Time went by, quietly and wonderfully.
Weeks became months, and months became weeks — and before we knew it, half a year had passed since the day Krishanu had confessed.
He and Jaanvi were happier than ever.
They still studied together, but now their laughter echoed in each nook of the lane. Their calls lingered till late nights, full of half jokes and half fantasies.
And yet, somehow, neither of them lost track.
Their scores didn't suffer, their focus didn't blur. It was odd — love didn't make them sloppy, it made them better.
Every time I saw them together, I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't common — two young people so in love, yet so level between affection and drive.
---
Next came the unit tests.
Everyone freaked out, as always. Everyone except those two.
They studied together, assisted one another, encouraged one another.
When the results arrived, they both scored top of the class.
Krishanu's grades were still out of this world, Jaanvi's not far behind.
It was like their friendship was making both of them more sharp, stronger.
We were pleased for them — honestly.
Teachers even began to notice. "Looks like this friendship is agreeing with you, Krishanu," one remarked with a wry smile.
He just shrugged, feigning not to blush.
---
And then came the midterms.
The air shifted once more — longer hours, weightier books, late-night phone calls that turned into study sessions.
And as always, Krishanu stunned us.
In math, he was invincible — first in the whole grade.
In science, I was able to beat him out by a hair's breadth.
It became our inside joke:
"I'll take physics," he'd tell me.
"Then I'll take chemistry," I'd shoot back.
Our competition was cordial, but intense — the kind that drove both of us upward.
---
Krishanu studied in a weird way.
If it was science or math, he did not merely memorize formulas — he got them.
He'd ask, "But why does it work like that?"
And then he'd drill into the logic until it was crystal clear.
For history or civics, he did not even study hard. He'd merely glance through the textbook for a few minutes and remember everything.
It was as if watching somebody read with their eyes and put it away in their head like a picture.
Occasionally I'd tease, "You sure you're not a robot in biology class?"
He'd smile, "If I were, I'd still outscore you on science."
Our competition became so fierce that at classroom quizzes, the teacher had to seat us in different groups.
"Otherwise," she said, "nobody else would get a turn to respond."
We giggled, but those little things — those little, innocent competitions — were the highlights of our school days.
---
Next came midterm results.
Krishanu repeated at the top in mathematics, and I was second.
In science, the positions were reversed — I was top, and he second.
We high-fived like a champion, and the class applauded.
It was one of those rare occasions when everything seemed to be right — friendship, love, studies, all harmonious.
The golden phase of our lives.
---
But I recall that day well — the day after the results were announced.
The sun was gentle that morning, shining through the class windows as we settled in. Everyone was still abuzz with post-exam excitement.
Krishanu was sitting next to me, humming softly, likely looking forward to meeting Jaanvi afterwards.
I looked at my notebook for a bit before speaking softly,
"Hey, I need to say something."
He stared up. "What happened?"
I paused for a moment. Then, with a sigh, I spoke.
"Our family bought a new house and it's renovation is almost complete . We're going to be transferring soon. Likely before the next session."
He went still.
"What?"
"Yep," I said, pretending to smile. "Same town. New school. Likely next term."
For a few seconds, he didn't respond. Just sat there, eyes far away, trying to wrap his head around it.
Then he grunted, "You're serious?"
I nodded.
He leaned back, gazing at the ceiling.
"That's… unexpected," he whispered.
We didn't speak much after that. The silence wasn't uncomfortable — just heavy, with things we both didn't know how to say.
He smiled afterwards, trying to be normal. "Well, we'll still keep in touch, right?"
"Of course," I replied. "Always."
But inside, we both knew — things were going to change.
---
That was when I began to feel it — the subtle change in the atmosphere surrounding Krishanu's existence.
He was smiling still, still content with Jaanvi, still the same old whiz kid who could fix anything his team threw at him.
But a voice within me warned that this tranquility wouldn't last forever.
That one day or another, the plot would take a turn we hadn't anticipated.
---
To be continued.