Only a day had passed since that strange, cold exchange in school between Izhaan and Darakhsha.
But by the next evening, his mood had already shifted.
"Bro, are you even listening to what I'm saying?"
Akshat nudged his shoulder, chewing gum slowly.
Izhaan didn't reply. He sat casually on the second bench from the back, both elbows resting behind his head, eyes on the whiteboard where their biology teacher was scribbling notes on the types of cell.
The classroom was smaller than school, with two rows of benches, a whiteboard, and a cracked window that never shut properly. Their coaching centre, nestled on the second floor of a flat building, was compact and faintly smelled of ink and sanitizer.
There were 17 students total—scattered across different schools but all here for the same three subjects: Physics, Chemistry, Biology.
Despite that—
Izhaan Ahmed managed to be the attention magnet here too.
Not just because he was the topper.
Not just because of his sharp answers.
But because of his presence.
Even the way he sat screamed "main character."
And just as Akshat was about to hit him again for spacing out, their Biology teacher, Mr. Pritam, turned from the board and clapped his hands once.
"Alright, settle down everyone. Before we continue with the cell organelles…
There's a new student joining us from today."
That caught Izhaan's attention. He leaned forward slightly.
"New student?" he echoed.
"This late?"
Mr. Pritam nodded while flipping through his attendance register.
"Yes. She had her own circumstances. She'll be attending the remaining classes starting today.
As for the lectures she's missed, well— we'll see what to do."
Izhaan raised an eyebrow, voice playful.
"I've got a bad feeling about that 'we', sir…"
The class burst into light laughter.
Akshat shook his head.
"You always gotta run your mouth, huh?" he muttered under his breath.
Izhaan just smirked.
The seat beside him was still empty.
For now.
Just as the last wave of chuckles died down, footsteps echoed outside the corridor.
Everyone turned toward the classroom door, slightly ajar.
Mr. Pritam looked up, sensing the presence beyond.
"Oh, you came…" he said with a small smile.
A moment later, the door opened—and a girl stepped in.
She wore a black Pakistani suit, modest and neatly pressed.
A dupatta rested gently over her head, framing her face softly.
Her hair was tied back in a clean ponytail, and her school bag hung from one shoulder.
She stopped in front of the teacher's desk, her voice steady and polite.
"Good evening, sir.
Sorry for being late."
"No problem," Mr. Pritam said, flipping a page of his register.
"You're not that late—I was just getting started."
Then, his eyes scanned the room—
And pointed.
"You can go and sit beside Izhaan.
He's good in studies."
CRACK.
Izhaan nearly tripped off his bench.
His hand slapped the desk as he sat up, startled.
"Wait—what the—ME? With HER?! No way!"
The class burst into muffled laughter.
Even Akshat grinned, eyes wide.
Darakhsha blinked once, unfazed. Her expression didn't change.
Pritam sir raised a brow.
"Any issues, Mr. Izhaan?"
Izhaan groaned dramatically, running a hand through his void-black hair.
"No issues, sir… I just feel… targeted by fate."
No reply.
Darakhsha began walking silently toward the last bench, her footsteps light.
She sat down beside him without a glance.
And Izhaan?
He leaned just a little farther against the wall.
Not looking at her.
Not talking.
But definitely not ignoring her, either.
Darakhsha sat down silently beside him, adjusting her dupatta slightly as she opened her notebook.
The air between them was quiet.
Unspoken.
Still carrying the weight of the previous encounter.
Then, in a low voice that only someone close could hear, she spoke without looking at him—
"Didn't know you were also in this institute…
And even Akshat."
Izhaan didn't move at first. He simply leaned a little further on his elbow, eyes half-lidded toward the front.
Then—
He turned, just a bit.
"Oh."
That was all.
No follow-up.
No question.
Darakhsha blinked.
Her thoughts tumbled again.
"Is he… still angry about my question on Saturday?"
"I really shouldn't ha—"
Her mind was interrupted.
Because Izhaan finally spoke again.
Still not looking at her, voice calm—almost too calm.
"Well…
It's not like I was blaming you, was I?"
Then he turned slightly toward the wall, letting out a subtle huff.
"...Looking forward to studying together."
Darakhsha's eyes widened.
She didn't expect that.
Not from him.
Her brows lifted slightly, and her fingers stopped moving across her notebook.
"Is he really… this good?"
"Or is he just putting this act up in here?"
