The two years they'd spent in separate classes hadn't altered much on the surface.
Mayank would still catch glimpses of Krishanu in the corridors occasionally — during recess, after assembly, or striding towards the library with that same tranquil intensity. But there was something new about him now. The boy who used to study with ease was now walking like he had a fire in his eyes.
It wasn't talent now; it was *hard work*.
He lingered longer after school, participated in quiz clubs, and brought additional notebooks packed with neat handwriting notes. During free periods, while others played cricket, Krishanu sat beneath the neem tree, reading something thicker than a textbook.
Mayank dismissed it at first. *Perhaps he's just bored,* he thought.
But by midterm, it was no longer possible not to see. Krishanu was quicker, brighter — and even the teachers were citing his responses as model answers. In all subjects, he appeared to be forcing himself beyond unseen boundaries.
It baffled Mayank. *Why now?*
One afternoon, not able to suppress his curiosity any further, he asked, "What's with you these days? You study like someone's chasing you."
Krishanu smiled, rubbing the nape of his neck.
"I'm coming after you, as a matter of fact," he said.
Mayank blinked. "What?"
"I wanted to catch up — so we can be in the same class next year."
Mayank had laughed at that, believing he was pulling his leg. He did not know that Krishanu was serious.
But destiny had other plans.
When Grade 5 class lists were released, their names went under different groups once again. Krishanu's face fell, and he went to the teacher's desk directly that evening to beg for a switch. The teacher smiled kindly and told him it was not possible — "it's the school rule."
That might have been the end of it for anyone else.
But not Krishanu.
If he couldn't reform the system, he'd transcend it.
He participated in every after-class competition that year — debates, sketching, writing competitions — anything that provided him with a pretext for continuing to move ahead. Mayank spotted his name in large bold lettering on the noticeboard one day: *Winner – Annual Story Writing Competition*. His short story had even been published in the school magazine.
When Mayank read it, he was amazed. The tale had nothing to do with grades or awards — it was about friendship. About two boys who continued to find one another despite how many times the world attempted to keep them apart.
By the following academic year, even the teachers stopped making an effort to keep him separate. When the new roll list was posted outside the office, Krishanu's name was alongside Mayank's once more — Class 6-C.
Mayank still recalled the smile on his face that morning.
The teacher had mockingly asked him, "You put in all this effort just to be in the same section as your friend? Why?"
Krishanu's answer was straightforward.
"Because he was my first friend in this school."
Mayank never forgot that moment.
It was then he understood something profound about the boy everyone believed to be a prodigy — that in all the brightness, the rivalry, and the success, Krishanu's power came from something much more human.
He could do anything — not for glory or fame — but for the people he loved.