It was a fresh morning, the air tinged with the subtle chill of November. The school, usually alive with chatter and laughter, had fallen unusually silent. The usual chaos was replaced with murmurs and the flipping of notebook pages. Students were seated in their assigned examination halls—classrooms temporarily transformed into quiet zones of anxiety and last-minute preparation. Heads were bowed, eyes scanned notes with urgency, and the soft rustling of paper filled the air. The half-yearly exams had begun.
The day had finally arrived—the very day that Izhaan, Akshat, Darakhsha, and Kashish had been preparing for with long group study sessions at Izhaan's flat. The tension was real now, no more jokes, no more pizza breaks—just the quiet echo of footsteps on tiled floors and the low hum of nerves.
Izhaan sat in a large classroom that had been temporarily converted into an examination hall. The class setup was unusual; students from class 9, 8, and even 11 were shuffled together for seating. On Izhaan's desk, he was sandwiched between two girls from class 11—one on his left who kept flipping her pen nervously, and one on the right who was just flipping her notebook pages in a rush.
Just a desk behind him was Akshat, seated comfortably. On Akshat's left sat a girl from class 11 chewing the end of her pencil, and on his right, a sleepy boy from class 8 who looked like he hadn't even opened his book last night. Meanwhile, Darakhsha was diagonally ahead on Izhaan's right, sitting with her back straight and eyes calm as ever. She had two girls on either side, but unlike the others, her focus was locked inward. Her poker face, as usual, was unreadable.
Kashish, however, was nowhere to be seen in the room—they'd learned earlier that she was seated in Room 202 due to her roll number being 37. That room only held students from roll numbers 21 to 40.
Flashback—Yesterday afternoon.
The squad had gathered around the bulletin board outside the staff room, their eyes scanning the printed sheets of seating arrangements.
"Room 202... I'm in a different room!" Kashish groaned dramatically, tugging at her hair. "How will I even survive the exam without roasting one of you during the break?"
"Same here," Izhaan muttered, eyes wide. "I'm sitting between two girls again? Bro, what's this cursed seating karma I have?"
Darakhsha, ever the composed one, smirked and said teasingly, "Well, maybe the universe is trying to tell you something, Izhaan. Accept your destiny."
Akshat, meanwhile, was leaning back on the wall, arms crossed, grinning like he had nothing to lose. "I don't care where I sit," he said coolly. "As long as I pass."
The memory faded as the bell rang and teachers entered the room, distributing the first paper—English Language. The exam had begun.
The question papers were finally distributed. A chilling silence swept across the examination hall as students flipped through the crisp sheets. Izhaan, as always, leaned back slightly in his seat and glanced sideways. His eyes naturally found Darakhsha. At the exact moment, she turned too, and their gazes locked—not cold, not warm—just a faintly charged pause, like two rivals measuring each other. No smiles, no words. Just a silent mutual acknowledgment.
Then, without a sound, they both looked back at their respective question papers and began reading.
Fifteen minutes later, the invigilator announced, "You may begin writing."
Pens clicked open. Pages rustled. A storm of focused scribbling began.
Izhaan did what he always did—started with the essay, pouring out a structured and refined flow of thought. Akshat, however, as per his 'special' strategy, left the first two pages blank for the essay and jumped straight into letter writing.
About an hour into the exam, a faint poke came from behind Izhaan's back.
Poke.
Another one.
Poke poke.
Izhaan sighed. Akshat.
He kept writing for a moment, ignoring it, but Akshat—ever the impatient soul—poked again and whispered, "Oye... grammar MCQs... What are the answers?"
"Wait, bro. I'm still doing them," Izhaan muttered without turning.
But Akshat didn't stop.
Poke. Poke again.
That was it. Izhaan furrowed his brows, and his right eye twitched just a little. The girl beside him—one of the 11th graders—finally turned to Akshat and whispered sharply, "Don't irritate him, he's clearly getting annoyed. And you're making too much noise... the teacher will hear."
Akshat zipped his mouth shut.
A while later, Izhaan finished his section and tilted back just slightly. Without a word, he turned his head and calmly whispered the answers to all 20 grammar MCQs to Akshat in a quickfire flow. Akshat nodded furiously and scribbled down each one like his life depended on it.
With about 30 minutes still left on the clock, Izhaan calmly dropped his pen, leaned to the side in that iconic thoughtful pose—elbow on the desk, two fingers resting above and below his eye, staring ahead like he was analyzing the fate of humanity.
The 11th class girl beside him noticed. She blinked and whispered, "You're done?"
He simply nodded, his expression unreadable. She looked surprised, clearly impressed, then went back to her paper with new motivation.
Then, to his right, he noticed the 8th class girl flipping through her answer sheet with a confused face—her brows raised, pencil hovering, her grammar section almost untouched. Izhaan leaned slightly and asked softly, "You need help?"
She looked up, flustered but hopeful, "Please…"
And just like that, he began guiding her through the MCQs one by one, whispering the logic behind the answers.
Meanwhile, Darakhsha, having already finished her paper, was sitting with her hands folded under the desk, her eyes drifting naturally—until they landed on Izhaan again.