"Umm… yeah," she replied, quietly.
A faint, very faint blush touched her cheeks.
And across the desk, still pretending to be focused on his textbook…
Akshat leaned in close.
He didn't say a word to the two of them—
But whispered softly under his breath, just loud enough for Izhaan to hear:
"Ooooo someone's turning soft~"
Izhaan's eye twitched.
He reached out and flicked Akshat's forehead without a word.
"Tch. You really don't value your life, do you?"
Akshat snickered.
The class continued.
But the atmosphere on that bench had definitely changed.
The class ticked on steadily.
Pritam Sir paced the front of the room, board marker in hand, as he sketched the diagram of a mitochondrion on the whiteboard.
"And that's why… we call the mitochondria the powerhouse of the cell.
It's responsible for producing ATP—the energy currency of life."
Everyone scribbled the line into their notes.
Well… almost everyone.
From the last bench, a voice rose with casual boldness—
"Sir… if mitochondria is the powerhouse…"
"…then who pays for its electricity bill?"
The class burst out laughing.
Even Pritam Sir let out a chuckle, turning around with a hand on his hip.
"You again, Izhaan. Are you trying to run your own comedy club back there?"
Izhaan just shrugged, that smirk tugging at one side of his lips.
Even Darakhsha, seated beside him, couldn't hold it back—
Her lips curled into a soft, uncontrollable smile.
Her eyes sparkled, a rare warmth lighting up her face.
It wasn't forced.
It wasn't shy.
Just… beautifully genuine.
Izhaan caught it.
And for a second—
He froze.
"So she does smile… after all."
He quickly dropped his gaze and resumed copying the mitochondria diagram like nothing happened.
Meanwhile, Darakhsha's mind spun again.
"So… he wasn't just putting up an act earlier?"
"I seriously don't get this guy…"
Their eyes met.
Just for a fleeting moment.
Both turned away at once, as if caught red-handed by nothing but their own thoughts.
And class continued.
Pritam Sir dropped his marker on the whiteboard tray.
"Alright, that's enough for today,"
"Revise all this at home—we'll continue with the cell structure next class."
Chairs creaked as students began standing up, voices rising in scattered chatter.
A few zipped up bags, others exchanged last-minute notes or made weekend plans.
Izhaan leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms with a yawn as if he'd just finished an anime arc.
Beside him, Akshat nudged his shoulder.
"Let's bounce?" he asked, slinging his bag.
But just as they stood up, Pritam Sir's voice rolled out again—
"Oh—Izhaan, Darakhsha. You two stay back for a moment.
I have a small job for you."
Izhaan blinked.
"Huh?"
"Why, sir?" he asked, one eyebrow raised cautiously.
Sir was calmly collecting his files, not looking up.
"Just wait till the others leave. I'll explain."
Izhaan sighed internally.
"Great… What now? Why with this girl of all people?"
He glanced to the side—Darakhsha, frozen mid-movement, clearly surprised too.
"He wants me to stay back? But why…?"
Students kept filing out. A few gave curious glances, but no one said anything—except Akshat.
As he walked past them, grinning like a devil, he muttered:
"Have fun teaching her how to say 'mitochondria'~"
"Shut up," Izhaan growled.
Then the room was quiet.
Just the three of them now.
Pritam Sir looked up from his files.
"Alright, here's the deal."
"Izhaan, I want you to teach Darakhsha the first biology chapter. The Living World. She missed the initial lectures, and we've got a chapter test coming."
There was a heartbeat of silence.
And then—
"WHAAAT?!"
Both Izhaan and Darakhsha's voices overlapped in utter disbelief.
Pritam Sir remained unfazed.
"Yes. You're good at Bio, and she's new but sharp. You're both capable. So help her out."
"But sir—" Izhaan protested, pointing loosely toward her as if he had just been sentenced.
"No excuses," Sir cut in firmly, slinging his bag.
"Start now if you want, or schedule it. Just make sure she understands the chapter."
With that, Pritam Sir exited the room.
Leaving behind an air of awkward silence so thick, it might as well have been its own organism under a microscope.
Izhaan scratched the back of his head.
Darakhsha stared at the board blankly.
Neither said a word.
Yet somehow, everything was already understood.
The room was quiet now.
Outside the tinted windows, the sun had begun its gentle descent, casting golden beams into the classroom's still air.
Izhaan sighed as he reached into his bag and pulled out his biology textbook, along with a mechanical pencil and a ruled notebook.
