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The Khanna siblings were back at it—trudging down the familiar route to school like it was their personal red carpet. The sun was already roasting the roads like aloo in a tandoor, and Nirvan and Vritika were in full form—complaining about the heat, dragging their bags like dead bodies, and casually roasting teachers left and right.

But Trisha? Trisha was in la-la land.

While her siblings were raving about Sharma Ma'am's "sad life" and the mystery of Mr. Bhattacharya's hair dye, Trisha was doing full-on CCTV scanning of every face that walked past them.

She was looking for him.

The Calm Boy.

He moved as if time bent for him, each step a quiet ripple through the air. Laughter never touched his lips, yet his silence sang louder than any voice. He seemed carved from stillness, a figure the universe framed in golden light. Without effort, without intent, he carried the weight of a story everyone longed to read— the kind of boy who was born to be the main character of someone's forever.

Nirvan spotted the dreamy look and smirked instantly.

"Who're you searching for, moti?" he teased, eyebrows wiggling.

Trisha jumped like someone had just yanked her AirPods out.

"K-kisiko nahi... Whom will I look for?" she said, voice higher than usual and eyes darting everywhere except at Nirvan.

Vritika, who was half eating an energy bar and half playing detective, squinted at her sister.

"Don't lie. You're scanning the streets like you're MI6."

"I'm just looking around!" Trisha huffed, flicking her hair like she was in a shampoo ad. "Can't I even look around now?"

"You can look around," Vritika said slowly, "But this is suspicious behaviour. Highly suspicious."

Trisha gulped. Why did the sun feel like it had jumped to 200 degrees?

"It is strange. You woke up early. You didn't fight over bathroom timing. You got ready quickly too. Poore raste ek baar bhi chikchik nahi ki. Yeh miracle kaise ho gaya? " Vritika ticked off points like a lawyer in court.

"Ladke ka chakkar, Babu Bhaiya. Ladke ka chakkar," Nirvan added, laughing at his own dialogue like the drama king he was.

Trisha flushed a light shade of tomato. "Kuch bhi!" she muttered, trying (and failing) to hide her smile.

"Ohooo! Now she's smiling! CONFIRMED, Viru! Yeh ladke wali feeling hai," Nirvan said, placing a hand on his chest like a drama queen.

"Hmm hmm!" Vritika hummed, nudging Trisha with her elbow. "Kaun hai humare Future Jiju? Bata bhi do!"

"Naam kya hai?" Nirvan asked, eyes twinkling.

"School mein hi hai kya?" Vritika joined in.

"Teri class mein hai ya dusri?"

"Senior ya junior?"

"Uski koi behen hai kya?"

"Hum jaante hai kya usey?"

The questions came flying faster than a cricket post-match press conference.

"Arey! Japan ki bullet train! Bas karo! " Trisha whined,  threw her hands in the air. "Even the CID people don't ask so many questions as you guys are asking. I myself don't know about him!"

"Hein? Not even his name?" Vritika blinked, shocked.

Trisha pouted. "Nahi yaar, woh bhi nahi. But!"-her eyes lit up suddenly-"I, Ira and Ridhima have made a plan to find out his name. So don't worry, bahut jald tumhe tumhare jijaji ka naam pata chal jayega!" she grinned proudly.

"Ooohooo! Khushi toh dekho ladki ke chehre pe!" Nirvan said, holding his chest like he was watching a Bollywood love confession.

They were almost at school now.

Vritika and Nirvan waved her goodbye with mischievous grins, but not before one last round of teasing. Trisha rolled her eyes and waved them off, but a small smile danced on her lips.

_________________

The school gate stood tall, like a fortress guarding the secrets within-including the biggest mystery of the season: Calm Boy's real name.

Trisha adjusted her backpack straps like a soldier checking her gear.

"Agents on Duty!" she whispered with fake seriousness, "Mission Naam Khoj officially begins."

Ridhima walked in beside her, flipping her ponytail with a smirk. "Agent Ridz reporting. Target unknown. But not for long."