Her expression didn't change instantly, but something stirred quietly in her chest. He was helping that girl, patiently, softly… just the way he used to guide her after coaching classes. She didn't understand why, but her brows furrowed slightly.
A small tug in the chest? Jealousy? She shook the thought away.
Why am I even... feeling this way? she wondered, trying to bring her attention back to her closed answer sheet. But that scene—him leaning over to help someone else—kept replaying, overlapping with her own memories. Her cheeks tinted the slightest pink.
Trying not to be obvious, she turned away and stared out the window, hiding the slight smile pulling at her lips.
Izhaan had noticed her sudden turn but didn't think too deeply. He went back to helping the girl.
About fifteen minutes before the bell, the girl finally said in a shy whisper, "Thanks, Izhaan bhaiya."
He looked at her sideways. "Wait... how do you know my name?"
She giggled. "Everyone in my class knows you. You're popular—in both girls and boys group."
Izhaan was momentarily thrown off, blinking at her. "Seriously?"
She smiled and nodded. "I'm Supriya Kumari."
A soft chuckle escaped Izhaan as he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.
FLASHBACK – Earlier that morning in Supriya's class
"Hey Supriya, check this out! You're going to be sitting behind Izhaan! That lucky roll number of yours!" a classmate teased, showing her the seating list on her phone.
"No way!" another girl chirped. "Do you know how many girls from our class would literally trade seats for that?"
Supriya had laughed, trying to downplay the hype. "You guys are so dramatic. He's just a senior…"
One of her friends nudged her knowingly. "Yeah, yeah, we know you like that boy from class 9A anyway. Still, congrats."
"Ugh, stop it!" she said, but even she couldn't deny she was secretly a bit excited.
Back to present
The final bell rang.
Exam over.
Papers were collected, chairs screeched against the floor, and voices slowly began returning to the room.
But there was a lingering thought in Darakhsha's head—quiet and unspoken.
And in Izhaan's? Just a question.
Why do I feel like she was watching me?
After the bell rang and the papers were submitted, students poured out into the school grounds like ants from a kicked anthill. The exam pressure had lifted—at least for today—and now it was time to dissect the disaster or bask in self-praise.
The squad regrouped under their usual tree near the basketball court. Izhaan stood leaning against the tree trunk, arms folded. Darakhsha was sipping water and adjusting her dupatta. Akshat looked strangely confident, while Kashish—well, Kashish was already in drama mode.
"Ughhhh…" she groaned dramatically, tossing her head back as if the sky had betrayed her. "I left sooo many questions in the grammar part. Who even makes papers like this?! My pen was literally crying…"
Darakhsha turned to her, arms crossed, and mocked gently, "Oh really? But wasn't it you who said just yesterday—" she suddenly changed her tone to mimic Kashish, "—'Who even studies grammar? Huh? This is child's play for me…'"
Akshat burst into laughter and clapped once like a seal. Even Izhaan cracked a grin. Kashish pouted, crossing her arms in defeat.
"You guys are so mean," she sulked.
Akshat stepped in proudly, puffing his chest, "Anyway, my paper went really good. I'm expecting more than 70 out of 90."
SMACK!
Izhaan smacked him lightly on the head.
"Oye duffer!" he scolded. "Is that why you were poking me like a mosquito mid-exam? You think it's cool to cheat off me and then flex in front of everyone?!"
Akshat rubbed his head. "Bro! That was a gentle tap of curiosity."
"Oh really?" Izhaan raised a brow. "Then next time I'll show you gentle tap with a slipper. How do you even write an exam if you forget grammar and rely on back-tapping WiFi?"
Everyone broke into laughter. Darakhsha nearly choked on her own breath, holding her stomach. "Oh my god, stop! I can't—"
Between giggles, she looked at Izhaan and asked slyly, "By the way… how many answers did you give to that 8th class girl?"
Izhaan blinked. A moment of pause.
Caught off guard.
Wait… she noticed? She was watching me?
He tried to play it cool but scratched the back of his head, awkwardly chuckling. "Who, Supriya?"
Darakhsha raised an eyebrow, her tone rising teasingly, "Supriya?!"
Izhaan quickly backtracked, "No, no—I mean, that's her name! She just had trouble with some grammar questions, so I helped her out a little, that's all."
Darakhsha gave a soft "Hmm," not looking at him, just casually nodding. "Oh…"
Akshat, clueless as ever, interrupted the moment, "So... anyone else thought the essay topic was a trap?"
But Izhaan? He was still thinking about that look Darakhsha gave when she said Supriya's name. And Darakhsha? She was already scribbling mental notes for tonight's diary entry.
The final exam—the dreaded Hindi paper—was over. Pencils were dropped, backs stretched, and exhausted sighs filled the corridors. As students trickled out of the classrooms, their faces said it all: some relieved, some grumbling, and some simply too drained to feel anything.
But amidst it all, in the middle of the school ground near the giant neem tree, stood four students—backpacks lazily slung on shoulders, shirts slightly wrinkled, hair unkempt from the stress of the last eighteen days. They were grinning, teasing, and poking each other like they hadn't just survived a war.
