The ceiling fan spun lazily, groaning every few seconds as if protesting the afternoon heat.
Arshiya wiped a bit of chalk dust from her palms and looked around the small classroom that would now be hers. The walls were covered in faded charts — "Tenses", "Parts of Speech", "Famous Authors" — their edges curling from years of sunlight. A dozen wooden benches filled the room, each etched with names and doodles from generations of students who'd come and gone.
It wasn't much, but it felt… peaceful enough.
The coaching centre stood at the end of a narrow lane, sandwiched between a stationery shop and a tailor's. From outside, you could always hear the hum of scooters, the call of a fruit vendor, and occasionally, the loud laughter from the room next door — the Math class.
She'd heard about him before she even met him.
"Arshiya ma'am, the math sir next door is a bit strict," one of the helpers whispered.
Strict was an understatement. His voice carried through the walls like a thunderclap.
"Two plus two is not five, Raghav! How many times do I have to say it?"
Arshiya jumped slightly at the sound and shook her head with a small smile. "So that's him," she murmured.
A few minutes later, the bell rang, and students began to pour in — half curious about the new English madam. She introduced herself with a small smile, adjusting her dupatta.
"Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Arshiya ma'am, and we're going to make English a little less scary, okay?"
The kids giggled. A boy raised his hand and said, "Ma'am, math sir shouts a lot."
Arshiya couldn't help laughing. "Then we'll whisper extra softly to balance it out."
But as her class went on, the math sir's voice boomed again, followed by laughter from his students. It was distracting — terribly so. By the time her last student left, she was both tired and mildly irritated.
As she packed her things, she stepped out into the narrow corridor — and there he was.
Tall, with chalk marks on his sleeves and a dark blue shirt tucked in, he was locking his classroom door. He looked up and smiled politely.
"New teacher?" he asked.
"Yes. English," she replied, still a little cautious.
"Ah, the one who complains about my volume," he said, half-grinning.
Arshiya blinked. "I didn't—" she began, but he chuckled softly.
"Don't worry, everyone does. I'll try to whisper formulas from now on."
She crossed her arms, trying not to smile. "That would be nice."
He nodded, still smiling as he walked away down the corridor, his gentle laughter echoing .
That evening, as she packed her bag, the smell of chalk, books, and faint laughter lingered in the air.
She didn't know it yet, but that was how it all began — with a chalk fight, a few sarcastic smiles, and the warmth of a noisy classroom that slowly started to feel like home.