So imagine Aman’s surprise when the substitute teacher addressed him directly. Of course, he wasn’t going to answer. Other than the occasional ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘yes, sir’, Aman’s voice was scarcely heard by others. So if he was going to speak—if there was no other way out of it—then it had to be done early.

Here goes nothing, loser. He readied himself to speak. But time had already run out. It no longer mattered that he had indeed read the chapters last night and knew the answer to the teacher’s question. He knew that even if he tried to speak, he wouldn’t get past the dryness in his throat. So instead, like always, he offered his classmates a callous smirk, hoping they would mistake it for indifference.

The boy sitting right in front of Aman turned around and snapped his fingers in Aman’s face. Then, deftly manoeuvring his hands so that the teacher couldn’t see, he pulled out a device from his pocket and clicked on its screen. Sneers formed on all the faces looking at Aman as he recognized the tune of ‘Lonely’ by Akon.

That moment shook him out of the belief that he had recovered from the trauma of elementary school. He had been a fool to think that the strategic planning and distancing of so many years had washed away all the stains of the past and insulated him in his cocoon. Aman felt undone. Broken. That old feeling came rushing back into his veins, and he felt like he was back at his desk in classroom 2B—instead of 12B—when it had all started.

He felt heat travel up from his belly and his eyes well up with tears. But he would not, could not, give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He tilted his head back and blinked the tears away.

‘Is that a phone?!’ the teacher barked.

Aman bit his lip, gathered whatever belongings he could from his desk and stood up. Everything seemed to be happening at lightning speed, and yet it felt as if time stood still. The atmosphere in the room was heavy with expectation—everyone was waiting to see what he would do next. He felt all eyes on him. When he finally stepped into the corridor, he heard the entire class burst into laughter.

Where’s Prakash when you need him? Clutching his bag, Aman walked hurriedly to the administrator’s office, where he was told that Prakash hadn’t come to school in the last two days.

I don’t care; I will go to him.

Since he had no idea where Prakash lived, Aman pretended he had an urgent assignment to hand-deliver to him. The office staff disclosed his address.

Prakash was the only person in school with whom Aman exchanged words that didn’t involve insults. But it wasn’t as if he was a friend. It was just fate, or more likely the fact that no one could stand Prakash’s company either—the ill-mannered individual that he was—which meant they were often grouped together for projects.