"I swear, you guys have watched too many spy movies," Ira laughed, but her eyes were already scanning the courtyard like a pro. "Agent Iru ready. We locate. We investigate. We decode."

They walked in sync through the school gate, slow-motion style, like the trio in Charlie's Angels-only with school uniforms, messy hair, and math homework in their bags.

"Okay," Trisha said, stopping near the notice board. "Let's recap: Step one-we spot him in the assembly. Step two-we find out his class. Step three-we use class intel to get his name."

"And step four," Ridhima added with a grin, "You slide into his DMs."

Trisha glared. "We're not doing step four!"

Ira laughed. "Not yet, anyway."

As the bell rang, the three girls nodded at each other. Determination in their eyes. Drama in their hearts. Snacks in their pockets.

They weren't just students today. They were detectives. They were warriors. They were the official agents of Mission Naam Khoj.

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The morning air was thick with yawns, murmurs, and the sound of squeaky shoes skidding across the courtyard tiles. Students sleepily dragged themselves into lines while the sun peeked out like it too wasn't ready for the day.

But in one corner of the field, Team T.R.I. stood like undercover agents in a spy movie-eyes sharp, backs straight, and minds full of chaotic schemes.

"Abey oye! Don't stare at all the boys like that, they will misunderstand you!" Trisha hissed, elbowing Ridhima who was scanning the boys like she was judging a fruit market.

"Exactly! Ridhi, thoda casual dikha. If you look like this, everyone will get suspicious," Ira whispered, side-eyeing a prefect.

"Will you both be quiet? Let me see!" Ridhima snapped, her gaze locked on the second row like a missile zeroing in on its target.

"Oye, mujhe dikh gaya!" Ira whispered excitedly.

"Kahaan?! KAHAAAN?!" Trisha squealed, whipping her head around like a meerkat.

"Uh... nahi, Sorry! He was someone else..." Ira muttered, deflating like a popped balloon.

"Tu bhi kya karti hai Iru? Bechari ki heartbeat skip karwa di thi tune," Ridhima teased, nudging Trisha playfully.

"Wahi toh! Look carefully from now on samjhi?!" Trisha scolded dramatically.

"Jaisi aagya, maatey," Ira said, folding her hands like a devoted disciple.

"Oye dekh dekh! Mil gaya!" Ridhima pointed with urgency.

"Kahaan?! Kaunsi class?!" Trisha spun around, eyes wide with hope.

Ridhima and Ira burst into laughter.

"Kitni badi Kamini hai na tu," Trisha glared at Ridhima. "My life was at stake here and you thought of a prank! KUTTI. HARAAAMI. DUSHT. NEECH. PAPIN INSAAN."

Ridhima nearly doubled over, clutching her stomach. "Arey bas, meri aag ka gola! I was just joking yaar."

"Reaction toh mast tha," Ira added, then mimicked in a high-pitched voice, "Kahaan? Kaunsi class?"

The two cackled while Trisha rolled her eyes in mock fury. But their moment of joy was short-lived. "Girls"  The voice sliced through the air like a dagger dipped in strictness.

The trio got froze, they gulped in fear and slowly turned towards the sound.

Behind them stood the terror of all morning assemblies-Tripathi Sir. Arms crossed. Eyebrows forming a strict 'V'. That man could sense fun from a mile away and was born to kill it.

"You three," he said, voice dripping with authority, "Are whispering, laughing, and disturbing the discipline before the anthem. What's going on?"

"Umm... we were just... umm..." Ira's brain glitched like bad Wi-Fi.

"We were... spiritually aligning our chakras before the Anthem Sir," Trisha blurted.

Ridhima internally facepalmed so hard her ancestors felt it.

Tripathi Sir's eyes narrowed like a villain about to announce a plot twist. "Chakras, huh? Then align them while holding your ears in the sun for the next ten minutes. Arms up. Now."

All eyes turned. Giggles erupted like popcorn in a microwave.

There stood T.R.I., in their punishment pose-ears in hands, shame on face, and pride somewhere six feet under.

Even Calm Boy turned slightly.

