Rhea's Pov
By the time I found my classroom, the good seats were already taken.
You know the type—front bench students sitting straight like posture is a personality trait. Middle rows pretending they didn't care while secretly caring a lot. And then there was the last row.
Empty. Judging. Waiting.
I stood there for exactly three seconds before reality slapped me. If I sat in the front, I'd look desperate. If I sat in the middle, I'd look unsure. So naturally, I chose the only option that screamed I absolutely meant to do this.
The last row.
I dropped my bag with confidence I did not possess and leaned back like I owned the place. Inside, my brain was screaming.
Great start, Rhea. First day. Already a disappointment.
"New here?" someone asked.
I turned.
The boy next to me was already half-falling off his chair, tie loose, grin illegal in an academic environment.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked.
"Only to trained professionals," he said. "I'm Samar. Resident backbencher. Future problem."
"Impressive résumé," I said. "I'm Rhea. Currently questioning my life choices."
He laughed like we were old friends. I didn't trust him.
On my other side, a boy quietly sat down and opened his notebook.
No greeting. No eye contact. Just… writing.
"Let me guess," I whispered to Samar. "Serial killer or topper?"
Samar leaned in. "Both. Kabir. Don't let the silence fool you."
Kabir didn't look up. "You talk too much."
"And yet," Samar sighed, "people still love me."
I was enjoying this way more than I should have.
Then came chaos in human form.
A chair scraped loudly, someone plopped into the far corner, earphones already in place like the classroom didn't deserve his attention.
"Attendance over?" he asked lazily.
"Barely started," Samar said.
"Perfect," the boy replied. "First impressions are overrated. I'm Neil."
Kabir glanced at him. "You're late."
Neil smiled. "I'm consistent."
I exhaled through my nose.
So this is my life now.
Mrs. Chatterjee entered like a warning.
Her eyes scanned the room—approval at the front benches, tolerance in the middle.
Then us.
Ah yes. The problem area.
"Some students," she said pointedly, "will need to work harder this year to meet expectations."
I looked around.
Samar was bored.
Kabir was calm.
Neil was mentally elsewhere.
And me?
Already personally offended.
Samar raised his hand. I braced myself.
"Yes?" she asked sharply.
"Ma'am," he said, smiling sweetly, "what if expectations are the problem?"
Silence.
I bit my lip so hard I almost tasted blood.
"Sit down," she snapped.
He did, whispering, "Worth it."
Kabir leaned back. "You enjoy trouble."
Samar shrugged. "Someone has to keep life interesting."
Neil removed an earphone. "Are we a group now, or is this temporary suffering?"
I surprised myself by answering. "Depends. Do you plan on stealing my notes?"
Kabir finally looked at me. "You take notes?"
"Unfortunately," I said. "Bad habit."
Something unspoken passed between us.
Not friendship.
Not loyalty.
Just recognition.
When the bell rang, no one moved immediately.
"Canteen," Samar announced.
"I'm in," Neil said.
Kabir hesitated. "Five minutes."
They all looked at me.
I should've said no.
Should've escaped while I could.
Instead, I sighed. "Fine. But if this ruins my academic career, I'm blaming all of you."
Samar grinned. "Relax. We sit at the last row. Expectations are already low."
And weirdly?
That made me smile.
Because maybe—just maybe—being underestimated wasn't the worst place to start.