S-2: The Pencil Fight Treaty
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Anika came in early the next day.
Not for class. Just to sit at the desk alone for a while, reclaiming it before Arav brought in his chaos and guitar pick scratches.
The desk still had his pencil marks—tap patterns, initials, and a doodle of what looked like an octopus holding drumsticks. Or maybe it was just a bad drawing. She couldn't tell.
She sighed, opened her math notebook, and began rewriting the trigonometry chapter in neater handwriting. Her version of therapy.
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Five minutes before class, Arav walked in.
He had his headphones around his neck, hoodie half-on, and one shoelace undone. The human embodiment of "I tried, but not that hard."
"You're early," he said, setting his bag down. "Let me guess. Pen check, water bottle filled, and five sharpened pencils?"
Anika gave him a look. "Some people like being prepared."
"Some people like breathing too. Try it sometime."
She exhaled slowly—exactly how a sarcastic anime girl would do it.
---
As class started, Mrs. D'Mello passed out worksheets.
Arav stared at his blank sheet like it was written in alien.
"Uh… hey," he whispered. "What's this symbol? Tan... tan-theta?"
"It's tangent," Anika whispered back. "Basic trig."
He blinked. "Sounds like a Pokémon evolution."
She snorted before she could stop herself. He grinned.
---
Ten minutes in, the war began.
Not emotional. Not verbal.
Pencil war.
She had set a clear invisible line down the middle of the desk. Her half: books, calculator, pencil case. His half: pure chaos and doodles.
But today, his pencil rolled across the line. Twice.
The third time, she snapped.
"Seriously?"
He looked at the rolling pencil. "Oh. My bad. Gravity's a traitor."
"Stay on your side."
"...This is a desk, not the Berlin Wall."
"It's a boundary."
Arav smirked. Picked up the pencil. Placed it directly on the line.
The audacity.
---
She leaned over, took the pencil, and snapped it in half.
Silence.
He stared at the broken piece like it was a fallen soldier.
"Wow," he said. "Cold-blooded."
"Buy your own."
"You owe me emotional compensation."
"You owe me desk space."
"Okay, okay, truce."
He held up his hand in mock surrender.
Then, from his hoodie pocket, pulled out another pencil.
She blinked.
"It's already sharpened," he said, smug. "Always carry a backup."
She smiled, despite herself. "So you do prepare sometimes."
Arav's voice dropped slightly, thoughtful.
"Old habits."
---
They went back to work.
Halfway through the worksheet, Arav suddenly said, "I used to be good at this."
Anika glanced at him. "Math?"
"Everything. In my old school, I was always top three. Won trophies. Made my parents put them on the fridge like medals."
She was stunned.
"Wait… seriously?"
He nodded. "New school, new story. I got tired. That's all."
"Tired of what?"
He shrugged. "Chasing numbers. You chase long enough, and you stop remembering why."
She looked at him differently then.
Not as the rebel drummer.
But as someone who once stood where she did—and stepped down.
---
After class, he handed her the broken pencil pieces.
"Keep it," he said. "A souvenir from our first war."
She stared at the pencil halves in her palm, weirdly touched.
"You're dramatic," she muttered.
"Top of my class in Literature too," he winked.
She rolled her eyes, but didn't throw the pencil away.
---
That night, as she sharpened her own pencils, she placed the broken one in her drawer. Not trash. Just… kept it.
She wasn't sure why.
Maybe it was just wood and graphite.
Or maybe it was the first thing she and Arav ever shared.
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End of S-2