"Abey Yaar!" Trisha muttered, "He must be watching me being punished. It's all because of you two. Kya zarurat thi khikhikhikhi karne ki? Mera impression gaya uske saamne, RIP my love story!"

"Koi nahi Rishu," Ira replied in a saint-like tone, "Log toh prem mein apne aap ko nuevechaawar kar dete hain. Tera toh bas tuch sa prabhav gaya hai. Iss pal ko apne hriday se nishkashit karo, Putri!"

"Hein?! Apne hriday se kya karo?" Trisha looked at her, confused.

"Leave it. Humare samajh ke bahar hai," Ridhima sighed.

Tripathi Sir cleared his throat. "You three - class. Now. And from tomorrow, I don't want to see you laughing in the middle of assembly. Got it?"

They nodded like sad little ducklings and trotted back to class.

As soon as they entered the room, all eyes turned to them like they were reality show contestants walking into the finale.

"Kya ghoor kya rahe ho sab? Kabhi dekha nahi kya hume?! Apne-apne kaam pe lago, samjhe?!" Ridhima barked.

They slumped into their benches and pulled out their notebooks. Ridhima and Ira scribbled along with the lecture, half-distracted but obedient.

But Trisha?

Trisha stared at her notebook, completely blank. Not her page-her brain.

Calm Boy. Assembly. Punishment. Calm Boy. Assembly. Punishment.

Her loop of thoughts was stronger than any Wi-Fi signal.

Mission Naam Khoj had failed... for now. But she was determined. Next time... she'd find his name. No distractions. No punishments.

____________________

Classes went on like a slow-motion movie. One teacher out, another in. But for Team T.R.I., time had stopped somewhere between giggles, secret jokes, and sneaking bites of lunch under the desk like professional spies on a mission.

While the class scribbled notes and nodded at explanations they didn't understand, Trisha munched on a samosa, Ridhima chewed on chocolate, and Ira... Ira was the only one who had the audacity to bring chutney in a tiny plastic box.

But peace is a luxury - and Miss Preeti wasn't in the mood to let anyone enjoy it.

Just as she wrapped up her lesson, she turned around dramatically like a TV serial villain.

"Students, submit your homework before the next period."

Trisha froze mid-bite.

"Mein toh homework karna bhool gayi, Yaar!" she hissed. "Tum logon ne kiya hai kya?"

"Homework?! Woh diya bhi tha kya?" Ridhima blinked like she was born confused.

"Haan haan, I did it! I stayed up all last night doing it," Ira said proudly, puffing up like a peacock.

Trisha and Ridhima exchanged the look. The Look. The one that said: Operation Notebook Chori is on.

"Neha beta, collect everyone's notebooks and give them to the staff room," Miss Preeti ordered and walked out like homework Santa.

As Neha started collecting notebooks, she reached Ira's desk.

Ira opened her bag confidently... and then frowned.

She dug through her bag. Then the desk. Under the chair. Inside her file. Even checked her lunchbox for some reason.

Then she turned to the devils themselves.

"Did you both see my notebook?"

"Nahi toh, we haven't seen anything," Ridhima replied, barely hiding her laugh.

"Jaldi kar Iru, Bechari Neha kab tak khadi rahegi?" Trisha whispered, smirking.

"Bas ek minute Yaar! I don't know where it went. I had kept it here," Ira mumbled while turning her bag upside down.

"Koi nahi, Get it checked later," Neha said and left.

The second she was out of sight... Trisha and Ridhima pulled Ira's notebook from under the desk like they were magicians revealing a dove.

Ira gasped. "KITNE kathor hriday ke praani ho tum dono! Maine pooran ratri jaag ke apni nidra ka balidaan diya tha! Meri mehnat, MERE SAPNE, sab vyarth chale gaye! Tum dono ko toh mein chhodungi nahi!"

Before she could pounce, Ridhima climbed onto a bench like a panicked goat while Trisha stormed out of the classroom, laughing like a villain.

"Rishu, ruk jaaa! Nahi toh aur pitegi!" Ira yelled, chasing her with deadly intent.

