I blinked, slowly turning to look as he stood up—calm, casual, walking to the front like the principal's office was his second home.
Ayesha paused mid-rant. "Oh no," she whispered. "Why's Kabir going?"
I shrugged. "Probably going to explain to the principal why gravity exists and why we should all just fall into a black hole."
She giggled.
I didn't.
Because in my head, something was buzzing.
Not butterflies. Not even curiosity.
Just this weird... tension.
Like the story wasn't quite done with him yet.
You know how some people say lightning doesn't strike the same place twice?
Well, in our school, it does. It not only strikes—it holds press conferences.
Kabir got called to the principal's office again. Along with a bunch of others: Arsalan, Alizeh, Alisha, and Anabia. I didn't even flinch this time. I was deep into Ayesha's latest "he-left-me-on-seen-but-reacted-to-someone-else's-story" saga, nodding like I was emotionally invested, when in reality, I was playing 'spot the split ends' in my hair.
Then Alisha decided our desk was her new office. She came over with a sheet of paper like she was filing taxes and needed urgent desk space.
Me and Ayesha? We said okay. Of course. Because we're nice. (Ayesha's nice. I just didn't feel like starting drama. Yet.)
The problem? There's barely space between our desk and the door. Now Alisha was standing there like a security guard. Blocking the path like her job depended on it.
Then came Arsalan.
"Move," he said, flat and annoyed.
"Wait five minutes," Alisha said, like she was managing airport traffic.
He did wait. For a whole five minutes. And then, BOOM—he pushed her aside and walked out like a GTA character.
I was silently sipping the drama, eyes wide, heart empty, the worst part snackless.
Then Kabir walked up.
I glanced. Barely.
Alisha blocked him too.
And that's when I thought:
"This girl has GOT to enjoy being disrespected. She must. No one's this stubborn by accident."
But Kabir?
He didn't push.
Didn't argue.
Didn't even roll his eyes.
He just said, "Please move, I need to go."
Soft. Calm. Almost… respectful?
Alisha? Same broken record: "Wait five minutes."
And he did. He just stood there. Like a statue. A well-dressed, polite, irritatingly well-mannered statue.
When she finally moved, he walked out—only for the teacher to yell at him:
"Kabir! You're irresponsible! Why weren't you there earlier?!"
And this man—this guy who had every reason to defend himself, to explain, to throw Alisha under the bus and drive it back over her?
He just bowed his head and said, "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."
I sat there.
In silence.
Jaw hanging like the school's broken projector screen.
What… the actual… hell?
He could've burned the school down with facts.
He could've won the argument.
He had every right to.
But he didn't.
He just… took the blame.
Like it was normal.
Like it was nothing.
A whole hour passed, and I couldn't shake it off.
Finally, I turned to Ayesha and said, "What is this guy's deal?"
She didn't even blink. "I thought Alisha and Kabir knew each other from childhood. Since like, first grade."
I blinked back.
"Oh. Well, that makes sense," I said out loud.
But in my head?
No. It didn't.
Nothing about this made sense.
And that's when I knew:
I really wasn't done with Kabir.
On the way back home, I was walking beside Isra, arms swinging, backpack straps falling off one shoulder like I was in some teenage angst music video, and my brain was still reeling from what I'd seen in class.
"I swear to God, Isra," I said, finally breaking the silence, "you will not believe what happened today."
She looked at me sideways, already used to the fact that I started stories with no warning. "If it's about Ayesha's sixth breakup this month, I already know."
I gave her a look. "No. This is about Kabir."
That got her attention. "Logic guy? What did he do now? Hit someone with a calculator?"
"Worse," I said, dramatic as hell. "He apologized."
Now she was blinking. "I'm sorry—what?"
I nodded like I'd seen a ghost. "So Alisha—yes, that Alisha—blocked the door. Again. Arsalan pushed her. But when Kabir asked her to move, she told him to wait five minutes."
Isra groaned. "Of course she did."
"And guess what?" I held my hand up for effect. "He waited. Then he left. Got yelled at by the teacher. And didn't even snitch. He just said, 'I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again.' Like—what is this, a Wattpad soft boy era revival?!"
Isra laughed. "Wait, wait. You're telling me Kabir, Mr. Logic Pants, got yelled at for something he didn't do… and he didn't even say anything?"
"Exactly!"
She gave me that little smirk she gives when she knows I'm lowkey obsessed. "Girl, why do you care?"
"I don't!" I said way too fast. "I'm just saying—it's weird. Who does that? Either he's trying to get nominated for 'Best Student in a Drama Series' or he's just…"
"Polite?" Isra offered.
"Suspicious," I corrected.
Isra chuckled. "You are suspicious. Of everything. Remember when you thought the new maths teacher was an undercover spy?"
"His moustache was too perfect," I said defensively.
"Sure, Sherlock."
We turned the corner and kept walking, the street buzzing with the usual after-school chaos—autos honking, kids yelling, sun burning down like it had a personal grudge. But my mind? Still replaying that moment in class.
Kabir didn't fight back.
Didn't correct the teacher.
Didn't out Alisha.
And for the first time, I didn't have something snarky to say about it.
I wasn't impressed.
Not really.
But I wasn't… unimpressed either.
And that, right there, was a problem.
It started like a fluke. Just a random observation here and there. Nothing serious.
Like how he always carried two pens—one black, one blue. Or how he'd adjust his sleeves before solving any math problem like it was some kind of ritual. Or the way he leaned his head slightly when he was listening to the teacher, as if actually interested in the nonsense they spewed.
It wasn't like I was obsessed.
I just… noticed.
Every. Single. Day.
And that would've been fine—really—if my brain didn't decide to make it a daily project to track everything he did.
How he was always early. How he said "thank you" to the peon. How he shared his water with anyone who asked. How he laughed—soft, not loud, not fake.
Rude of him to be that decent. Actually disrespectful.
"Are you even listening?" Ayesha waved her hand in front of my face during bio class.
"No," I said honestly.
She blinked. "Okay, damn."
I didn't care. Because in the corner of my eye, Kabir had just passed his notes to the quietest girl in class without saying a word. Just slipped the book onto her desk, and went back to writing his own.
Who was this guy?
Why wasn't he like the other annoying boys I was used to?
Why did he walk like he had no enemies?
Why was he not even trying to impress anyone?
And most importantly—why was I noticing?
It was supposed to be a normal week. Just school. Just studies. Just a bunch of lectures I didn't want to attend and some uniform I didn't want to wear. But no—fate had other plans
So first, boom—the head students were announced. And guess who had the audacity to become the head boy?
Yeah. Kabir. Mr. Calm, Mr. Logic, Mr. "I-mind-my-own-business-and-somehow-still-glow."
And then there was me.
Don't ask me how or why, but I, Hyda—loud, chaotic, allergic to discipline—volunteered to be a discipline monitor. By. Myself.
Isra wasn't even in my class, so I didn't have her to blame. I can't even say someone dragged me into it. Nope. Just me and my dumb curiosity-laced pride.
And guess who I got assigned under?