The air in Class 12-B thickened, anticipation coiling around the students like a taut wire.
Aarav Sen could feel the silence pressing against his skin.
All eyes were fixed on the closed classroom door, as though sheer willpower could slow down the inevitable knock of authority.
But it wasn't a knock that came first.
It was the soft click of the latch.
The door handle turned with a deliberation that made every heart in the room skip.
Aarav's heightened senses picked up the minuscule friction of the latch mechanism, the faintest metallic scrape as it disengaged. What would have been imperceptible to others rang through his ears with sharp precision.
The door opened.
And in stepped the Inspection Committee.
There were three of them.
Leading the trio was a tall man in a perfectly ironed black suit, his salt-and-pepper hair combed back with military precision. His eyes, sharp and calculating, swept across the room in a single, practiced motion. No clipboard. No files. He didn't need them. His gaze was assessment enough.
Behind him, a woman in a deep maroon saree, glasses perched on her nose, carried a slim tablet. Her fingers tapped rhythmically as she logged observations. Unlike the man, her scrutiny was silent but no less intense. Every detail mattered.
The third was a younger inspector, a man whose face bore the look of someone who took pride in finding flaws invisible to the naked eye.
Their collective presence shifted the classroom's atmosphere from tense to suffocating.
Mrs. Nair stepped forward with a smile that was more weapon than welcome.
"Good morning, Sir. Ma'am. Welcome to Class 12-B," she greeted, her tone dipped in exaggerated politeness. Her posture was rigid, every syllable carefully measured.
The lead inspector gave a curt nod, his eyes already moving past her, cataloguing the room's symmetry.
"Proceed," was his only response.
With that single word, the students straightened further, if that was even possible. Backs that were already stiff found a new level of rigidity. Hands folded tighter. Eyes fixed straight ahead.
Aarav, seated at the back, maintained his trademark slouch. Or at least, that was the intention.
But his body had its own ideas.
His muscles adjusted with unnerving precision, his spine aligning subtly despite his efforts to remain casual. He felt the shift, the invisible correction, as though his very bones had decided they knew better.
The inspectors moved like clockwork, their steps measured, their eyes dissecting every inch of the classroom.
Mrs. Nair trailed beside them, offering commentary where she deemed necessary.
"We maintain a strict discipline code in this class," she said, her voice a blend of pride and subtle pleading.
The female inspector glanced at a chart pinned near the window, adjusting her glasses slightly.
The younger inspector walked down the aisle, fingers tracing the edge of a desk as if feeling for imperfections.
No words were exchanged.
Only the rhythm of authority moved.
Aarav's senses were flooded.
He could hear the faint creak of the inspector's leather shoes with every shift of weight. The soft rustle of Mrs. Nair's saree as she gestured. Even the microscopic clicks of the woman's tablet as she typed.
But beyond the noise, Aarav felt it—the weight of scrutiny.
The classroom, for all its forced stillness, was a stage, and today, the audience was merciless.
He let his eyes drift lazily towards the lead inspector, who had now stopped mid-aisle, his gaze sweeping across rows like a scanning beam.
For a heartbeat, the man's eyes paused.
On Aarav.
Aarav felt Kunal shift beside him, a sharp inhale betrayed his friend's nerves.
Mrs. Nair noticed the pause too.
She moved closer, her voice slicing through the silence with forced brightness.
"This is our senior-most batch. Preparing diligently for their final examinations."
The inspector said nothing.
His gaze remained.
Aarav, determined not to give an inch, maintained his smirk.
But his body, traitorous as it was, had straightened imperceptibly. His arms rested symmetrically on the desk, his pen positioned with an unconscious perfection that would have made Anaya proud.
He hated it.
The inspector's lips twitched, not quite a smile, but a subtle acknowledgment of what he saw.
Then, he moved on.
Anaya, seated ahead, didn't turn, but Aarav knew she had registered the exchange. He could almost feel her irritation simmering.
Beside him, Kunal leaned in, barely moving his lips.
"Sen, you could pass for Rathore's twin today."
Aarav resisted the urge to elbow him.
Mrs. Nair exhaled quietly, following the committee as they approached the front of the class.
The lead inspector gave a short nod.
"Discipline is satisfactory."
Mrs. Nair's relief was palpable, though she masked it with a professional smile.
The team turned, but instead of exiting, they moved towards the front of the classroom, pausing near the teacher's desk. The lead inspector's gaze swept across the students one more time, his eyes narrowing slightly as if mentally cross-referencing every posture with his expectations. The tension in the room didn't ease; it magnified. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. The room remained frozen, locked in a silent standoff of discipline and hidden nerves.
The room remained frozen.
Not a shuffle.
Not a breath.
Aarav leaned back, attempting to relax.
But his body betrayed him again.
His spine snapped into perfect alignment, his posture defaulting into an upright stance with no input from him.
The act was no longer his own.
The inspection round had just begun.
But the war inside Aarav Sen was already in full swing.