Trisha wasn't stopping. She turned a corner, looked back to check if Ira was still chasing, she collided into someone—hard enough to scatter her books, harder still to scatter her heartbeat.

The world stilled.

Her palms stung against the floor, but she didn't notice. Her eyes rose, slowly, hesitantly... and found him.

The Calm Boy.

Up close, he wasn't just calm—he was breathtaking. His presence was quiet, like rain that soaked you before you even realized you were standing in it. He moved as if time itself bent around him, crouching down to collect her books with a grace that made her forget how to breathe.

No words. No smile. Just a silence that felt louder than thunder.

Her chest fluttered. Her pulse slipped. She tried to move, to do something, and reached for a fallen book. That's when she saw it—something glinting against the floor.

An ID card.

Before she thought, her hand closed around it. The name stared back at her, sharp and certain.

MAHIN. Class 11-B.

Her fingers trembled. The world had just whispered a secret into her hands, and she wasn't sure she was ready for it.

"It's mine," a voice murmured—low, steady, threaded with a softness that made her heart stumble.

Trisha flinched, eyes darting up. "Huh?"

His gaze flicked to her hand, then back to her eyes. "The ID card. It's mine."

Only then did she remember she was still clutching it like a lifeline. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she fumbled, pressing it back into his waiting hand. Their fingers brushed—just barely—and the spark left her dizzy.

He nodded once, silent as ever, before turning and walking away, his figure retreating like the ending of a dream.

Trisha stood rooted to the spot, lungs aching, pulse ricocheting against her ribs.

"...Mahin," she breathed, the name tasting too beautiful, too heavy, too important to belong to anyone else. Her blush bloomed, wild and reckless, painting her face like a rose caught in first light.

Seconds later, Trisha BURST into the classroom like a cyclone, nearly knocking a chair over.

"Iruuuuuuu!" she squealed, tackling Ira into a bone-crushing hug, completely forgetting she was supposed to be running from her moments ago.

"Mujhe pata chal gaya! Iru, mujhe pata chal gayaaa!"

Ira blinked at her, squished against her shoulder. "Yeh pagal ho gayi hai kya?"

But Trisha was unstoppable. She spun away and grabbed Ridhima's hands, twirling her like they were in some full-blown Bollywood musical.

"Ridhiiii! I FOUND IT! I found itttt!"

Ridhima yelped as she was spun around. "Arre! Breathe- breathe, Psycho! Now TELL US-what did you find?!"

Trisha twirled on the spot, arms in the air like she was accepting an award. "MERA SAB KUCH!"

"Hein?!" Ira and Ridhima chorused in sync, blinking.

Trisha giggled, cheeks glowing. "Arey bewakoofon! I found out his name!"

"KYA?! Sach much?!" Both of them screamed like fangirls at a concert.

"Haan Pagli!"

"Naam kya hai humare hone waale jiju ka? Kaunsi class? Kahan mila? Kaise mila? Junior toh nahi hai na? Arey! Bol bhi, chup kyu hai? Chal chal chal, jaldi bol!" Ridhima rattled off at lightning speed, her eyes glittering with gossip-fuel.

"Tu kuch bolne degi tab toh bolegi!" Ira snapped, half-exasperated, half-bouncing with excitement.

"EXACTLY!" Trisha laughed, breathless. "Mujhe bolne toh de!"

Both friends leaned in. "BOL!"

Trisha took a dramatic pause, milking the moment like a queen.

"When I was running away from Ira... then he bumped into me. We both fell, our books flew everywhere, and while helping him... I saw it." She clutched her notebook to her chest. "His ID card. And then... I read his name."

"Ohooo, full-on cinematic!" Ridhima grinned, wiggling her brows.

"But!" Ira nearly shook her. "Tell us the name!"

Trisha closed her eyes for a second, whispering it like a secret spell.

"Mahin. Aur woh 11-B mein hai."

The classroom seemed to fade for a moment as she said it, dreamy and dazed.

Ridhima squinted at her, smirking like a proud mother hen. "Dekho toh sahi, sharam ke gulab khil rahe hain iske gaalon pe!"

