The next few days passed with the calm rhythm of school life.
Classes ticked by, assignments were given, teachers rotated in and out with the same tired energy, and yet—beneath all of it—something subtle had changed in Class 9-B.
Izhaan Ahmed, for one, had started speaking a bit more often with Darakhsha Khan.
Not much. Just here and there. Whenever the teacher asked him to pass his notes to her. Nothing personal.
But even those little moments—those micro-interactions—were beginning to carve a soft space in the silence between them.
It was during one of the Biology periods, the chalk screeching on the board as the teacher explained photosynthesis. Mr. Dev had just finished a long-winded explanation and turned toward the class.
"Now, copy the notes down from your board. Darakhsha, you're new—you can take the previous classes' notes from Izhaan."
Izhaan sighed softly and stood up.
He walked toward her bench, notebook in hand.
As he handed it over, Kashish—never missing a chance—leaned in and cracked a quick one-liner:
"You know, Izhaan's notes are like ancient ruins—very useful, but you'll need an archaeologist to read them."
Darakhsha snorted unexpectedly.
Even Izhaan laughed.
It was a quick, clean laugh—not loud or showy, just a sharp exhale with a genuine smile on his face.
But it was enough to surprise Darakhsha.
Her eyes blinked for a split second longer than usual.
She had seen him smile before—but only when talking to Akshat.
Seeing him laugh at her bench, with her and Kashish, left a quiet echo in her chest.
She didn't say anything though.
Just took the notebook and started copying.
The next day during English class, the scene repeated.
Miss Moumita instructed, "Darakhsha, you can take the last lesson from Izhaan again."
He came over wordlessly, placed his notebook on her desk.
As she flipped the pages and started writing—
Her brow furrowed.
The letters weren't illegible... but they were definitely not neat.
"You know," she said calmly, without even looking up, "you should improve your handwriting a little."
Izhaan blinked.
Then squinted.
"…Huh?" he said, more confused than offended.
"I mean," she clarified, "it's readable… but only if someone really tries."
He stared at her for a second.
Not angry. But definitely not amused.
Just that little offended-puppy look that said what did I even do to you?
He didn't reply.
He simply nodded once, took his notebook, turned—
—and walked back to his seat.
Slumped into the bench beside Akshat, dropped the notebook on the desk, and muttered under his breath:
"What's her problem?"
Akshat blinked. "Who?"
"The new girl. Miss Grey Eyes."
Akshat grinned.
"Ooooh~ Someone's not used to criticism."
Izhaan flicked a pen at him.
"Shut up."
Akshat caught it mid-air, chuckling to himself while Izhaan looked toward the window, chewing lightly on the end of his pen.
Back at her bench, Darakhsha was quietly writing the notes.
She hadn't meant to insult him.
It was just… true.
But part of her wondered now—
Maybe I shouldn't have said it like that…
And yet, in some weird, tangled way—
She didn't regret saying it either.
After a few ordinary days of lessons, notes, and low-volume gossip, Mr. Sharma walked into Class 9-B with his usual deadpan expression and his whiteboard marker already uncapped.
"We'll be having a class test this Friday," he said while writing Chapter 3 – Exponents in large letters on the board.
"It'll be out of 20 marks. Short answers. No cheating. You've got two days to prepare."
A collective sigh rolled through the classroom like a slow-moving storm cloud.
Some groaned audibly. Others immediately flipped open their textbooks. And then there was Izhaan—
Leaning back, arms folded behind his head.
"Exponents? Easy.
He didn't even blink.
But that confidence… would not last.
Next evening, the warm golden hue of the sunset poured through the bedroom window. On the floor, notebooks were scattered across the rug—filled not with algebra, but with colorful scribbles and shaky numbers.
"Ayee, that's not a 2…" Izhaan said, his voice playful as he leaned closer.
He gently held the small hand of his sister, Fatma Noor, and erased her crooked digit.
"You're writing it wrong again. Look, this is how you do it."
He guided her hand slowly, drawing a neat '2' in the notebook.
Noor giggled but dropped her pencil dramatically.
"Bhaiyaa! I'm tired. Let's play a game now. Please?"
Izhaan's eyebrows twitched. He exhaled, looking at her fake-exhausted face.
