Here is another chapter we hope you'll enjoy reading it😉. Do tell us in comments about your thoughts, favourite scenes, dialogues anything you want to.🫂❤️

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Authors POV

Vanya moved with the crowd, letting herself be carried down the stairs. Her bag felt heavier than usual, biting into her shoulder. All she could think about was the rickshaw ride home.

Then, a small click sounded against the concrete. It was such a tiny sound that no one else noticed but she did.

She stopped mid-step so suddenly someone bumped into her from behind. "Sorry," she muttered automatically, already looking down.

Her fingers flew to the back of her head. "Oh no..." she breathed as she found the spot empty.

She crouched quickly, pulling her bag up higher so it wouldn't slide off. Her eyes scanned the cracked concrete, the scattered pebbles, the dry leaves collected near the edge of the stairs.

"My clip..." she whispered, panic rising faster than it should have.

She brushed her hand over the ground, ignoring the dust gathering under her nails. Pebbles scraped against her skin. Someone's shoe nearly stepped on her fingers and she pulled back just in time.

She was just about to straighten up, when loud laughter echoed from behind her which made her spine stiffened.

She didn't need to turn, but she just glance over her shoulder.

Nirvan Khanna.

He was walking out of the coaching centre, his two permanent sidekicks trailing behind him. Bags hung loosely from their shoulders, their laughter bouncing off the walls.

Vanya rolled her eyes and looked back down immediately, lowering herself even more. "Perfect timing," she muttered under her breath, pushing aside a small cluster of gravel.

"Bro..." one of Nirvan's friends said, his voice losing its usual swagger.

Vanya's hand paused mid-sweep. She hadn't meant to listen but the shift in tone made it impossible not to.

"Can you lend me some money?"

She pretended to keep searching but her ears sharpened.

Nirvan stopped walking. "Again?" he said, tiredly as this wasn't the first time.

The other boy rubbed the back of his neck, eyes avoiding his. "Yaar... my parents cut my pocket money."

"Cut?" Nirvan lifted a brow. "Why?"

The boy gave a small shrug. "They found out I bunked math class." Then, softer "But... we're friends, right?"

Vanya glanced up without meaning to.

For a second, the usual grin wasn't there. Nirvan just stood looking at him quitely.

Then he sighed as a crooked, helpless smile tugged at his mouth. He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out a folded note, and pressed it into his friend's palm. "Last time," he said lightly.

The boy's face lit up instantly. "Thanks, bro!" Relief flooded him and the two of them hurried off.

Nirvan was left standing there alone for a brief moment before he followed.

Vanya blinked. "Huh." She lowered her head quickly, brushing her fingers through the dust again. "Such a dumb guy," she muttered under her breath.

Still, she leaned forward, determined. If that clip wasn't found in the next thirty seconds, she was going to lose both her hair and her patience.

Nirvan spotted her before she noticed him. He noticed her crouched near the stairs, bag slipping off her shoulder, fingers digging through dust.

His jaw tightened a little as he thought, "Why does she keep avoiding me?"

He let out a slow breath and walked over anyway. "Kya dhoond rahi ho?" he asked, stopping beside her.

"Meri clip," Vanya replied without looking up as her fingers kept brushing aside gravel.

Nirvan scratched the side of his temple. "She didn't even look at me," he muttered under his breath. "Did I do something wrong?" A flicker of doubt passed through his face. 

"Let me help you," he said, crouching down beside her before she could object. His bag slipped down his arm and landed on the ground with a dull thud as he started scanning the concrete.

"Tum meri madad nahi kar sakte," Vanya muttered, still laser-focused on the ground.

He blinked. "Kyu? Kyu nahi kar sakta?" he asked, leaning a little closer.

She finally looked up at him with a crease between her brows. "Tumhe thodi na pata hai ki meri kaunsi clip khoyi hai."

Nirvan didn't flinch. "Oh, I know," he said casually, still sifting through the dust. "They're the ones with cherry blossom flowers." His voice softened without him realizing. "Usually you wear pink ones... but today you wore blue."

Vanya's fingers stopped moving and her eyes stayed on him this time.

"The petals are kind of soft-looking... shiny," he continued, focused on the ground. "Tiny white centers. And the metal's plain silver. Nothing fancy." He glanced at her then, a shy smile tugging at his mouth. "They're sweet. Easy to miss at first... but once you notice them, you don't really forget."