"Aisa kuch nahi hai!" Trisha shrieked, burying her face in her notebook.

But the blush spreading across her cheeks told another story altogether.

________________________

The school bell rang like freedom, and the courtyard slowly emptied, echoing with the shuffle of bags and the last-minute screams of teachers reminding students of homework.

At the front gate, Team T.R.I. stood under the rustling gulmohar tree, bags slung lazily on shoulders, waiting for Trisha's siblings. The air was thick with summer heat and leftover gossip.

"I hope Vritika jaldi aa jaaye. Mujhe paani chahiye, varna mein yahi behosh ho jaungi," Ira groaned dramatically, tilting her head back like a dying heroine.

Ridhima rolled her eyes, chewing on a toffee like she had all the time in the world.

But suddenly-she froze.

"Rishu... see..." Ridhima whispered and subtly nudged Trisha's elbow, her gaze locked straight ahead.

Trisha followed it. And there he was. Mahin.

Walking. Calm as ever. A light breeze brushing against his hair like he was the center of some slow-motion movie scene. His white shirt crisp, his bag hanging from one shoulder, and that unreadable expression glued to his face.

Trisha's heartbeat did three backflips in a second.

"Why is he coming towards me?" her brain whispered as panic set in. Her stomach flipped. Her fingers gripped her bag strap tighter.

One step closer. Two steps. Three-

"Mahin bhaiya! I'm here !" came a loud yell from behind them.

Like someone hit pause on the movie.

A little girl came running from the other side - Vanya, Ishaan's cousin sister. She waved her hand like she was directing traffic.

Mahin stopped in his tracks.

He turned. Not towards Trisha. But completely away from her.

"Where were you? Chal jaldi, Ishaan is waiting for you." he said, walking toward Vanya without a glance at Trisha.

"Bhaiya, you and Ravish Bhaiya will come home today, right?" Vanya chirped as they started walking away.

"Hmm," Mahin nodded.

"So will you help me solve the maths problem?" she asked sweetly.

"Kyu? Ishaan doesn't help?" Mahin teased.

"Woh khud mushkil se pass hote hai, meri kya help karenge?" she giggled.

And just like that - Mahin smiled. A real one. Quick, soft, but real. And not at Trisha.

He passed by, silent as a shadow. No glance. No acknowledgment. No spark. Not even the slightest breeze of attention toward her.

Trisha froze, clutching the shattered pieces of the cinematic scene she'd built in her head. Her cheeks felt warmer, but not from happiness—disappointment bloomed like a soft, bitter rose across her face.

Her chest tightened. Her mind raced. Why couldn't he have looked? Just once...

Her eyes followed him, every inch of his uniformed figure carved into her memory, until he disappeared into the endless sea of moving bodies.

Then - "CHALO DIDI!!" came a voice sharp as a needle.

Vritika had arrived. And she did not look happy.

Her eyebrows were furrowed like they had been battling in the sun all day. Her lips pressed into a pout of silent annoyance. Bag thrown on her shoulder like she just walked out of a courtroom fight.

"Chalo. Jaldi chalte hain," she snapped without even a hello.

Ridhima raised an eyebrow. "What happened to you? Why are you in a bad mood??"

Ira nodded, squinting at Vritika like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Haan... Kuch hua hai kya? Chidi hui kyu hai? "

"Nahi toh," Vritika said instantly. "Woh... garmi bahut ho gayi hai na, isliye chidhi hui lag rahi hoon bas."

The lie rolled off her tongue too smoothly.

But Trisha knew. She knew her sister. That wasn't heat talking. That was something else.

She didn't press it. Not yet. But her eyes lingered on Vritika a second longer, deciding she'd talk to her once they were alone.

Just then, Nirvan came hopping like a bunny with two broken springs, grinning from ear to ear.

"Readyyy to goooo?!" he said like it was a war cry.

And just like that, the mood shifted.

Giggles returned. Laughter wrapped around them. They walked home, teasing each other, swinging their bags, hiding a hundred things behind smiles.

But Trisha's heart?

It still echoed with a name that hadn't even looked her way. Mahin.