"Tch… First finish your homework," he said, pressing the pencil back into her palm, "and then we'll play. Okay? Promise."
She nodded, reluctantly scribbling down another number with exaggerated effort.
Izhaan smiled—not the cool, easy-going smirk he wore at school…
…but a warm, brotherly one. The kind that only surfaced in this room.
That's when his phone buzzed loudly on the desk.
'Akshat 💪' – Incoming Call
He picked it up and answered casually.
"Yo… Hello?"
Akshat didn't waste a second.
"BRUH. Did you prepare for tomorrow's test?"
The color drained from Izhaan's face.
"…What test?"
"The Maths test, idiot. Sharma sir—exponents? Tomorrow?"
There was a pause.
"…I-I totally forgot."
His voice cracked slightly as he looked down at the crayons and Noor's homework still scattered across his floor.
Akshat snorted on the other side.
"Haha! The class topper forgot! Bro, what were you even doing?"
Izhaan groaned.
"Don't ask. I was playing teacher to a nursery kid."
"You're enjoying family man life while death waits at 9:00 a.m., huh?"
Izhaan sighed, already walking over to his shelf to pull out his math notebook.
"Chill. It's just one chapter. I'll finish the whole thing tonight."
"Suit yourself, legend." Click.
The call ended.
Izhaan looked at the clock—just past 9 p.m.—then back at Noor, who was now humming as she colored a giraffe green.
He gave her a pat on the head and sat cross-legged at his desk, flipping open the book to Chapter 3 — Exponents.
"Just one chapter. Easy."
Two hours later, the clock struck midnight.
The fan hummed quietly above him. His notebook lay open.
His pen was still in hand.
And his head had slumped forward, resting on his arm—eyes closed, breath steady.
He had finished every exercise.
Except the last one.
The morning sunlight seeped through the curtains, brushing over the open math notebook still lying on the desk.
Izhaan stirred, his eyes fluttering open with a dry throat and a heavy head.
Then his gaze dropped to the book.
His expression froze.
"...Shit."
He sat up straight in an instant, rubbing his eyes.
"I missed the last exercise...?"
He quickly flipped through the final pages, confirming his worst suspicion.
The last few sums were untouched.
"Ugh—well, whatever," he muttered, tying his school tie in frustration.
"It's not like every question will come from that part... Right?"
He wasn't convinced.
But time wasn't stopping.
By the time he reached school, the bell had already rung. Students were already halfway into test mode, pulling out pens and geometry boxes.
Izhaan slid into the classroom just in time, barely greeting Akshat before Mr. Sharma dropped the question paper in front of him.
He stared at it for two seconds.
His eyes slowly widened.
"...What the hell..."
On the other side of the class, Darakhsha glanced sideways at him from behind her paper. She noticed the change in his expression, the panic masked under that cool face.
"Wasn't he the topper of the class?" she thought, lips curling slightly.
"Let's see if I can exceed him."
Meanwhile, inside Izhaan's mind—
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit… What the hell is this?!"
A full 5 marks worth of questions had come from the very part he hadn't completed.
"I'm a goner…"
His pen hovered over the answer sheet, but his brain didn't stop running.
Still, this was Izhaan Ahmed.
Even if caught off guard—he wasn't the kind to give up.
With a few quiet breaths and some rough logic, he began scribbling down answers.
They weren't clean.
They weren't perfect.
But they were something.
The bell rang.
Test over.
Pens dropped. Papers shuffled.
Mr. Sharma walked up, collected the papers one by one, and with his usual dry tone, spoke to the class.
"I'll announce the marks tomorrow. And let me make it clear—anyone with less than 70%, be ready for a parent call."
He walked out.
Silence lingered for a second.
And then—
"Haaaaaaah..."
Izhaan let out a long exhale, dropping his head back.
Akshat leaned toward him.
"How was the test, O mighty scholar?"
Izhaan groaned, "You know I left that part—and of course it came. 5 marks worth."
Akshat raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"So-so… I managed somehow. Let's just say I'll survive."
But the expression on his face was unreadable.
Like he was hiding a quiet bet with himself.
Meanwhile, from the girls' side, Darakhsha had her eyes on him again.
