Navran Public School's lunch break was a chaotic symphony of noise. Students poured into the open courtyard like a flood breaking through a dam. Groups formed in familiar clusters—some under the neem trees, others around canteen stalls. The air was filled with the scent of samosas, the screech of excited teenagers, and the hum of a thousand conversations overlapping.
Aarav Sen, student of Class 12-B, weaved through the crowd with practiced laziness, his bag slung over one shoulder, a half-eaten energy bar in his hand. He didn't seek company, nor did anyone offer it. His reputation preceded him: the boy who didn't care.
But someone was waiting.
Anaya Rathore stood near the sports block, away from her usual group. Her arms were crossed, her expression a portrait of restrained irritation. Her tie was perfectly aligned, her skirt crease untouched by the school chaos. She looked like she didn't belong in this mess, and perhaps, she didn't.
Aarav smirked as he approached. "Stalking me now, Rathore? I'm flattered."
Anaya didn't take the bait. "Tomorrow is the school inspection. Try to act like you belong here."
"I do belong here. I'm just the decorative disappointment," Aarav replied, taking another bite of his energy bar.
"Stop joking, Aarav. This isn't a game."
"Life's already too serious, Rathore. Someone has to balance the equation."
Anaya exhaled sharply, stepping closer, lowering her voice. "You know what's worse than failing, Sen? Not even trying. Do you ever think about what happens after school?"
"Sure. I become a wandering philosopher. Maybe write a book on how to annoy Anaya Rathore."
Her eyes narrowed, but before she could retort, Aarav felt it.
A warmth.
Subtle, but unmistakable.
It started in his palms, a faint pulse, as if his skin had a heartbeat of its own. The energy bar wrapper crinkled under his grip, the material feeling oddly sensitive against his fingertips.
He flexed his fingers, shoving the sensation aside. Just irritation. Maybe the heat.
Anaya didn't notice his brief pause. "You think you're untouchable. That nothing matters. But one day, Sen, you'll wake up, and it'll be too late to fix yourself."
"Why, Rathore," Aarav said, tilting his head, "are you concerned for my future? I didn't know you cared."
"I don't. But I hate seeing potential rot."
Aarav clapped slowly, sarcastically. "What a touching speech. Should I stand straighter tomorrow? Polish my shoes? Wear a halo?"
"You could start by showing up on time."
"Miracles happen, Rathore. Maybe tomorrow is the day I start caring."
"I'll believe it when I see it," she shot back.
Their feud wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. Their words were daggers wrapped in politeness, each jab a calculated strike.
But for Aarav, the real battle was internal.
The warmth in his palms had spread, a slow-burning current crawling up his forearms. His senses felt heightened again. He could hear the distant creak of the library door, the soft ripple of a flag swaying at the school gate, even the faint murmur of two teachers arguing in the staff room.
He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension.
"You alright?" Anaya asked, noticing his subtle discomfort.
"Just mesmerized by your endless optimism."
Anaya didn't respond. She simply shook her head and walked away, her braid swinging like a pendulum of disapproval.
Aarav watched her go, flexing his fingers again. The warmth was persistent now, not painful but present. Like a hidden layer beneath his skin had begun to stir.
He glanced at his hands.
Same as always.
Yet, not quite.
He sighed, stuffing the empty wrapper into his pocket, and made his way towards the old steps near the basketball court. His usual lunch spot. Isolated. Quiet.
But the quiet wasn't kind today. Every sound in the school reverberated in his head.
The scrape of a chair being dragged three classrooms away.
The click of a pen cap being snapped open.
The faint, distant flapping of a bird perched somewhere on the rooftop.
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
"Pull it together, Aarav. You're not going crazy. Not today."
He leaned back, eyes half-closed, listening to the world's noise orchestra, pretending it didn't bother him. Because that's what he did.
Pretend.
From a distance, Anaya stood with her group, but her eyes flickered towards him once.
She didn't understand what was happening. Neither did he.
But tomorrow, she would.
And so would he.
For now, the lunch bell rang, signaling the end of their temporary ceasefire.
Aarav stood, dusted off his trousers, and muttered under his breath,
"One more day, Rathore. Maybe I'll start faking effort too."