"Bro, I swear my hand is going to fall off," Akshat groaned, flinging his bag down on the grass and stretching his arm dramatically.
"I think it's your brain that's fallen off," Izhaan muttered with a half-smirk, dusting his shirt and adjusting the sleeves.
Darakhsha chuckled softly, but before she could speak, Kashish groaned louder than Akshat, her voice full of theatrical distress. "I left like—so many grammar questions blank today! Like... who even puts synonyms of 'dharohar' and 'jeevan mulya' in the same set?"
Izhaan glanced sideways at her. "You mean the same grammar questions you said were 'child's play' before the exam?"
Kashish rolled her eyes. "Ugh, don't quote my past self. She was delusional."
Darakhsha giggled and added teasingly, "You literally said, 'Grammar? I could do that in my sleep.' Turns out you did... sleep on those parts."
Kashish whined. "This is bullying."
"Technically it's roasting," said Akshat, leaning back against the tree with mock wisdom. "Bullying would be if we added memes to the group chat now."
Izhaan narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me ideas."
Everyone laughed again.
Then Akshat's face brightened up, and with renewed energy, he clasped his hands together like he had just discovered fire. "Guys. Pizza party. Round three. Let's do it."
Izhaan looked at him sideways. "Only if you're paying."
Akshat puffed his chest dramatically and pulled out his wallet, opening it like a magician revealing a secret. Inside it was… a single 10-rupee coin and a faded train ticket from last month.
"I can buy one ketchup packet," he said solemnly, like it was an offer of peace.
There was a pause. Then all three of them—Darakhsha, Kashish, and Izhaan—burst into laughter so hard that even a teacher passing by gave them a sideways glance.
As their laughter faded, they remained in their small circle, shoulders closer than ever, not because they had to be—but because the exams, the stress, the endless tuition sessions, and the daily dose of drama had made them a unit.
Izhaan looked up at the sky, then down at the small grass patch under his shoes. "You know," he said quietly, brushing dust off his palms, "it actually doesn't feel real that exams are over."
Kashish nodded, "Feels illegal to breathe freely now."
"I feel like I'll wake up tomorrow and find out it's still the first day of English grammar," Akshat groaned.
Everyone winced.
"That paper really did start the trauma arc," Izhaan muttered.
A memory flashed in all their minds.
Flashback to Maths Paper (Day 3)
Akshat had leaned forward, slipped a crumpled paper to Izhaan under the desk with a note scrawled in panic:
"Bro. Pythagoras or Pythagoneese???"
Izhaan had stared at the paper. Blinked. And slowly, dramatically, brought his hand to his forehead in a silent facepalm.
Darakhsha, from the adjacent bench, had barely suppressed her laugh when she saw his expression.
Back in the present, Akshat added, "You never actually told me the right answer, you know."
"Yeah, because you don't apply the Pythagorean Theorem in grammar, genius."
"...Oh."
Kashish patted Akshat's head. "There, there. We'll get you a science tutor next."
They all laughed again.
Darakhsha quietly glanced at Izhaan. He was looking relaxed, even happy. The way his arms were folded, the way his shoulders dropped just a little—it was as if a weight had been taken off.
She thought about all those moments from the past few days...
Flashbacks from Exam Days
In the Biology paper, Supriya had again turned around, whispering timidly, "Bhaiya, this part... is it respiration or fermentation?"
Izhaan had leaned slightly and whispered the answer. Darakhsha, finishing her diagram, had glanced briefly in that direction, then turned away with her lips pressed thin and her hand writing faster than necessary.
In the Physics exam, the girl from 11th beside Izhaan had joked quietly when she saw another complicated question: "Newton must be haunting the people who make these papers."
Izhaan had chuckled, replying, "He's probably watching us now, laughing at our misery."
Darakhsha had heard. She sighed deeply. Again.
And yet... in her diary that night, she had scribbled between her pages:
"Why do I feel weird whenever I see him talk to someone else? It's not like I... Ugh. I don't even know."
Now, as they all stood in a circle in the soft orange glow of the late afternoon, she looked around at her squad—Akshat being chaotic, Kashish spinning a bottle cap with her foot, and Izhaan laughing softly at something on his phone.
They weren't perfect.
They weren't sorted.
But they were real.
And that was enough.
Akshat interrupted the moment. "Okay but for real—if none of us are paying, who is paying for the pizza?"
Izhaan sighed. "Let me guess. I'm the designated sponsor again?"
"Bro, you're the eldest mentally," Akshat offered.
Darakhsha smirked, "And the most responsible."
Kashish added, "And the only one with an actual UPI account."
Izhaan rolled his eyes but pulled out his phone. "Fine. I'm ordering. But this is the last time."
They all laughed again, even louder.
And as the sun began to dip behind the tall school walls, casting long golden shadows over the ground, the four of them stood there—tired, hungry, and glowing with something invisible but powerful.
Friendship.
No matter the subjects.
No matter the chits.
No matter the silent glances or late-night diary scribbles.
They had made it through.
Together.