By Meera
Niyati fidgeted with the piece of paper in her hands as she gazed out of the window. Summer had come early this year, and every one of the forty-five students in 10-E could feel the sweat dripping down their backs as they sat stiff and quiet, imprisoned by Mrs. Sethi’s expectation of “complete discipline”-utter silence with everyone’s eyes, if not their attention, on her and the dusty, chalk-smeared board. Little did Mrs. Sethi know, there was a pressing matter in Niyati’s life that require her full attention, and a long discourse on India’s First War of Independence was not it.
Sitting on the bench ahead of hers’, back straight, feet firmly planted on the ground and dreamy brown eyes fixed strongly on the board was Nikhil Mukherjee. Niyati felt that she could spend a lifetime staring at him, and still not be able to place her finger on the exact thing that made him so-well, Nikhil-though the premise itself was very welcome. Maybe it was the way he spoke to his classmates-with warmth and helpfulness emanating from every word that left his mouth. Maybe it was the way he swung his bat in a faultless arc in P.T., though he never boasted or showed off, much unlike the other boys. Maybe it lay in his intellect-he was second in class after all, or simply in his smile-which made butterflies erupt from cocoons she didn’t know lay hidden in her stomach.
She’d been scared to tell him that she thought any of this, because as everybody knew- feelings when revealed to a friend, often lead to an unbreachable chasm of awkwardness between the two-as one of the two parties often do not share the sentiment. Though “friend” was a title she found painfully limiting, it allowed her to spend time with the subject of her admiration and she didn’t want to give that up. But recently, she’d come to the conclusion that nothing was more painful than feelings such as hers, held prisoner inside her chest, wanting nothing more than unfettered release into the world. She’d realised that these thoughts were akin to those of naive maidens in Victorian novels, but they were out of her control. The consequences would surely be faced, but they would be faced later.
She sneaked another peak at him. The sunlight from the window fell almost ethereally onto his face, lending a gentle sheen to the glass of his spectacles. Boys with glasses weren’t often considered attractive by girls-they looked too nerdy and stuck-up apparently. This was something she’d agreed with the other girls on, but that was before she’d set eyes on-
“Niyati!” Mrs. Sethi screeched in her hoarse, chicken-like voice.
Niyati, although startled, stood-up with the speed of a supersonic jet-as Indian children are trained to, at the mention of their name by a teacher. “Y-Yes ma’am?”
“Tell me what I just said.”
This was a favourite game of the teachers’-designed to detect whether or not the student under suspicion had been paying attention to each and every word for the last ten to fifteen seconds. A loss in this game could get you a stern word and quick relief or a ticket to the headmasters’ office-depending on the current mood of your questioner. Everyone knew that the prior wasn’t an option in Mrs. Sethi’s class-but they also knew that Niyati wasn’t one to lose.
“Ma’am you said- “The Religious Disabilities Act of 1850 changed the Hindu Law of Property. It enabled a convert from Hinduism to other religions to inherit the property of his father. The Hindus regarded this as an incentive to give up one’s religious faith.” And, ma’am, after that you called my name.” Niyati recited, in a flat, emotionless monotone. She knew she shouldn’t have added that last part, but she couldn’t help herself. Paying attention while not really paying attention was a useful skill she’d picked up during the course of her crush on Nikhil.
“Hmph,” muttered Mrs. Sethi, “If you’re paying attention-act like it. Keep your eyes on the board. Don’t let your first rank get to your hea-”
TING TING TING TING TING TING TING TING TING.
Before the last note resounded, half the students of 10-E were already outside the classroom. A sigh of relief reverberated through the heart of each child Thank god, break time. But Niyati had no time to waste on relief-if everything was going according to plan-the mission had already commenced. As was typical, Nikhil and his best friend Farhaan had left the class right after the bell and, if the sun still rose in the east, were on their way to the old banyan tree planted on school grounds. Confessing romantic feelings was hard, but the one thing that was harder was doing it away from the eyes of the teachers- who had a special propensity for sniffing out even a hint of romance- and putting an end to it by informing parents. Everyone knows, if there’s one group of people who hate teenage romance more than Indian schoolteachers-it's Indian parents. Niyati and her benchmate Roopa rushed down the stairs, tiffins in hand.
Down on the school ground, an exchange was being made in complete secrecy. A girl in a large school hoodie approached a boy standing near the basketball hoop. “Is the deal still in place?” she asked. “As long as you pay, up front.” he replied.
“Okay, okay.” The girl drew something out from the pocket of her hoodie and handed it to him. “Five, as promised.”
Enclosed within her fist lay a substance so epic, so magical, that it was banned completely in every school in the nation, with teachers frantic to find the guilty owner at the very mention of it.
Bubblegum.
“Alright then. The plan is a go.”
The girl watched from a distance as the boy walked up to Farhaan and gave him a small gesture, which went unnoticed by Nikhil. Right about now he’d be claiming that Mrs. Sharma is calling him to the staff room, the girl rehearses. And now...and as if on cue, Niyati and Roopa emerged. Farhaan left with the bubblegum boy and Niyati approached Nikhil as quickly as she could-without any of it looking suspicious, before he could find another one of his friends to sit with him. Roopa joined the girl at the basketball hoop and they high-fived each other, before making their way to the canteen.