"I really want to see his score now," she thought, gripping her paper.
"Maybe I can actually beat him."
Kashish nudged her and asked, "How was the paper?"
Darakhsha looked up. "Fine, I guess. It wasn't that tough…"
Kashish dramatically dropped her head on her desk.
"I think I'm dead. I told you I didn't practice. And now… I'm cooked."
Darakhsha laughed softly, "I told you on call yesterday to revise exponents, but you were busy making reels."
Kashish looked up, wide-eyed.
"I regret nothing—but also everything."
They both burst into a quiet laugh.
At the back bench, Izhaan leaned closer to Akshat again.
"By the way… how about you? Don't tell me you're one of the 'parent call' kids now?"
Akshat grinned.
"Me? Nah. That paper was a piece of cake, bro. I aced it."
Izhaan blinked once.
No smile. No reaction.
Just a small, suspicious pause.
"Hmm," he hummed quietly.
Akshat tilted his head.
"What? Why do you look like you know something I don't?"
Izhaan just smirked faintly, resting his chin on his palm, eyes facing the board.
Something in him knew…
Tomorrow's result day was going to be interesting.
The next day was a Saturday, and like every second and third Saturday at Magnus International School, it followed a slightly different rhythm.
Only four periods in the morning.
House activities post-lunch.
No homework. No heavy bags.
It was a student's dream—
Well, almost.
Because today, the last period was Maths.
And everyone knew what that meant.
Result day.
A storm of quiet anxiety rumbled under every desk.
Throughout the morning, no one could focus properly. Students flipped through their notes in between classes, some stared blankly at the ceiling, and a few just prayed under their breath.
When the bell for Period 4 finally rang, all the chatter dropped into silence.
The door creaked open.
Mr. Sharma walked in—stern expression as always.
Only… something was off.
He walked to the desk. Sat down. Took a sip from his bottle.
But the test papers were nowhere in sight.
For a split second, the air in the classroom shifted.
One by one… students sighed in relief.
Shoulders slumped. Pens were tossed aside. Akshat even stretched out a yawn.
"We're safe. He forgot."
But the peace didn't last.
From the second row, a voice cut through the false calm:
"Sir, weren't you going to give our test papers back today?"
The class froze mid-breath.
Heads turned like radar.
The speaker?
A boy in ironed uniform, polished shoes, and rectangular slim spectacles.
Raman Kumar.
Smart. Straight-A student.
And what most of the class privately called—
"The teacher's pet."
He blinked behind his glasses, completely immune to the thirty pairs of deadly glares now burning holes through him.
Even Mr. Sharma looked surprised for a moment.
Raman, however, was thinking something very different—
"There's no way he forgot. I had my best test ever. This is my chance. I'll top today. I'll show Izhaan who the real boss is."
Meanwhile, at the back bench, Akshat hissed under his breath.
"What's that punk's problem? Couldn't he just let it slide? That bastard..."
Beside him, Izhaan leaned lazily against the wall, both hands resting behind his head.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Wasn't the paper... 'A. Piece. Of. Cake'...?"
Akshat groaned, rubbing his forehead.
"It was, but still... why does he have to ruin the vibe?"
Just then, Mr. Sharma scratched his head and finally spoke:
"Ah... I really did forget."
The class looked up.
"Izhaan, could you bring it from the staff room for me?"
Without missing a beat, Izhaan stood up and adjusted his beige tie.
"Yes, sir. Why not?"
He walked out of the class calmly, hands in his pockets—
like he wasn't on his way to bring the fate folder for an entire classroom.
Izhaan returned with the folder in hand, the entire class watching like he was holding a box of ticking time bombs.
He walked up to Mr. Sharma, handed it over…
and before turning back toward his seat—
He glanced.
Just once.
Right at Darakhsha.
Their eyes met for a second. No smirk. No smile. Just a glance.
Then he turned and walked back to the last bench, seating himself beside Akshat like nothing happened.
But Darakhsha blinked.
"What… was that?" she wondered, her pen frozen in her grip.
"He just looked and... nothing?"
Before the thought could linger too long, Mr. Sharma began and than came the time:
"Roll no. 7."
Izhaan stood up, walked to the desk, and received his paper.