Vanya dropped her gaze quickly, heat creeping up her neck. She bent lower, pretending to search harder, but her hands had lost their rhythm.

Nirvan watched her for a moment, confusion flickering across his face. Had he said something wrong? Then he shook it off and crouched properly beside her.

A few seconds later, his fingers brushed against something small and cool and then, he straightened, lifting it between his fingers. "I found it!"

Vanya's head snapped up despite herself. Her eyes met his grin and they stood up together. 

He placed the clip carefully in her palm. "Here."

She took it gently, brushing off the dust against her top. The tiny blue blossoms caught the fading light again.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked after a moment, hesitant.

Nirvan turned toward her fully this time and nodded, smiling softly. "Haan."

"Real friends wouldn't use you for money," she said, holding his gaze.

He stiffened slightly.

She hesitated, then added more quietly, "Mahin bhaiya kehte hain... if someone only remembers you when they need help or money, they're not your friends. They're just using your kindness."

Her fingers tightened around the clip. "I don't have many friends," she admitted, her voice dipping. "So I'm not an expert. But I'd rather have no friends than ones like them."

Before he could respond, she started walking with quick steps, her bag bouncing lightly at her side.

Nirvan stood there for a second, her words settling somewhere deeper than he expected.

Then he hurried to catch up, falling into step beside her. "Jaisa tum soch rahi ho... waisa bilkul bhi nahi hai," he said quietly.

Vanya kept her eyes ahead. "Maybe I can be wrong," she replied.

They walked side by side, not touching, not speaking. The silence wasn't comfortable anymore as it felt stretched.

As they turned into the lane, loud laughter burst through the evening air making both of them slowed their pace.

Near the small shop at the corner, Nirvan's friends were sprawled on parked bikes and plastic stools, chips packets in hand.

Nirvan instinctively opened his mouth to call out but then the words reached them.

"Nirvan ko bewakoof banana kitna easy hai yaar," the same boy said who had taken money from him minutes ago.

"Sahi mein. Har baar tu usey wahi excuse deta hai, aur woh maan bhi jaata hai," another added, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

"Tution wale sir kya sahi bezzati maarte hai uski," a third snorted, grinning.

Vanya's eyes moved to Nirvan.

His smile disappeared, his shoulders sank slightly, and his jaw tightened. He looked down at the road.

He didn't react, didn't confront, didn't even breathe properly. He just stood there... pretending he hadn't heard a word.

And suddenly, Trisha's voice echoed in his head. "One day you're going to realize, Suar... you keep giving your best to people who don't even give you basic respect. And that makes me so angry for you."

Vanya walked ahead at first leaving him there as this was none of her buisness but as she crossed in front of the boys, something inside her snapped.

She stopped and turned to them.

"What do you want?" one of them sneered, straightening up.

"Isn't she Vanya?" another muttered, recognition flashing across his face.

Her jaw tightened while her hands curled at her sides. "Nirvan thinks you're his friends," she said, her voice steady. "So if you really are... you should at least be honest with him."

"What's your problem?" one of the boys snapped, stepping toward Vanya, his hand lifting to shove her aside.

But, before his fingers could even reach her, another hand tightly caught his wrist mid-air.

"I think you should go home," Nirvan said quietly. But his grip tightened enough to make the point clear.

"Nirvan! Kya kar raha hai?" the boy barked, trying to pull free.

Nirvan didn't argue. "But ussey pehle..." he muttered, reaching calmly into the boy's pocket, "...main apne paise wapas le lu." He pulled the folded note out and only then released him.

He turned and walked toward Vanya and they walked together in silence.

The lane grew quieter the closer they got to her house and then she heard a small, uneven sound like someone trying not to cry.

She slowed her pace and turned towards the direction of the sound.

Nirvan had stopped a few steps behind her. He was wiping his face roughly with his sleeve. But his cheeks were damp. His eyes were red. Tears kept slipping out no matter how hard he blinked.

"You don't need to cry," Vanya said, the words coming out sharper than she meant them to. "Woh bhi un doston ke liye jo kabhi dost the hi nahi."

"Nahi," he said quickly. And then, he smiled. "Yeh khushi ke aansu hain," he added, voice wobbling slightly. "Happy tears." He rubbed at his face again, but the tears didn't listen as they kept falling.