"See," he muttered, flipping to the first chapter,
"It's not like I want to teach you or something. I just want to wrap this up and go home. So… let's finish this quickly."
His tone was as neutral as his expression—
Detached, like this was just another homework task.
"'Kay…" Darakhsha replied softly, her voice neither cold nor overly cheerful.
Just… calm acceptance.
And so the session began.
Izhaan dived into The Living World, section by section—
He explained definitions in crisp language, clarified examples with real-life references, and when things got tricky, he didn't hesitate to illustrate.
"So look here," he said, sketching a flowchart.
"Cells form tissues… tissues form organs… organs combine into an organ system… and that creates the organism. Got it?"
His handwriting was a little sharp, a little messy—but his diagrams were surprisingly clean.
Darakhsha followed each stroke of his pencil.
Her thoughts, however, drifted further.
"He explains really well…"
"Is he some kind of teacher in disguise or what?"
She glanced at him.
His gaze was locked onto the textbook.
One hand turned the page, the other still sketching out a labelled chart.
His brows were faintly furrowed, not out of frustration, but focus.
Like he'd entered a different mode entirely—
Not the cocky guy with a smart mouth,
…but a boy who genuinely knew what he was doing.
Darakhsha stared.
Longer than she intended to.
Long enough that she didn't even hear his next line.
"Hey," Izhaan said, without looking up,
"Is there any doubt?"
Her eyes widened as she snapped out of her trance.
"Ah—! No, no! I understood everything!" she said, a little too quickly.
There was a subtle heat rising on her cheeks.
Izhaan finally looked at her.
A blink.
Then a casual comment:
"By the way, your face is turning red."
"Are you having a fever or something?"
Her brain short-circuited.
"I-It's nothing! You just—just continue!!" she fumbled.
She jerked her eyes back to the textbook, almost burying her nose in it.
Izhaan narrowed his eyes slightly, gave a short sigh, and went back to explaining the characteristics of living organisms.
"Weird girl…" he thought briefly.
But he didn't say it out loud.
Meanwhile, Darakhsha's heart was nowhere near calm.
"This guy… seriously—what is his deal?"
But this time, the question wasn't full of annoyance.
It was tinted with curiosity.
Izhaan flipped the last page of the chapter, stretching his arms behind his head.
"So, that's pretty much it.
Now the last part—Importance of Biology in the Living World."
He tapped his pencil on the edge of her notebook.
"Basically… biology tells us how life functions, how everything is connected. So next time someone tells you it's boring—"
He paused dramatically, smirking.
"—ask them if they want to breathe today or not."
Darakhsha blinked… then let out a quiet giggle.
And then another one.
She placed her palm over her mouth but couldn't hide the bright smile spreading across her face.
Izhaan, caught mid-laugh himself, turned to look at her.
And froze for a second.
"She… looks better when she's laughing than when she's acting like Miss Mysterious all the time…"
For a moment, he just watched her—how her chestnut-brown ponytail bounced lightly as she laughed, how the light shimmered in her grey eyes, how her dupatta had slipped slightly over one shoulder.
She was still trying to suppress her laughter under her palm.
It was… natural. Real.
And Izhaan's smirk softened a little.
"Okay then," he said, rubbing the back of his neck,
"Let's wrap things up and go home."
"Hmm," she replied, still chuckling softly, as she slipped her notebook into her bag.
Neither of them said anything after that.
But the silence wasn't awkward this time.
The two of them stepped out of the institute together, their bags lightly slung over their shoulders, the sky already shifting into a mellow hue of twilight.
For a second, both stood still near the gate.
Then they started walking—
in the same direction.
Izhaan raised an eyebrow and said, almost lazily:
"Your home's that way too?"
Darakhsha looked at him and replied with a small frown of confusion:
"What do you mean by 'too'? Also yours?"
"Yup," he nodded, hands in pockets.
"Oh…"
That was all she said.
And then silence.
They walked side by side but without much conversation.
Just the quiet rhythm of footsteps on the pavement and the fading hum of evening.
It was then that Darakhsha finally noticed—fully.
Izhaan wasn't in his school uniform anymore.
He was wearing a white football jersey, fitted just right to his build, with a tiny logo of a famous European club stitched over his chest.
Black joggers ran clean down to his ankles, and his black sneakers with crisp white stripes tapped softly against the pavement.
He looked… effortless.
