Time for punishment
The last bell echoed through the classroom, and just like that, discipline gave way to freedom.
Chairs shifted, bags zipped, and conversations that had been held back for an hour finally broke loose. The air changed instantly—lighter, louder, alive.
Radhika leaned back slightly, stretching her arms with a soft groan.
"Finally," she muttered. "Another five minutes and I would've stopped pretending to listen."
"You were pretending?" her friend raised an eyebrow, packing her notebook.
Radhika shot her a look. "Excuse me, I was mentally present."
"Mentally present doesn't count when your notebook is empty," another one added, peeking over.
Radhika pulled it back quickly. "It's called minimalist note-taking. Very advanced technique."
"Very useless technique," came the reply.
The group burst into laughter as they walked out into the corridor, merging into the crowd of students heading toward the canteen.
"Canteen?" one of them suggested.
Radhika didn't even think twice. "Obviously. After that lecture, I need food more than knowledge."
"Your priorities are concerning," her friend said dryly.
"Survival first," Radhika shrugged. "Everything else later."
They had barely taken a few steps when a voice called out from behind.
"Radhika!"
She turned.
A classmate approached, slightly out of breath. "Sir is calling you."
The smile on her face faded just a little.
"Which sir?" she asked, though her tone already carried hesitation.
The boy gave a small, almost sympathetic look. "Mr. Arvind."
Silence.
Then—
"Oh no," one of her friends whispered.
"Not him," another groaned.
Radhika closed her eyes for a brief second, inhaling slowly.
"Great," she murmured. "That's exactly how I wanted my day to go."
"Why is he calling you?" someone asked.
Radhika gave them a look. "Take a wild guess."
"Late entry?"
"Again?"
"Rahi, you're collecting warnings like attendance shortages."
"I was barely late," Radhika defended.
"Ten minutes is not 'barely,'" her friend shot back.
"Okay, maybe slightly more than barely," she admitted. "But still, it's not like I skipped the class."
"With him, it doesn't matter," another friend said. "He notices everything. Even the things you think he didn't see."
"And remembers it," someone added. "Forever."
Radhika exhaled slowly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.
"You guys go," she said. "I'll come after… whatever this is."
"That bad?" one of them asked.
Radhika gave a faint smile. "Let's just say he doesn't call students for appreciation."
A small silence followed.
"Do you want us to come?" a friend offered.
Radhika shook her head immediately. "No. That'll just make it worse. He'll think I've brought a support team."
"That's true," someone nodded. "And then he'll give a lecture on group indiscipline."
Despite herself, Radhika let out a soft laugh.
"Exactly."
One of her friends stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Just don't argue with him today."
Radhika raised an eyebrow. "I don't argue."
All of them stared at her.
She held the expression for a moment… then sighed.
"Okay, fine. I question things."
"That's worse," another one said instantly. "He doesn't like questions."
Radhika's smile softened, but this time it didn't fully reach her eyes.
"Noted," she said quietly.
She turned away from them, walking toward the opposite corridor.
"Pray for me," she added lightly.
"Always," came the dramatic reply. "Especially for your survival."
"Shut up," she called back, a small smile returning for a moment.
But as the noise of her friends faded behind her, so did that smile.
The corridor ahead was quieter.
More serious.
Each step felt slower now, heavier—not because she was afraid, but because she knew this wasn't going to be a simple warning.
Mr. Arvind wasn't like the others.
He didn't raise his voice unnecessarily.
He didn't repeat himself.
And he never called a student without a reason.
Radhika's grip tightened slightly on her bag.
Late again.
Called again.
But something about this felt… different.
Her mind replayed the morning—the unfinished work on her laptop, the screen she had quickly changed when her mother walked in, the deadline she hadn't mentioned to anyone.
A small crease formed between her brows.
It's just about being late, she told herself.
But the thought didn't settle.
As she reached the faculty corridor, the atmosphere shifted completely. Conversations were lower, footsteps more measured, doors closed with quiet precision.
She stopped in front of one of them.
Mr. Arvind's cabin.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Her heartbeat wasn't racing—but it was aware.
Aware that this wasn't routine.
Aware that something was about to shift.
Radhika raised her hand slowly toward the door.
And paused—
just before the knock.