Vanya's expression changed as the sharpness melted first, then the annoyance.

She hesitated just for a second, then she stepped closer and awkwardly slipped her hand behind his neck, giving his shoulder a small, gentle pat.

Nirvan didn't stop crying. His shoulders trembled, breaths uneven.

Vanya slowly pulled her hand away. This time, instead of patting him, she reached up and wiped the tears off his cheek with her sleeves. "It's okay," she said softly. "You'll find people. The kind who actually see you."

His breath caught and he stared at her then his one hand went to his chest dramatically. "Aey, Vanya..." he said, blinking through the wetness. "Mera dil bahut zor se dhadak raha hai."

She frowned. "Kya?!"

"I think I like you."

She stared at him. "As a friend... right?" she asked carefully, studying his face.

"Nahi." He shook his head. A shy smile tugged at his lips despite the tears. "More than a friend."

She groaned and smacked the top of his head lightly. "Ghar jaa!" she ordered.

She turned to leave, but before she could take more than a step, his fingers caught the sleeve of her top, right where it covered her wrist.

She turned back slowly.

His eyes were searching hers now. "I'm serious," he said quietly.

"You're just confusing your feelings," she replied. "You've never really had friends. Of course you'll feel attached to the first person who stands up for you."

His grip loosened immediately and his fingers slipped away from her sleeve. "So..." he asked, swallowing. "Jab mere paas sachche dost honge... then you'll believe me?"

She hesitated, then gave a small nod.

"My feelings won't change," he said, voice low now. "I'll always like you."

Vanya rolled her eyes. "We'll see," she muttered as she walked toward her house.

Nirvan stayed where he was, standing under the fading evening light, watching her disappear behind the gate.

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The bell's echo lingered, stretching through the hall. Students poured out in practiced waves, their voices overlapping in bursts of laughter and gossip. 

Trisha's friends clustered around her, chattering about the announcements, but she barely heard them. Her mind had slipped away, tethered to a single thought that wouldn't let go. She was only half‑present in the flow of bodies moving past.

By the stairs, she slowed, crouching with a clumsy excuse of a loose shoelace. Her fingers worked the knot again and again. What she really cared about was something else. Through the veil of her lashes, her eyes lifted and caught a glimpse of him.

Mahin stood just a few steps away, shoulders relaxed, his gaze distant. 

Trisha felt her pulse stutter, warmth creeping across her cheeks. She brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, trying to steady herself, but her hands lingered over the lace, fumbling unnecessarily.

Her foot tapped a quiet rhythm against the stair. Seconds stretched out. Her breath came in shallow bursts.

For a fleeting heartbeat, she imagined him noticing her, lifting his eyes, letting a small smile slip across his face. The daydream shattered immediately as he stayed where he was, wrapped in a world she couldn't enter. 

Still, just seeing him there, calm and unbothered, sent a warm, unsteady flutter through her chest.

"Kya kar rahi hai? Jaldi kar naa," Ridhima's voice cut through the stairwell, laced with impatience. 

Trisha nodded, finally straightening up, a small sigh escaping her lips that got lost in the hum of voices around her. She ran her fingers over the laces one last time, then hurried to catch up.

"Itni der se lace nahi bandhe jaa rahe thaion tujhse, Gadhi!" Ira teased, swatting her gently on the head.

"Arre, sar pe kyu maarti hai?" Trisha muttered.

"Mahin ko taad rahi thi na?" Ira's eyes sparkled, while Ridhima's jaw dropped.

"Taad rahi thi kya hota hai?" Trisha shot back, cheeks warming, correcting herself with careful poise. "Niharana kehte hai isko." She tucked her hair back with deliberate care. 

Her friends just rolled their eyes, giggles spilling into the stairwell.

Meanwhile, Mahin moved ahead, oblivious to the tiny storm of chatter and flushed faces in his wake, lost in his own quiet world, unaware of the ripples he left behind.

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"Ira! Tumhe yeh question aata hai kya?" whispered the girl next to her desk, tilting her notebook toward Ira.

Ira squinted at the page, then let out a soft laugh. "Nahi yaar, yeh mujhe nahi aata. Trisha ko aata hoga, usne kar rakha hai yeh." She shot Trisha a playful, knowing look.

"Rishu! Isey yeh wala question samjhaiyo," Ira insisted, yanking Trisha out of her mental drift. Her pulse quickened, heart still tugged between the memory of Mahin and the reality pressing in front of her.

