Rhea's pov
The class was already loud when he walked in.
Of course it was.
Someone was arguing about attendance. Someone else was laughing too hard. Samar was balancing his chair dangerously. Neel was stealing a pen he absolutely didn't need. Kabir was reading, detached from the noise like always.
And then the door opened.
The teacher entered first, expression tired.
"A new student," she announced. "Joined late. Don't make it difficult."
That sentence alone sealed his fate.
He stepped in after her—tall, calm, observant. Not nervous, not overconfident either. His eyes scanned the room once, quickly, like he was memorizing exits.
"Yuhan," the teacher said. "You can sit… there."
Her finger pointed to the back.
Right next to me.
Chairs scraped. Heads turned. The back benches sized him up in seconds.
Samar whispered, "Fresh victim."
Neel added, "He won't survive a week."
Yuhan walked over without reacting. Dropped his bag. Sat down.
"Hi," he said to me quietly, polite. Normal.
I nodded. "Rhea."
That was it.
The chaos resumed immediately.
Same Class. Same Madness.
Within ten minutes, Yuhan had experienced:
Samar arguing with a teacher over a "technicality"
Neel laughing at the wrong time and getting scolded
Someone from the front bench loudly answering just to prove a point
Kabir getting asked a question and answering calmly, perfectly
Yuhan leaned slightly toward me.
"Is it always like this?"
"Yes," I replied. "Worse on some days."
He smiled faintly. "Good to know."
During the lecture, he frowned at his book. Flipped pages. Hesitated.
"Do you have the notes?" he whispered.
I slid mine over without thinking.
He studied them carefully. "You write… clearly."
"Habit," I said.
Behind us, Samar stage-whispered, "Wow, new guy already getting premium service."
Neel snickered.
Yuhan ignored them. That impressed me more than anything.
Help, Slowly Given
By the next period, he was asking real questions.
Not lazy ones.
Not showing-off ones.
Actual trying to understand questions.
I explained quietly. Simplified. Drew arrows in the margin. He listened—properly listened.
"Got it," he said after a while. "Thanks."
No drama. No exaggeration.
Kabir glanced back once, noticing. Our eyes met briefly. No expression. Just awareness.
Competition Creeps In
Something else was different too.
The front benches were louder than usual.
Hands shot up faster. Answers were sharper. Someone corrected the teacher unnecessarily. Another solved on the board without being asked.
It wasn't about learning.
It was about being seen.
I felt it then—that shift.
Back benches weren't just noise anymore.
We were… competition.
Samar noticed too. "Why are they suddenly trying so hard?"
Neel smirked. "Fear."
Yuhan watched the exchange, thoughtful. "So there's… rivalry?"
I hesitated. "Not officially."
Kabir spoke without turning around.
"But it exists."
Yuhan nodded like he understood more than he said.
End of the Day
By the last bell, Yuhan had survived.
That alone was impressive.
As we packed up, he turned to me. "Thanks for helping. I didn't expect… support."
I smiled. "Back benches do that."
He looked around—the mess, the laughter, the noise, Kabir calmly zipping his bag, Samar and Neel arguing about snacks.
"I think," Yuhan said slowly, "I sat in the right place."
For the first time that day, I felt something light.
A new presence.
A new balance.
Same chaos.
Same class.
But now—with one more piece added to the storm.
Yuhan didn't even get a full day before things went wrong.
By second period, a teacher stopped mid-lecture and stared straight at our row.
"You," she said, pointing vaguely in our direction, "new student. Stand up."
Yuhan did. Calm. Respectful.
"Transferred from where?"
He answered.
Marks were asked. Previous rank mentioned. Heads turned. Front benches suddenly very alert.
"Good," the teacher said slowly. "Let's see how you adjust here."
Adjust.
That word again.
Behind me, Samar whispered, "Welcome to the hunger games."
Neel nodded gravely. "May the odds be never in your favor."
Yuhan almost laughed. Almost.
Clash #1 — Teachers
The clash came faster than expected.
During a problem-solving session, Yuhan raised his hand—not dramatically, not loud—and corrected a small step on the board.
Correctly.
The teacher paused. Blinked.
"Yes… that's another method," she said, tone cool. "But follow the taught approach."
Yuhan nodded. "Understood, ma'am."
But the damage was done.
Eyes moved back again.
"Smart," the teacher said, turning to the class. "But unnecessary deviation."
Samar muttered, "God forbid thinking."
Neel whispered, "Back benches committing crimes again."
I kicked both of them under the desk.
Front Benches Strike Back
From that moment, the front benches changed.
Hands raised faster.
Answers sharper.
Whispers louder—but directed.
Someone solved an entire question loudly, glancing back as if checking if we were watching.
Competition, unspoken but thick.
Kabir noticed. He always did.
"They're reacting," he said quietly.
Yuhan leaned toward me. "Because of me?"
"Because of all of us," I replied.
Samar cracked his knuckles dramatically. "Finally. I was bored."
Neel grinned. "Bring popcorn."
Ridiculous Backbench Chaos
Of course, we didn't handle tension maturely.
That would've been suspicious.
Samar leaned back. "If they keep raising hands like that, someone's shoulder will dislocate."
Neel whispered, "I think it's muscle memory."
Samar nodded seriously. "Tragic condition."
Teacher glare.
Silence.
Two minutes later—
Neel: "Do you think Yuhan is secretly a spy sent to observe us?"
Samar: "Obviously. Look at his handwriting."
Yuhan blinked. "What's wrong with my handwriting?"
"Too neat," Samar said. "Untrustworthy."
Kabir didn't even look up. "Focus."
Neel gasped. "He spoke. Note the time."
I buried my face in my notebook.
Misunderstanding Sparks
The tension snapped during a group activity.
Names were written on the board. Groups assigned.
Kabir. Me. Yuhan.
A pause.
"Of course," someone from the front muttered. "The usual."
The word usual felt sharp.
Yuhan noticed the looks. His jaw tightened. "If this is a problem—"
"It's not," I said quickly.
Kabir added, steady, "Work."
We did. Efficient. Clean.
Our solution was different. Better.
The teacher accepted it—reluctantly.
After class, whispers spread.
"Back benches forming groups now."
"Too confident lately."
Yuhan went quiet.
The Cracking Point
At lunch, he finally said it.
"I don't want to be the reason you get targeted."
Samar choked on his food. "Targeted? Bro, this is daily life."
Neel nodded. "You should've seen us before results."
Kabir met Yuhan's eyes. "You're not a reason. You're just here."
That settled it.
Quiet Moment (Again, Needed)
Later, while Samar and Neel argued about whether pineapple belonged on pizza—
"It does," Samar insisted.
"It's a fruit crime," Neel argued.
—I stood near the window, exhausted.
Kabir joined me.
"This class doesn't know how to stay calm," I said softly.
He glanced at Samar and Neel, now debating food ethics loudly. "I think they're allergic to calm."
I smiled.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I nodded. "Just… tired of proving things."
Kabir was quiet for a moment. Then, "You don't have to prove anything to stay."
That eased something in my chest.
Ending the Day
As the bell rang, Yuhan packed his bag and looked at us.
"You know," he said, "I expected silence at the back."
Samar slung an arm around Neel. "We don't do silence."
Neel grinned. "We do survival."
Kabir zipped his bag. "And results."
I looked at all of them—chaos, calm, new balance—and realized something important.
This wasn't a rivalry anymore.
It was a storm.
And we were standing right in the middle of it—together.