I waited until the final bell rang.
Junaid was packing his things, surrounded by his fake friends and louder-than-life laugh.
I walked past his desk and whispered:
> "Hope the girl in that video's doing okay."
He froze.
It was quiet. Too quiet for a classroom that just ended.
> "No way… he knows. He actually knows."
He followed me out, almost tripping over his chair.
"Hey," he said, pretending to be casual. "What did you mean earlier?"
I turned, looked him dead in the eye.
"I mean your secrets are getting heavy. Maybe you should lighten the load."
He blinked. "I don't know what you're talking abou—"
> "Does he have the video? Who told him? I swear I locked that folder—"
I cut him off.
"Relax. I'm not your enemy. I'm a businessman."
He stared. "What do you want?"
I smiled. That same smile he'd worn when he called me Discount Boy.
---
Later that day, I was sitting in the canteen with two chicken rolls and a cold drink — more than I'd eaten in three days.
Paid for by Junaid. Or rather, by his guilt and fear.
He didn't ask many questions.
He just paid.
3,000 taka around 30 dollars in cash.
For my silence.
---
Lesson 1: Secrets are more valuable than test answers.
Lesson 2: People with clean faces have dirty minds.
Lesson 3: I didn't need muscles. I needed leverage.
---
The next day, I tried again.
This time with a junior named Fahim, who was always smiling and polite… except:
> "If that teacher reports me again, I'll set her bike on fire."
Interesting.
So many thoughts. So much darkness.
I didn't have to dig for dirt. I was surrounded by it.
And now I could see all of it.
---
The whispers didn't stop. I didn't want them to.
Every voice behind a fake smile was money waiting to be printed.
And if the world ran on lies…
Then I would be its most honest thief.
---
[To Be Continued…]