"Oh!" Trisha blinked, catching herself too late. "Uh... ek min..." she murmured, leaning toward the notebook, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a practiced flick.

"Arey Behen! Thoda easy question puch le na," Ridhima teased, the others giggling softly.

Trisha's fingers traced the lines of the page as her focus sharpened. "Dekh, it says the owner invested cash, then they bought goods, then there's a loan taken and payment of rent..." Her voice steadied with each word.

"When the owner brings cash in, Capital increases and Cash increases. So we add on both sides." She slid the pen from Ridhima's hand, ignoring the half-finished doodle of the teacher with devil ears in the margin.

The teacher's gaze swept across the classroom, before landing squarely on her. "Trisha Khanna! Focus! We are not here to babble!"

Trisha blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks. "But ma'am, I was just helping-"

"Helping? You're distracting the class. Sit properly and pay attention!" The sharp edge in the tone made a few students flinch instinctively.

Trisha's chest tightened, hands curling into fists on the desk. "Distracting? Mai bas usey question samjha rahi thi, ma'am. Mujhe koi shauq nahi hai baat karne ka faaltu me," she said.

"Kal se meri class me aane ki koi jarurat nahi hai," the teacher snapped.

Trisha's heart thudded, but she forced her voice steady. "Aaungi mai toh. Free me nahi padhti mai yahan, fees deti hoon poori." The heat in her cheeks deepened.

"Very good, Trisha. Very good," the teacher said slowly, sarcasm curling around each word.

"Haan, very good. Bahut acha," Trisha echoed. 

Ira and Ridhima tugged at her sleeves, trying to reel her in, but the classroom had already gone still.

"Kam bola karo, beta," the teacher snapped, her eyes narrowing.

Trisha's chin lifted. "Haan toh aap bhi kam bola karo, ma'am."

Ira leaned in, tugging her sleeve, whispering urgently, "Mat bol yaar, chup ho jaa."

But Trisha only shook her head. "Kyu? Bolungi mai," she muttered, eyes flashing. "Waha aage woh dono bakriyon ki tarah charne me lagi hui hain, unhe nahi dekh rahi. Mai hi dikhti hoon bas inhey." Her words spilled out.

The classroom froze, laughter swallowed in throats as the teacher slammed her book onto the table with deliberate finality.

"Mai nahi padha rahi aaj," she announced. "Sabh khade rahoge aaj pura period." 

A collective groan rose, benches creaking as students slumped and shuffled.

"Behen, sorry bol de na," someone hissed, eyes darting nervously toward the teacher.

Trisha folded her arms, her glare sharp. "Sorry bole meri jutti," she muttered loud enough for her row to hear. "Mat padhao. Ek yahi teacher thodi na hai pure school me."

The class rose reluctantly. Some bent low over half-finished homework, pens scratching in hurried desperation. Others sneaked bites of lunch behind the cover of a friend's back.

In the middle of it all, Ridhima slumped, chin tucked to her chest, eyes shut, already drifting toward sleep. 

Trisha and Ira jabbed her sides, whispering, "Uth!" but she barely stirred.

Trisha's elbow dug sharply into Ridhima's ribs. 

Ridhima jerked upright, blurting, "Oh shit! Mai run out ho gayi-" before the words froze midair. 

The classroom snapped back into focus, and the teacher's piercing glare met her wide, startled eyes.

For a heartbeat, the room quivered with suppressed laughter. Then, the laughter spilled, filling the air, echoing off walls and benches, while Ridhima stood frozen, cheeks burning crimson.

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Outside the staff room, Ridhima pressed her back against the cool wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other.

The door creaked open.

"Ridhima Shah."

Her heart jumped. "Yes, ma'am," she said, trying to keep her voice steadier than her nerves felt.

Inside, the staff room smelled faintly of chalk and old files. A ceiling fan hummed lazily above. Two teachers sat at their desks, heads lifting in quiet expectation as she stepped inside.

Mrs. Preeti folded her hands neatly on the desk, eyes narrowing. "You were sleeping in my class?"

Ridhima's words came out small. "It wasn't intentional, ma'am."

The teacher leaned back slightly, the chair creaking. "Not intentional? Then what was it?"

Ridhima hesitated, her shoulders lifting in a faint, helpless shrug. "I was tired," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tired?" Mrs. Preeti repeated, the single word hanging in the still, heavy air of the staff room.

