightly — our eyes crossed for half a second. She blinked and looked away.
"That guy?" she whispered. "He doesn't seem like the type of person who'd do something like that."
Ayushi rolled her eyes. "Appearance can be deceptive. He's the topper, courteous, never yells at anyone — but you don't want him as a foe. Believe me."
I could pick up bits of their whispers. I wasn't even shocked. People still remembered that fight as a legend. Some were afraid of me, some respected me, some… misjudged me. I didn't correct any of them. Let them think what they wish. Sometimes silence is better than words.
Nikita smiled faintly. "What a peculiar person," she said. "Too kind to befriend, too cruel to enrage."
My words found her — and for some reason, they lingered.
Later that evening, as I was gathering my bag, I saw her looking again. Not curiosity, not fear — just… interest. Like she wanted to know something no one else took the time to.
Perhaps it was nothing. Or perhaps it was the start of something I didn't anticipate.
As I walked out of my class that day, I gazed upwards at the sky — the same blue dome I'd gazed at for so many years — and pondered how weird life was. A year before, I was struggling to defend a friend. Today, I was struggling quietly with myself — to remain composed, not to give a damn, to get on with it.
But deep within, I was aware this new beginning wasn't going to be quiet for long.
Because whenever a fresh face enters your world,
destiny starts reconstructing all that you believed had ended.
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