She tilted her head slightly upward and whispered under her breath:
"How long is this guy…?"
There was no answer, obviously.
He had already pulled out his phone, casually unlocking it and scrolling through Instagram reels with one hand.
A light chuckle escaped his lips at one reel—but he didn't say a word.
They reached a large society gate, iron-cast and lined with green creepers.
He stopped there and looked at her once, giving the tiniest nod.
"Bye. See you at school."
"Hmm…"
And then he stepped inside.
Darakhsha stood there for a moment longer, watching the gate slowly close behind him.
She turned and began walking the remaining stretch alone.
But her mind was not quiet.
The sound of his voice as he taught her...
The diagram he sketched…
That fleeting moment he caught her staring…
The joke he cracked about electricity bills…
All of it kept replaying in her head like a soft, flickering slideshow.
And for the first time in a while—
Darakhsha Khan smiled to herself, without even realizing.
A few days later…
The air around the coaching institute changed.
Posters were put up. Timetables revised. Discussions turned serious.
A Test Series had been announced — across all science subjects.
Students grumbled, sighed, panicked—but not Izhaan.
Not visibly, at least.
The subjects lined up like soldiers before a battle:
Maths: Exponents and Factorisation
Biology: The Living World and Cell: The Unit of Life
Chemistry: Atomic Structure and Periodic Table
Physics: Motion in One Line and Buoyancy
Every teacher knew Izhaan's knack for explaining things, his ability to simplify even the hardest concepts into digestible bits.
And since Darakhsha had missed a good chunk of earlier lectures, each teacher—one by one—entrusted her revision to him.
First it was Pritam sir in bio.
Then Bhattacharya ma'am in physics.
Then Sneha ma'am in chemistry.
And even Kuldeep sir from maths.
By now, neither of the two argued about it anymore.
Izhaan no longer sighed and rolled his eyes.
Darakhsha no longer asked "Why me?"
They just… accepted it.
And what began as reluctant tutoring sessions… slowly turned into hours of laughter, scribbled diagrams, and inside jokes.
"So yeah," he said once, drawing a swirling atom on her notebook,
"If the electrons keep jumping like this, I swear they have more drama than our class WhatsApp group."
Darakhsha burst out laughing, clutching her stomach.
"S-Stop! I can't breathe—"
"And that," he added, pointing to the nucleus,
"Is the teacher trying to hold the class together."
Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes from laughing too much.
Akshat, who often sat two benches away just to avoid third-wheeling the 'study session,' leaned back in his seat and watched them for a moment.
Darakhsha was laughing again—eyes half-closed, hand over her mouth, her head down on the table.
Izhaan, pencil in hand, was grinning at his own joke like a little devil.
Akshat raised one brow and smirked to himself.
"These two are going to be great friends… I can already tell."
He let out a soft chuckle under his breath and returned to pretending to study, while in reality—he was fully tuned into the frequency of their banter.
In maths, when he was explaining Factorisation, he suddenly drew a triangle with huge biceps.
"And this… is what we call the alpha factor.
The one who factors in confidence."
"Pfft—Izhaan stop!!"
"Oh no, I'm just helping you factor in some joy while solving algebra."
And in Buoyancy, he drew a floating potato.
"This is you when the stress of exams tries to drown you."
"That's so not funny—"
"But you laughed anyway."
"Tch…"
Little by little, she started looking forward to studying.
Not just because she wanted to top the test series.
But… maybe because he was the one teaching her.
But everything changed when the test week actually began.
Laughter turned into silence.
Jokes were replaced by revision whispering.
Pencils tapped in rhythm with heartbeat.
And Izhaan and Darakhsha—though they never said it aloud—
were both competing.
"Let's see who comes out on top…"
They each thought the same.
Four days.
Four subjects.
One silent rivalry.
And then, the last exam ended.
The air in the institute felt lighter that day—
…like everyone had been unshackled.
Izhaan leaned back on his bench, hands behind his head, exhaling a long breath.
"Finally…"
But his mind?
Still a battlefield.
"I wonder… Did I beat her?"
Just then, the Physics teacher, Mr. Bhattacharya, entered with a stack of checked answer sheets and a dramatic pause that made everyone straighten up.
"Let's begin, shall we?"
One by one, names were called.
Marks announced.
Then—
"Top scorer in physics is…"
A pause.
Even Darakhsha's fingers were clenched over her notebook.
"Darakhsha Khan. 46 out of 50."
