3. The Silence He Carries

The classroom was bathed in the amber glow of the sunlight flooding in through the tall windows. The ceiling fan overhead groaned in protest as it rotated lazily, failing to beat the heat clinging to the classroom walls. The air was thick with the smell of old textbooks, ink, and chalk dust in the air, mingled with the occasional whiff of someone's long-forgotten tiffin.

A middle aged woman, Meenakshi Ma'am, maybe in her mid-forties, clad in a saree wrote some formulas on the board, her bangles clinking with every stroke.

Behind her rows of desks and chairs were neatly arranged with a whole buffet of types of students.

The front benchers scribbling furiously in their notebooks, some might see smoke coming out of the paper by the speed of writing and the passion their pens carried. They were writing as if their life depended on it.

Meanwhile the middle benchers were a mix of attentive and distracted students. They were attentive enough to stay out of trouble but occasionally whispered amongst them.

In the corner seats two girls huddled together, they were passing notebooks to each other talking through writing and shared a few giggles in between. The chaos was balanced, not too serious, not too careless.

Then came the spotlight of every class, the back benchers whose motive in life was just to exist. Some were sleeping, some secretly eating their tiffins, some playing games on the last page of their notebooks. It was everything except studying. They were occasionally met with the teacher's glare which they brushed off with innocent, angelic smiles.

In the third row, two boys sat side by side. One was new to this world while the other seemed to have already mastered it. Krivan Daiwik's head remained low, eyes tracing the half-filled notebook in front of him, like it could shield him from this world. He had built a fortress around him, high and unreachable, which no one had managed to cross till date. Except maybe this boy next to him, the one who had way too much to say for a Physics period.

"Abe yaar, tu aise ghoor raha hai jaise Meenakshi Ma'am ko evaporate kar dega aankhon se," came the amused whisper beside him from none other than Atharv Kapoor.

(Bro with the intensity you're staring at Meenakshi Ma'am it seems like you're going to evaporate her with your eyes.)

Krivan didn't bother to look up but his lips twitched with amusement, "Aur agar kar doon toh? You'd thank me."

(And If I did? You'd thank me.)

Atharv Kapoor grinned like he'd just discovered treasure and leaned in with mock-seriousness, "Haan bhai, tu kar de. Main agarbatti leke aunga unki antim yatra ke liye."

(Sure bro, do it. I'll get an incense stick for her last rites.)

A reluctant smirk tugged at Krivan's lips. Damn it. Atharv leaned in, lowering his voice but not his energy, "You're Krivan, right? Banglore wala?"

Krivan gave a nod, still cautious around him.

"Suna hai wahan ke school mein kisi ko thok diya tha?"

(I've heard you punched someone in that school.)

"Suna hi hai na? Bas wahi samajh le." Krivan's voice was calm, but sharp enough to say don't push it.

(You've only heard it right? You can think whatever you want to.)

Atharv raised his hands in mock surrender, "Thik hai bhai, bas confirm kar raha tha ki ye sach hai ya sirf rumor."

(Okay bro, I was just confirming if it's a fact or just a rumour.)

There was silence for a moment which was comfortable, surprisingly. The teacher's voice droned on about Kirchhoff's laws, but Atharv had clearly decided this was more important.

"So, tu kya karta hai? Like, extra-curricular mein kuch interest hai ya sirf marks ke peechhe bhaagta hai?" Atharv asked, fidgeting with his pen.

(So what else do you do? Like are you interested in extracurriculars or do you only run after grades?)

Krivan sighed, knowing this one wouldn't give up easily. "Guitar or Piano bajata hoon thoda. Aur... logon se door rehna kaafi pasand hai."

(I play guitar and piano sometimes, and I like to stay away from people.)

Atharv's grin widened further. "Same bro! Guitar toh main bhi bajata hoon thoda thoda... yaani tune bajana start kiya toh main background mein headbang kar lunga."

(Same bro. I too, play guitar a little bit. If you started playing, I can bang my head in the background.)

Krivan rolled his eyes but didn't fight the upward tug at the corner of his mouth. A crack in the fortress. "Aur tu?" He asked, surprising even himself. "You're always this... Lively?"

(And you? Are you always this lively?)