"Haan ma'am... raat bhar phone pe game khel rahi thi," Ridhima admitted, shrugging with casual ease. 

The two teachers exchanged a glance, disappointment etched into their faces.

"But khade khade kaun sota hai?" Mrs. Preeti asked, one brow arched, sarcasm threading every syllable. "Are you a giraffe or something?"

Ridhima grinned. "Shayad pichle janam mein rahi hoongi," she said, a small laugh bubbling out, but it faltered instantly when her eyes met the teacher's glare.

"Tum bahut funny ladki ho, heina?" Mrs. Preeti added. "School khatam hone ke baad, pura classroom saaf karogi tum," the teacher declared firmly.

"Kya?! Aap jhooth bol rahi hai!" Ridhima blurted, eyes widening in genuine shock. "School ke baad toh meri academy hoti hai... cricket ki-" She was cut off mid-sentence as Mrs. Preeti's gaze pinned her.

"Class me sone se pehle socha chahiye tha, Ridhima," the teacher said, flipping through her stack of papers with deliberate calm.

"Ma'am..." Ridhima stretched the word with childish whine, but Mrs. Preeti's eyes didn't soften.

"Don't 'ma'am' me. That's all. Now go to class," came the final, clipped instruction.

Ridhima rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath as she turned toward the door. She let out a long, exasperated sigh, letting her head drop in frustration.

But as she pushed the door open, her forehead nearly collided with something solid and she stumbled back a step, letting out a sharp, startled, "Ouch-" before she could even think.

"I'm so sorry!" a voice blurted instantly, but the words barely reached her over the thrum of her irritation.

"Dekh ke chalne mein aankhein ghis rahi hai kya?" she snapped, lifting her gaze.

Ishaan was standing there, shoulders filling out the loose white shirt, the tie loosened and one button undone. Black hair fell lazily into his eyes, softening the boyish angles of his face.

His eyes, held a warmth that made her pause. The jaw was smooth, the lips gentle, yet there was something else too that made her blink twice.

"Oye!" Ishaan's voice rang out, fingers pointing at her in mock disbelief. "Tu?" The word carried down the corridor, pulling curious glances from nearby students.

"Hi, Raani!" he said casually, leaning against the doorframe, a grin tugging playfully at his lips.

"Chal-chal ave! Ajeeb praani!" Ridhima muttered, brushing past him with a dismissive wave.

"Ma'am, mai abhi thodi der mein aata hoon," he called over his shoulder toward the teacher, already quickening his steps to fall in line beside her.

"Oye!" Ishaan's voice cut through the corridor again, trailing after her like.

Ridhima stopped abruptly, her shoulders stiffening, and spun around, her face tight with controlled anger. "Kya hai?" Her voice cut sharp through the corridor.

"Aaj bhi gusse mein hai?" Ishaan asked, slowing as he reached her, a half-smile tugging uncertainly at his lips.

"Humesha rehti hoon. Tujhe koi problem?" she shot back, teeth clenched, eyes blazing. 

His grin faltered for a second, and he quickly shook his head.

"Nikal chal!" she muttered, brushing past him.

"Ishaan!" he called, suddenly stepping in front of her, blocking her path with exaggerated drama. 

He spread his arms wide, grin playful, tossing his messy hair back. "Ishaan Rana! Naam toh suna hi hoga."

Ridhima's lips curled in contempt. "Nahi suna. Aur ab shayad koi sunega bhi nahi." Her fist shot out in a swift motion, landing under his chin with a sharp thud. 

Ishaan staggered back, dazed as a few nearby students gasped.

"Ishaan!" his friends shouted, rushing forward as he hit the floor.

"Idiot," Ridhima muttered, brushing invisible dust from her hands, then strode toward her classroom without even glancing back.

Mahin crouched beside Ishaan, concern etched deep on his face. "Tu theek hai?"

"Dimaag kharab hai kya tera?" Ravish snapped, grabbing Ishaan's arm as they helped him upright.

"Yeh wahi ladki hai, jisey tune ek mahine pehle dekha tha?" Mahin asked, disbelief lacing his voice.

Ishaan groaned, rubbing his chin, wincing. "Ek mahina, do hafte, baarah din pehle," he muttered, eyes unconsciously drifting toward the corridor where Ridhima had vanished.