Everyone clapped.
And then—
"Second position… Izhaan Ahmed, 45."
Another round of claps.
Darakhsha tried her best to keep a composed face.
But inside?
"YESSS!! I did it!! Finally beat him!"
She smiled with her chin up and a sparkle in her gray eyes.
Meanwhile, Izhaan—though clapping for her with a small smile—was visibly annoyed.
"Damn... just one mark. But still, she did good."
He wasn't exactly mad…
But he had taught her.
Then came the Maths results.
Kuldeep sir had a habit of walking into the class with his hands behind his back, like a military general about to declare the winner of a war.
"Topper in mathematics… Izhaan Ahmed. 49 out of 50."
He glanced at Darakhsha.
She looked calm. But deep down—
"I see… So, that day… he actually didn't study one part and STILL got second.
So if he had, he'd probably score a perfect 20 in that school test…"
She clapped, smiling gently, hiding her admiration.
"Second, Darakhsha Khan. 46 out of 50."
Biology results came next.
Pritam sir was already smiling as he entered.
"Now this one is interesting."
He waved the sheets and called out,
"First place… Izhaan. Full marks. 50 out of 50."
A beat of silence.
Then everyone clapped louder than ever.
Darakhsha blinked.
"Wha… what? Full marks? How…?"
Even she turned and said quietly—
"Congratulations."
Izhaan didn't show it, but he was flattered.
He gave a small grin and said—
"Thanks. That's one point for me."
"Tch…"
She clicked her tongue and smiled.
"Second place, Darakhsha. 48."
Still a great score.
But for the first time in a long time…
She truly admired someone academically.
Last came Chemistry.
Sneha ma'am didn't even beat around the bush.
"First—Darakhsha. 48."
"Second—Izhaan. 45."
Izhaan clapped instantly.
"Nice one," he said, genuinely.
"Heh, thanks," she replied.
So, when the dust settled…
They were tied.
Two subjects each.
Two victories.
Two defeats.
Neither was fully ahead.
Neither was behind.
It wasn't a war anymore—
It was a race…
Running side-by-side.
As the coaching class wound down and the last of the test results were handed over, the air grew lighter. Well, for most.
Except Akshat.
He stared at his answer sheets, devastation written all over his face.
"Physics... 27 out of 50.
Chemistry... 23.
Maths... bro—don't even ask... 19."
Izhaan peeked over his shoulder, barely holding back a grin.
"Hmm. Let's do some forensics here."
He pulled the Physics paper close.
"Bro... you were asked to write the formula for final velocity.
You wrote: 'v = mgh divided by Newton's mood.'"
Darakhsha let out a sudden giggle. Akshat groaned.
"That was an accident! I got confused with gravitation!"
Izhaan shook his head with mock sympathy.
"And in Chemistry, question: 'Draw the Bohr's atomic model of sodium.'
What did you draw? A random circle with 5 dots and a caption—'happy atom'."
Akshat thudded his head on the desk.
"Art is subjective."
Darakhsha was now laughing openly, clutching her stomach.
Izhaan flipped the Biology paper next.
"Ooooh. Here we go.
Question: 'Differentiate between Prokaryotic and Eukaryotic cells.'
Your answer: 'Prokaryotes have problems. Eukaryotes have solutions.'"
Akshat launched a side-glare so lethal it could've set Izhaan's notebook on fire.
"At least I attempted that one!" he snapped.
Izhaan grinned, not relenting.
"Maths... ooo myy goddd... legend.
2 pages. Half-filled.
One question asked to factorise x² - 5x + 6.
You answered: 'I'm not on speaking terms with x anymore.'"
"YOU SNEAKY—" Akshat smacked Izhaan's back with his Chemistry notebook.
"You were busy teaching her and completely ignored your best friend!"
Darakhsha, still laughing, said while trying to catch her breath:
"You're blaming him for that?"
Akshat crossed his arms.
"Of course! This guy's been pouring formulas into your brain like he's Google Classroom—and I'm over here writing comedy shows on answer sheets."
Izhaan leaned back, arms behind his head.
"Well... to be fair, your answer scripts did entertain the teachers."
Akshat huffed dramatically, eyes closed.
"When I fail, I fail with style."
The three of them burst out laughing again—loud enough to get a "Shhh!" from the student in the next row.
They hushed... for a second.
And then cracked up again.
The bench wasn't just the back row anymore.
It was the row.