He checked it instantly.
17 out of 20.
His shoulders relaxed as he let out a breath.
"Phew... I actually managed more than decent."
A small grin crept up his lips.
"Roll no. 8," Mr. Sharma called next.
Akshat stood up with a visible lack of enthusiasm. When he walked over and took his paper, Mr. Sharma's eyes twitched mildly.
"You should improve, hero," he muttered.
8 marks.
Akshat was officially on the Parent Call List.
He slumped back to his seat, defeated.
Izhaan leaned toward him with a wicked grin.
"How much?"
Akshat said with a faint tone, "8 out of 20..."
"Bruhhhh... Piece of cake, right?"
Akshat groaned, burying his head in his arms.
"I was too confident, okay…"
Izhaan just shook his head in amused disbelief.
Once all the papers had been returned, Mr. Sharma stood up and looked around the room.
"So," he said loudly, "the student with the highest score is…"
In the second row, Raman Kumar adjusted his glasses with a smug smirk.
He sat upright, waiting for his name like a crown prince claiming his throne.
At the back, Izhaan leaned with his arms behind his head.
Totally relaxed.
He already knew this wasn't his day.
Meanwhile, Darakhsha sat with her fingers clasped tightly. She hadn't looked at her paper yet. She was too focused.
"The newcomer, Darakhsha Khan, with 18 marks."
The class clapped—some sincerely, some out of sheer obligation.
Raman nearly choked.
"What?! 18?! From HER?!"
He looked down at his paper again.
16.
Lower than even Izhaan.
A muscle twitched in his cheek.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sharma continued—
"And next with the highest marks… Izhaan, with 17.
Though, Izhaan, shouldn't you be topping the class?"
Izhaan chuckled lightly and replied from his bench, shoulders relaxed:
"Sir, I was helping my sister with her nursery homework the night before test and forgot to do the last part of the chapter. Slept before I even realized."
Mr. Sharma sighed. "Excuses, excuses. Better luck next time."
But Darakhsha, sitting quietly on the girls' row, heard everything.
She leaned back slightly.
"So he forgot… and still got 17?"
A smile tugged at her lips.
"If he'd studied properly… he might've surpassed me. So he really is good in studies, huh?"
But her eyes sharpened a little with quiet determination.
"Still… it doesn't surprise me. I'll happily defeat him next time too."
She smiled quietly to herself.
Beside her, Kashish stared at her like she'd just grown wings.
"What are you smiling at?"
Darakhsha blinked, then casually deflected with a laugh.
"Nothing… just remembered a joke from earlier."
Kashish squinted, unconvinced but dropped it
Back on the boys' row, Izhaan leaned over Akshat's desk.
"Here, look—this one. You mixed up the base and exponent."
Akshat looked at the paper with horror.
"Hehhhh?! Wait, seriously?!"
"And this one—you didn't simplify it all the way."
"Man… I knew something was wrong!"
While he acted clueless, Izhaan's smile faded for just a second.
Even if he didn't show it—
Even if he teased Akshat and played it cool—
A part of him was annoyed.
Just a bit.
"One mistake… and I lost the top spot."
As soon as the final bell rang, the walls of Class 9-B burst to life.
Desks screeched back.
Voices rose.
Everyone started moving between benches, rushing toward their friends to compare scores.
"Bro, I got 13!" "Ayee, I passed! YES!" "Man, I'm gone… mummy's gonna kill me."
Amid the chaos, Izhaan stood up without a word.
Instead of celebrating with Akshat, he walked straight to the first bench—where Raman Kumar sat hunched over, his head buried in his folded arms.
Izhaan casually sat on the edge of the desk beside him, resting one foot on the bench.
"Yo, champ," he said, voice laced with sarcasm.
"Didn't you say you were gonna beat me today?"
No response.
Izhaan leaned in a little closer, smirking.
"That teacher's pet stuff didn't really pay off, huh? All those 'Sir Sir Sir' moments, and still... 16."
A few students nearby overheard and laughed.
More turned around, sensing drama.
Someone chuckled, "Oof. That's gotta hurt."
Raman's ears burned red.
He slowly stood up, adjusting his glasses with trembling fingers.
His eyes didn't meet Izhaan's.
