"Ahem, ahem. Kanishka Didi, that looks absolutely BEAUTIFUL!"
This motherfucker. He'd actually dragged us straight to her. Just bury me alive already.
"Thanks!" she chuckled, all warmth and sunshine. Perfect.
"What are you guys displaying?" Obvious question, but her sweet voice made it sound like a gentle compliment.
"Oh, we aren't. Just here to admire your work and help out a friend. Ayan wanted to help Shruti out—she's been sick, you see." This lying, sweet-talking menace. My biggest enemy in human form.
"Aww, that's really sweet of you, Ayan. Take good care of Shruti, okay? She's honestly the sweetest girl."
She looked straight at me as she said it, and for a split second I felt forgiven for every past sin. If she asked me to jump off the terrace, I'd probably do it with a grin.
She'd painted this stunning mosaic of the New York skyline, and beside it—a view of Barcelona from above.
I knew it instantly. Barcelona. My favorite football club, my second religion.
"That's Barcelona, right? It looks like a perfect photograph," I said, trying to sound casual, while inside, well… prayers were happening.
"Yes! I love the architecture there—it just clicked for me!" She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world—just making masterpieces because they clicked. Brave, bright, and too damn beautiful, that's how I liked my people. A goddess with a paintbrush. My heart couldn't handle this much divinity.
"All the best! We'll look around a bit more. Bye!" I cut myself off mid-swoon—my heart was sprinting a marathon just standing near her. I grabbed Aksh's arm like a lifeline and dragged him away before my brain fully melted.
"Okay! All the best to you two too!" Her voice trailed behind us—if only I could bottle it up and replay it on loop at night. Too sweet for this world. We turned left toward the handiwork section, but honestly? Everything looked dull now after witnessing her.
"Are you stupid? We should've talked more. Do you even want to be with her, or what?" Aksh hissed as soon as we'd put some distance between us. He wasn't wrong, sadly.
"It was awkward, okay? I looked like a loser." I actually worried she'd think I was some mute moron who couldn't string words together.
"It's all in your head, dummy! She's just a person—talk to her like one. Keep this up and she'll graduate, wave you goodbye, and you'll still be here playing games all alone." Annoying. But accurate. Didn't mean I had to admit it.
"Yeah, yeah. Forget it. Let's go back to Shruti and prepare a bit. We can't disappoint her—or Kanishka Didi—after all this." I tried to bury this embarrassment as fast as possible.
"Okay, you pussy. Hmph!" That pout again. Dramatic as ever—but at least I'd stalled his horses for now.
While making our way to our station, a few teachers caught our glances. Maybe some even suspected we weren't supposed to be here—but it was fine. We had a rock-solid excuse for this crime: we were now official substitutes in an art competition. Vrisha and Garvit would definitely get a kick out of this story later.
"Hello, milady! How's the masterpiece coming along?" Aksh called out theatrically as we reached Shruti's corner. She didn't even flinch—just kept brushing delicate lines onto the canvas with a focus so deep it made all the rest silent. For a second, I wondered if she'd heard him at all.
"It's almost done. I finished most of it last night. They'll probably come around soon to start scoring."
Her reply surprised me—the longest line she'd strung together all day. Maybe when it came to her art, even she couldn't hold it in. But still… she never really looked at us when she spoke. I couldn't help wondering why.
"Cool! So, we'll get cracking on the speech. Just walk us through everything—what you made, what it means, all the color talk, okay?"
Aksh was already fishing in Shruti's bag like he owned the place. He pulled out a notebook and—wait. A blue Parker pen. 0.7mm tip, smooth ball flow… wasn't that my pen I lost yesterday?
I glared at him with suspicion. He ignored me, obviously.
"Okay," Shruti whispered. I thought she might have second thoughts by now, but she seemed even more relaxed. Maybe we actually seemed trustworthy to her now. Or maybe she was just too tired to care. I'd like to think it's because I look pretty damn friendly. And good-looking, too—if I do say so myself.
