Rhea's Pov
I had understood one universal truth of school life:
The front bench doesn't mean smart.
It means audible.
They sat there like unpaid brand ambassadors of discipline—backs straight, pens ready, nodding aggressively at every sentence the teacher spoke. Half of them nodded even when nothing was said. Commitment like that deserves an award.
Meanwhile, the last row?
We were relaxed. Observant. Dangerous.
"Watch this," Samar whispered, leaning back so far I was genuinely concerned about gravity.
Mrs. Chatterjee turned to the board. "Now, if we consider the definition—"
A girl in the front bench immediately raised her hand.
"Yes, Aditi?" the teacher asked, already smiling.
Aditi cleared her throat. "Ma'am, is this… important for exams?"
Of course it was Aditi. There is always an Aditi.
Mrs. Chatterjee blinked. "Yes. Everything is important."
Aditi nodded intensely and started underlining the date.
I leaned toward Samar. "She underlined the wrong thing."
Samar smirked. "She underlines emotions too."
Kabir didn't even look up. "She'll ask for notes later."
Neil removed one earphone. "She'll ask you for notes."
I sighed. "I hate that you're right."
Mrs. Chatterjee continued, writing a definition so long it deserved its own biography.
"Can anyone explain this in their own words?" she asked.
Front bench silence.
Middle bench panic.
Last bench peace.
Finally, a boy in the front raised his hand. "Ma'am, it means… um… when something is… related?"
The teacher stared at him.
He panicked harder. "Like… related deeply."
I whispered, "Wow. So poetic."
Samar added, "Shakespeare would be proud."
Kabir muttered, "This is why we're doomed as a generation."
One of the front bench boys turned around and shot us a look.
"Some people wouldn't understand," he said loudly. "They don't take studies seriously."
Ah. There it was.
I smiled sweetly. "True."
He smirked. "At least you're honest."
I tilted my head. "I meant you. You memorise words. We understand them."
Dead silence.
Neil coughed. "Ouch."
Kabir finally looked up, eyes sharp. "Also, turning around during class is against the rules."
The boy turned back, offended and defeated.
Samar leaned toward me. "I think I'm in love."
"Get in line," I said.
Mrs. Chatterjee suddenly called out, "Rhea."
I froze.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Explain the definition."
The front bench smiled. The gotcha smile.
I stood up slowly, mentally apologising to my future.
"Well," I began, "the definition looks scary, but it's actually simple. It just means—"
I explained. Clean. Clear. No unnecessary English Olympics.
When I finished, the room was quiet.
Mrs. Chatterjee nodded. "Good. Sit."
Front bench faces fell like stock prices.
Samar whispered, "You just committed academic violence."
Neil added, "They'll never recover."
Kabir smiled.
Actual. Smile.
I sat down, heart racing, pretending I wasn't enjoying this.
Lunch bell rang.
Front benchers rushed out discussing syllabus completion.
We stayed seated.
"Why are they like that?" I asked.
Samar shrugged. "They think seriousness equals intelligence."
Neil stretched. "Meanwhile, we think intelligence equals survival."
Kabir closed his notebook. "And silence."
I looked at the three of them—relaxed, underestimated, unbothered.
The last row wasn't lazy.
It was watching.
And for the first time that day, I thought—
Let them underestimate us.
We'd enjoy the view.