Without a word, he walked out of the class—shoulders stiff, jaw clenched.
As he disappeared past the doorway, Akshat approached from behind and tapped Izhaan's head lightly with a laugh.
"You savage, bro."
Izhaan just shrugged with a lazy grin.
"He asked for it."
Meanwhile, from the girls' row, Darakhsha was watching it all.
She turned to Kashish, her eyebrows slightly furrowed.
"Was it… really necessary to mock him like that?"
Kashish twirled her pen once and answered without hesitation.
"This is what you get for being the teacher's golden boy.
He always acts better than the rest of us."
She crossed her arms.
"Don't feel sorry for that guy.
Izhaan did the right thing, in my opinion."
Darakhsha didn't respond immediately.
Her eyes drifted toward Izhaan, still smirking at Akshat as students kept surrounding him.
Loud. Bright. Confident.
Yet something about it… didn't sit right with her.
She quietly picked up her bag and walked out with Kashish—
but not before glancing once more at Izhaan.
And he, without even turning, seemed unaware of the look she left behind.
Or maybe… he wasn't.
The morning classes were over, and with the Saturday lunch break ended, the school grounds had shifted into a more relaxed chaos.
House flags flapped against the wind.
Boys sprinted toward the football field.
Girls gathered around music practice rooms, debate corners, and the art wing.
In the middle of it all, Izhaan was strolling casually near the corridor that led to the assembly lawn, sipping a chilled tetra pack of orange juice with one hand shoved in his pocket.
Beside him, Akshat walked in sync—talking, gesturing with his fingers as he described something about a game match from the night before.
Izhaan wasn't listening. His mind was elsewhere.
That's when they saw them.
Up ahead, on the same path—Darakhsha and Kashish.
Walking side by side.
Darakhsha's hair was neatly pleated, her white shoes dusted with grass from earlier. She was listening to Kashish talk animatedly about an upcoming inter-house quiz competition.
Then, just as the two groups were about to pass each other—
Darakhsha's foot hit a small stone on the path.
She stumbled forward, her balance tipping dangerously—
Before she could hit the ground, Izhaan's hand shot out instinctively, grabbing her arm firmly and steadying her.
"Look out," he said in a low, almost lazy voice.
Darakhsha blinked, stunned.
His grip loosened as she straightened herself.
"…Thanks," she muttered, brushing her arm lightly where he'd held her.
There was a pause—
Then she glanced at him and added,
"By the way… why did you mock Raman?
I mean… he just asked about the papers. It wasn't that big a deal."
Izhaan's relaxed face shifted.
His brows furrowed, a cold edge slipping into his eyes.
"He deserved it," he said plainly.
"He does that every time. Every. Time.
It's not just today."
She narrowed her eyes, not convinced.
"Still—"
But he cut her off mid-sentence, his tone firm and suddenly distant.
"Look… it's not like I hate the guy.
But if someone keeps pulling the same stunt knowing everyone hates it—
Then maybe it's time he figured it out on his own."
He paused just long enough for his final words to sting.
"And besides…
What I do isn't really your business."
His voice dropped cold.
Then without another word, he walked off, orange juice still in hand, as Akshat followed behind—glancing back once at Darakhsha with a guilty smile.
"Shouldn't have been that cold, bro," he whispered.
"She was just asking."
Izhaan didn't respond.
He just looked down at his own feet as he walked, face unreadable.
Meanwhile, Darakhsha stood still in her spot, the wind brushing strands of hair against her cheek.
"What is his problem?" she muttered, genuinely annoyed now.
"I was just asking…"
Kashish crossed her arms and blew a bubble from her gum.
"That asking was what ticked him off.
You questioned something he believed he was right about."
"Still…" Darakhsha said with a huff, walking again.
But her eyes… they lingered one more time toward Izhaan's retreating figure.
As the sounds of footsteps and chatter echoed across the school lawns, one thing was clear—
The lines were beginning to blur.
Darakhsha couldn't quite understand Izhaan Ahmed—
…and Izhaan, in all his calm and chaos, wasn't interested in being understood.
But sometimes…
A glance.
A word.
A cold reply.
…was all it took for sparks to flicker between two paths fated to clash.