The silence that followed was… unreal.
Four boys lay on the classroom floor, blood splattered across the tiles, and in the middle stood Krishanu — fists red, breathing heavy, eyes sharp as glass. His uniform was torn, knuckles trembling, a thin cut running across his cheek. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
No one spoke. Not a single whisper.
Then, from outside, the noise started. Students from other sections pressed against the doorframe, gasping, trying to peek in.
"Is that blood?" someone muttered.
The noise grew louder until—
"WHAT'S GOING ON HERE!?"
Two teachers burst in, pushing through the crowd. They froze when they saw the scene — four boys on the ground, one standing above them.
It looked like a battlefield.
It *was* a battlefield.
Within minutes, more teachers arrived. "Get them to the infirmary, NOW!" one shouted. They rushed all five of us out — me, Krishanu, and the others. I caught one last glimpse of the class before the door closed… everyone just staring, wide-eyed, terrified.
---
In the infirmary, the nurse panicked. "Who did this?"
No one answered.
Krishanu sat silently beside me, eyes fixed on his bruised hands.
I could feel the anger still radiating off him — but not the wild kind. It was cold. Controlled. Like a storm waiting to decide whether it should destroy or pass.
After we were treated, we were escorted to the principal's office.
The air there felt heavy — like judgment itself had taken a seat across from us.
The principal looked at all of us, expression unreadable.
"Explain," he said simply.
The four of them — Roshan and his gang — started blaming Krishanu immediately.
"He hit first!"
"He went crazy!"
"He attacked us for no reason!"
The principal frowned. "That's not what I heard."
One of our teachers, who'd stayed behind to question the class, stepped forward.
"Sir, the students said it was Roshan who hit Mayank first. The others joined in. Krishanu stepped in to defend him."
The silence that followed felt endless.
I glanced at Krishanu — he didn't say a word.
No defense, no apology. Just calm breathing.
The principal sighed, rubbing his forehead. "All of you… bring your parents tomorrow morning. We'll decide the punishment after that."
Even Roshan, usually smirking, looked nervous now.
---
Later, back in class, everyone looked at Krishanu like he was someone else entirely.
He didn't look at anyone — just stared out the window. I finally walked up to him.
"Hey…" My voice cracked a little.
He turned his head slightly, waiting.
"I—I'm sorry," I said. "This… all of this happened because of me."
He blinked, then smiled faintly — a tired, crooked smile.
"It's not your fault," he said softly. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just couldn't watch anymore."
Before I could reply, the classroom door slammed open. Roshan stood there — face bandaged, eyes burning.
"You think this is over?" His voice shook. "My brother will deal with you. After school. Outside the gate."
Everyone froze. Even the teacher entering the room didn't dare stop him.
Krishanu didn't move, didn't speak. He just looked at Roshan — calm, steady — and said quietly,
"Tell him I'll be there."
---
After the fifth period, Krishanu walked out alone.
I followed him halfway down the corridor but stopped when I saw where he was heading — the staircase to the senior block.
He climbed to the third floor and stepped into the 11th-grade classroom. The seniors looked up as he entered. I could barely hear his voice from where I stood.
He talked to one of them — a tall guy from his bus, someone I'd seen chatting with him before. The seniors exchanged glances, then nodded.
Later, in the bus, he told me what happened.
"They said not to worry," he said, leaning back against the window. "They'll handle it if things get bad."
There was no fear in his voice. Just certainty.
---
When the last bell rang, the tension in the air was almost visible.
As we walked toward the gate, I could already see them — Roshan, his older brother, and a group of ten students from higher classes waiting outside.
But Krishanu wasn't alone either.
Two 11th graders. Three 12th graders. A couple of 9th and 10th graders — his bus seniors, standing behind him, arms crossed, ready.
The road outside the school was split into two sides — one filled with anger, the other with quiet confidence.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
Krishanu stepped forward, hands in his pockets, that faint smirk on his face again.
For a moment, his eyes met Roshan's brother's — and I swear, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath.
To be continued.