"Lively?" Atharv tilted his head. "Main toh bas thoda sa unserious hoon", he thumped his chest lightly. "Life toh rone ke bahot mauke deti hai. Agar hasne ke pal cheenega nahi toh rote hi reh jaega na?"

(Lively? I am just a little unserious. Life gives you a lot of situations to cry. If you don't snatch away moments of laughter, you will always end up, crying, right?)

Krivan returned to his notebook, but the scratch of his pen had softened, it moved more slowly now. The walls weren't down yet, but a crack had formed, and someone like Atharv Kapoor had a way of slipping through even the smallest ones.

Just as Atharv leaned back, about to whisper something else, Meenakshi Ma'am turned around mid-equation and barked, "Atharv and Krivan! Tum dono ko alag-alag bitha doon kya?"

(Atharv and Krivan! Should I make you two sit away from each other?)

Atharv sat straight in a flash. "Nahi ma'am! Aisa kya bol diya maine?"

(No ma'am! What did I even say to deserve this?)

Krivan muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Atharv to hear, "Tune kya nahi bola ye puch."

(Ask what you didn't say.)

And for the first time since he entered this new school, new city, new life, Krivan laughed. Just a little, but it was real, it was almost foreign to even himself.

Her glare had not yet subsided and things were about to get worse when the door to the classroom creaked open and there stood a peon in khaki uniform with a slightly crumpled slip of paper in his hand.

He entered the class, all eyes turning towards him as he walked slowly like an intense movie scene. He cleared his throat and handed over the paper to the teacher without a word.

She quickly scanned the paper and looked up, "Krivan Daiwik to the principal office. Now."

A collective intake of breath echoed through the silent class. Some whispering and eying Krivan, "Oh what did the new kid do?"

Krivan stiffened and stood up unbothered and walked out quietly behind the peon following him to the office.

At the end of the long corridor was a big wooden door. He glanced up at the sign board that read — 'Principal — Mr. R.S Oberoi' He sighed and knocked on the door waiting for three seconds before he heard a faint "Come in."

He pushed open the door and entered the office. The room was spacious and lavish with tall shelves lined by documents and trophies. The room was bathed in the scent of oak, very masculine and classy. The air conditioner was on full blast making the room feel like he entered Antarctica from the Sahara Desert.

In front of him Mr. Oberoi sat behind a heavy oak desk, glasses perched on his nose while he skimmed through a document. He looked up at Krivan and gestured him to sit down on the chair in front of the desk. Krivan took a seat with a straight face nervously his hands clenched into fists in his lap.

"I called you because a few admission documents are still pending," he said, flipping through a folder with his name on it. "Your father submitted most of them, but your medical certificate and transfer certificate from your old school haven't arrived yet."

Krivan stiffened as he gave a faint nod, "They are taking some time to process the documents and courier them from Bangalore. I'll submit them in 2 days."

The principal nodded satisfied with the answer. "Good. Please make sure you submit them at the office reception, not later than Friday. Also, collect your ID card from Mrs. Desai once that's done. Until then, carry a handwritten slip with your name and class."

"Yes sir, thank you."

"Alright. You may go."

Krivan stood up and turned around to leave when the principal's voice stopped him in his track, "Krivan, don't repeat the mistakes you made in your old school. Mai bhale hi tumhara Mama hu but I can't be biased. If you do something wrong, you will have to face the consequences."

(Krivan, don't repeat the mistakes you made in your old school. I am your uncle, but I can't be biased. If you do something wrong, you will have to face the consequences.)

Krivan felt his throat burning as he clenched his fists tighter. He gave a silent nod and left without a word. He exhaled a shaky breath after stepping out of the office, feeling the weight of the room and the judgemental stare lifted off of him.

The floodgates of emotions didn't stay open for long as he heard a melody, so soft and gentle that he almost thought he imagined it.

He paused mid step and closed his eyes to feel the strumming of a guitar. It came again, clearer this time wrapped in sweet whispers. He opened his eyes with resolve as he started walking towards the sound, like there was an invisible, magical pull to it.

His feet took him to a nearby empty classroom. He peeked in, his curiosity getting the best of him.

His heart stopped.

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