"Bahut jor se maara hai yaar," he added, still wincing. "Ab samajh aaya unn ladko ki mummy kyu itna lad rahi thi."

"Raani kam, Dara Singh zyada hai meri wali," he muttered, and Mahin and Ravish couldn't help but chuckle.

"Class mein chalte hain," Mahin suggested, his voice calm, the corner of his lips twitched with amusement.

"Pehle medical room chalte hain, kahin daant na toot gaya ho?" Ravish teased, laughter bubbling out, earning a sharp glare from Ishaan.

The two boys started walking ahead, shoulders relaxed, when Ishaan called after them, voice dramatic, "Abey o! Maa ke laadlo!" They turned, eyebrows shooting up in mock curiosity.

"Mujhe kaun leke jaayega?" Ishaan demanded, spreading his arms.

Mahin eyes travelled from his head to toe. "Mukka muh pe pada tha. Haath-pair sahi salamat hain tere abhi," he said, making Ravish laugh so hard he had to clap a hand over his mouth. 

Ishaan groaned, jaw aching. "Kaminey! Haramkhor!" he muttered under his breath, trudging forward, shoulders slumping slightly.

Before he could sink further into his dramatic misery, two arms looped around his shoulders, pulling him into embrace of support.

He glanced sideways, a grin tugging at his lips. Mahin and Ravish rolled their eyes, shaking their heads at his theatrics, but the corners of their mouths betrayed them.

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Vritika stood by the table, fingers moving deliberately as she stacked the files into a neat column.

Across the room, Kiaan shifted his weight, trying to appear casual, but every muscle betrayed him. The room demanded patience, focus, and composure qualities he thought he possessed until her presence tugged every thought from him.

The papers in his hands shuffled and slipped slightly, but he barely noticed. His attention snapped to Vritika at the almirah. 

She stretched on her toes, arm reaching for the dusty box perched just out of reach. Her fingers brushed the edge, missed it, and she fell back with a small, frustrated sigh. 

She tried again, a little jump punctuating the effort, stray hairs slipping around her face. The box remained stubbornly out of reach.

For a moment, Kiaan just watched the curve of her arm, the tilt of her chin, the quiet determination in the line of her shoulders. 

Without thinking, he closed the file in his hands and walked over. "Here you go," he murmured, lifting the box with ease. Dust motes trailed from its edges as he set it gently into her waiting hands.

Vritika's eyes narrowed. "Are you mocking me?" she asked.

His answer came quick. "Yep." A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at the grin he stubbornly refused to show her fully.

"I heard you've been killing it on the football team," she said, voice teasing. "Sabaash, Mashaan."

Kiaan's face flared red. "It's Kiaan, Tauntika!" His voice cracked with indignation.

Vritika tilted her head, amusement written across her face. With the box balanced in her hands, she nudged him lightly. "Side hutt, Ghatokach." She brushed past him, walking toward the teacher as he sputtered behind her.

"Seriously? I just helped you, and this is what I get? Ghatokach?" he called, voice rising in mock outrage.

Vritika slowed just enough to let a sly smile show. "Toh kya... Mashaan bolu?" she teased, dragging the word into a playful weapon.

Kiaan snapped back instantly, voice sharp. "Muh band rakh, Tauntika!"

She pivoted fully now, eyes narrowing, the box clutched in her arms. "Do you wanna fight?" Her challenge hung in the air, daring him.

Kiaan's reply was a low growl, reckless and unthinking. "What if I do?"

"Arey! Araam se lado, Raahu-Ketu," the teacher interjected, his calm voice slicing through their storm of shouts.

"Isne shuru kiya pehle!" they yelled together, each pointing a dramatic finger at the other. 

Then, spinning to face him, their voices merged into one unified protest, "Aur iss naam se mat bulaiye humein!"

"Badtameez," Vritika hissed, eyes narrowing, jaw tight.

"Tu hai, badtameez," Kiaan shot back.

"Abey! Dikhta hai kaun hai badtameez,"

"Tu hai, tu hai,"

"Abey! Chal nikal chal,"

"Tu nikal chal,"

The teacher's calm, authoritative voice cut through again. "Tum dono nikal jao aur seedha class mein jao, samjhe?"

For a heartbeat, they froze, locked in a silent standoff. Then, with slow, reluctant steps, they moved toward the classroom.