"The teachers are now en route for inspection. The contest begins." The announcement cut through the hum of last-minute preparations. I spotted the jury forming a little army—clipboards in hand, smiles plastered on their faces. A couple of outsiders too, probably local artists here for extra credibility.
I looked at Shruti. The second she registered the marching jury, her shoulders jerked up and her brush nearly slipped. Panic painted itself across her face more vividly than any color on her canvas. This was her big day—and it showed. Meanwhile, Aksh was busy jotting notes as Shruti quietly listed the details: brush strokes, shades, hidden meanings—stuff I'd never notice on my own. A few booths down, I glanced over Kanishka Didi. She stood poised and radiant, explaining her pieces with so much confidence, it looked rehearsed and effortless.
Would I want Shruti to beat her? Honestly—probably not. But second place? That, she deserved.
"All set!" Aksh snapped his notebook shut and turned to me. "Ayan, you wanna speak too? Take the 'inspiration' part—leave the artsy stuff to me." I hadn't planned on saying a word. But a promise is a promise—and I owed it to a certain someone not to back out now.
"Alright. I'll do it."
So that was settled: Aksh would handle the color palette mumbo-jumbo, and I'd cover Shruti's Inspiration—why these portraits, why these colors. Simple enough, right?
The jury drifted closer, station by station, peering at sketches and nodding with judgemental looks. From a distance, they seemed impossibly serious, dissecting every brushstroke like a crime scene. To me, it all looked equally impressive—art was art, beautiful because I didn't have to understand it like they do.
And then… It was our turn. My palms went clammy. Great. The one thing I needed was calm—and my body went into full panic mode. Aksh sensed it, obviously. He shot out his hand in front of Shruti, mid-air, like a cheer squad move before a football match.
"Hands in, team! Let's crush this, yeah?"
Shruti blinked, startled—then gave the tiniest, shyest smile I'd ever seen on her. Slowly, she placed her trembling hand on his. I placed mine on top, sealing the deal.
Just then, the principal's voice cut through—warm, unexpectedly gentle.
"Hmm… so, Shruti. And these two will be your voices today? I heard you're unwell, dear. Get well soon. Now, let's see your work, shall we?" Mrs. Pratha stood before us—our mighty Principal Ma'am herself, flanked by four teachers and three guests who looked like they'd judge your soul if given the chance.
Showtime.
We stepped aside, giving them a clear view of Shruti's work.
"Oh my! Is that me? And look, Rekha—it's you! And there's Nitin too!" Mrs. Pratha's voice rang out, half-surprised, half-amused—like someone who'd just found an old photo they'd forgotten existed.
My cue. I sucked in a breath and launched into my line before doubt could shut me up.
"Shruti wanted to show her appreciation for the teachers who've been especially kind and supportive to her. She wanted to express her gratitude through her art—and that's what inspired these portraits. She's spent countless nights on them and wants to gift them to their rightful owners, from a student to her mentors."
I said it in one go—maybe too fast—but at least I didn't choke. That was a win in my book.
I stole a glance at Shruti. And there it was—a shy, proud smile blooming on her face. Maybe this wasn't just about marks for her. Maybe she meant every bit of it.
Mrs. Pratha placed a hand on her chest, clearly touched. Aksh was right about how she was into this.
"That's so thoughtful and lovely, Shruti. I think this might be the best gift I've ever received from a student."
Beside her, Rekha Ma'am stepped closer, beaming like a proud mother.
"She's such a talented girl—truly the best I've seen. Aksh, could you tell us more about the art itself?"
Aksh gave a little nod, squared his shoulders like a stage actor, and dove right in, his vibe changed completely.
"Yes, ma'am. So—Shruti chose to use a blend of all the palette colors for these portraits. Each color stands for an emotion, but not in a rigid way. Usually, we pick colors to show clear feelings—red for passion, blue for calmness. But here, it's more fluid. These portraits say that a person isn't just one emotion or trait—they're a whole spectrum. A swirling mix. So, instead of painting one fixed mood, Shruti layered colors to show how everyone is a blend of countless feelings and stories. These aren't just faces—they're a glimpse of the soul behind them. Each brushstroke builds up that depth, piece by piece."