“Nikhil-hi!” Niyati said, trying to feign her surprise while managing not to choke on the air entering her dry and paper-like throat.
“Hi,” he replied, with one of his signature smiles, his left eyebrow going slightly upwards. “Aren’t you usually with the girls at the canteen in break?”
“Um, yes, but today I actually have something I need to talk to you about before I head there.” Niyati fidgeted with the paper in her hands. It would be so much better if she could just tell him out loud.
“Oh, is it about the drama club? I already contacte-”
“No, no, it isn’t about that.”
“Oh, ok then what is it about?” He was turning towards her right now, looking slightly concerned. He was always worried about others, considerate as a person could be. Another thing she admired about him. If only she could tell him that.
She shifted in her place on the edge of the platform where the tree grew. She couldn’t open her mouth-she felt she’d mess up the words, or her voice would crack, or she’d say his name wrong, or her name wrong, or one of the bazillion other things that could go wrong. Murphy’s Law.
So, she handed him the little piece of paper she’d scrawled on at the start of Mrs. Sethi’s class. She knew herself well, and she knew that she might not ever come around to saying it. So, she’d written it down in seven words, although four were rather useless. She wouldn’t dare use the word “love”, for even she knew that the feelings that arose in school were not as strong as those that can be called by that name. “Like” would do very well. I actually kind of maybe like you
For a girl who scored the highest in English, that was an insult of a love note to write, but it gave her a tiny shield to be held up. The extra words told him that this was a confession akin to a suggestion-if he didn’t feel the same way, those extra words pleaded that the feelings weren’t that serious or strong anyway, that they could be put aside in the pursuit of friendship.
Nikhil unfolded the note painstakingly slowly. Niyati’s eyes bounced from the note to him to the note to him, so as to not put much pressure on him or make him feel creeped out. It was too late to go back now, and she felt weirdly at peace, now that the note had been delivered. Whatever came next was up to him, not her.
Nikhil’s eyes moved quickly across the paper, he read it in two seconds, though it felt like two hours to Niyati’s suspense-filled mind. She had already anticipated all possible outcomes, but she felt herself going over them again, stalling over the one where he rejects her-so as to keep her hopes as low as the ground.
“You’re serious?” Nikhil asked slowly, as he looked at her-as if to find a tell, revealing that this was all a joke.
The thought flashed across her mind I could convince him that it is-I don’t have to go through with this. But with all the effort and overthinking that it took to get here in the first place-she didn’t want to.
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh.”
He turned back to face the school building, swinging his long legs under him. She looked at him quickly then looked back. Oh isn’t good, is it? She fidgeted, unable to keep her nerves under control. Finally, after about ten seconds, she couldn’t be patient anymore.
“ ‘Oh’ is a very neutral response-which I think by default means it’s an unfavourable response. See, I already kind of knew you’d say no but I just had to get it off my chest, so I did end up telling you. This doesn’t have to affect our friendship, though I’d understand if you didn’t want to stay friends any-”
“We’ll still have to ace boards.”
Niyati blinked. She turned to face him. His eyes swirled with luminescence-she couldn’t detect any emotion in particular-but his lips gave him away, carved slightly upwards at the ends. “What?”
“We can’t end up like all those couples the teachers warn us about-we have goals to achieve.”
“Wait, does this mean that-”
“I like you too.”
Niyati sat there stunned. The world is made of cotton candy and flowers and the sunlight is speckled with glitter. Kittens frolick in fields of rainbows and she was going to fly up into the sky like a five-foot three inches helium balloon. She looked at him. She was going to look away, but she was hit by the realisation that she didn’t have to- there was nothing left to hide.
“What?” he asked, as he ran his hand through his hair, as if to smooth over any unruly locks which might cause her line of sight to be so unmoving. “You like me.” she repeated.
“That’s what I just said.”
“No, no. You like me.”
He laughed, a sound she felt in her stomach-setting off butterflies. Firecrackers were exploding in her brain as if it was the night of Diwali. None of anything made sense, and yet everything felt right. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing much. You’re just an untouchable prince of sorts in my brain and none of this feels real at the moment. Are you completely sure? Because Rani from 10-C said she liked you and-”
“Are you trying to get me to change my mind?” he asked, shaking his head.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. This took a lot of planning, but I never actually thought this would happen.”
“This being the thing that you wanted to happen when you decided to do this?” he laughed, looking at her with an expression that managed to be amused, confused and cute simultaneously. “Also, what do you mean by ‘a lot of planning’?”
She turned back to the school building, observing each gap between consecutive bricks, steel gray cement wedged in between. She couldn’t get her brain to believe it, but her heart was already rejoicing, sending emotions up.
“I might have set you up by bribing Farhaan.”
“Knew it.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. That Brutus.”
They sat there under the shade of the banyan tree breathing in the air of a world that, in that moment, was on their side. She opened her tiffin and handed him a Parle G, which he accepted gratefully. She wanted to ask him a bunch of questions- since when, why didn’t he tell her-but they had time for that later-that was the best part. The silence wasn’t unforgiving or awkward, as silences usually are, but one filled with the knowledge and comfort of reciprocated feelings-like a blanket around them. The bell rang a few painfully short minutes later, calling them back to class.
By Meera
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