He ended with a calm breath—like he'd just recited poetry.
Was that really Aksh? Did he always have this patience tucked away somewhere beneath? Not a single word he'd spoken was rehearsed. Shruti had only told him she wanted to try something different—capture how everyone is a storm of feelings, not just a face on paper. He'd turned that tiny idea into something so profound.
And looking at their faces—I knew they'd bought every word. Maybe they didn't understand it fully, but they felt it. And I felt that was more than enough.
Shruti just stood there—sandwiched between me and him, her hair slipping over her cheeks like a curtain. Half-hiding her, half-revealing how her lips kept curling up into a smile she was too shy to show. She looked like she was still trying to figure out how it all worked out—how words she never said somehow gave her art a voice stronger than she ever thought.
But it didn't matter now. It was done. And from the looks of it, it was more than well received.
"That's a very beautiful demonstration, Shruti. Definitely a top contender today. Now relax—you deserve it. And Aksh, I hope you stand by those words you just spun so beautifully." Principal Ma'am closed it off with a nod that meant both praise and a subtle warning. She scribbled something on her clipboard, and just like that, the whole jury moved on to the next booth.
It felt like a massive boulder rolled off our backs. I let out the breath I hadn't even realized I was holding. But… What did she mean by that comment to Aksh?
"And just like that—victory!" Aksh whispered dramatically, throwing up his hands in triumph. Then, softer, to Shruti: "Did we do good?"
"Thank you so much. Seriously… you both were my saviors today. Let me treat you guys later, okay?" Shruti said, her voice finally carrying a tone that felt lighter, less caged in fear. She was still avoiding eye contact, but at least she looked happy.
"The results come out tomorrow, right? We'll celebrate after you win your prizes. That'll make it more fun," I added, trying not to sound too proud of us.
"Okay!" she said, her lips curling into that small, genuine smile that made all of this worth it.
We'd planned to bunk classes and wander the campus, but we'd ended up doing something far better. Another day, another odd adventure—thanks to Aksh.
And then—like a scene change—"How'd it go, Ayaan? Shruti?"
That voice. That perfect timing.
Kanishka Didi.
She strolled up to us, sunlight catching on the edge of her earrings, somehow making her look even more… goddess-like.
"Great! Her portraits did all the magic. We just tried not to ruin it with our talking," I said, hoping my voice didn't betray how fast my heart was pounding.
Aksh was beside me, nodding like an overexcited child, but his eyes were glinting with mischief.
"These portraits are lovely, Shruti. And you—get well soon, okay? You guys did well. Thank you for stepping up for her," she said, looking at me, then at Aksh, with this soft, grateful warmth that could melt steel. It almost felt like she was Shruti's elder sister, standing guard.
Meanwhile, Aksh—the traitor that he was—kept elbowing me, nearly pushing me forward. He wanted me to talk.
I panicked. Defaulted to the safest question in human history: "How was yours? You looked really calm while presenting." Good job, genius. So original.
She chuckled—"Oh, you were watching? Yeah, it was good, I guess. Could've been more polished. I've been a bit swamped with NEET prep, so I couldn't give it my best this time."
She said it so casually—like balancing a national exam and making such masterpieces was normal.
I couldn't stop myself—"You're preparing for NEET, right?" I caught her eyes for a second—felt my cheeks heat up. We were talking. Really talking. Thank you, Aksh.
And speaking of the devil—
Aksh leaned in and whispered near my ear, not loud enough for Didi to hear.
"I'm leaving. I've got somewhere to be. Don't mess this up, and don't act like a show-off. Just be yourself, idiot."
I turned to him—"Where the hell are you going?" feeling like my crutches were leaving me.
He just grinned, pointed vaguely upwards—
"The terrace."
And before I could protest, he vanished into the corridor—leaving me alone with my heart hammering and Kanishka Didi's smile holding me hostage.