I created this channel so that i can post whatever i want.

I knew he was right. Life had taught me how to fight. It had taught me how to stay silent. But it had never taught me how to express what I felt. Maybe that's why some people are sent into our lives. Not to complete us. But to teach us the parts of ourselves we've ignored. Looking back now, I realize something. That forgotten promise... That awkward apology... That simple conversation... None of it was really about Physics. It was about trust. Trust isn't built through grand gestures. It's built by keeping small promises. And when you break one... You don't repair it with excuses. You repair it with honesty. As the sun began to set, Ashu suddenly smiled and said, "You know, bro..." "Hmm?" "Some people come into your life to teach you lessons." He paused for a second. "And some people..." "...become the lesson." I laughed. At that time... I thought he was just trying to sound philosophical. I had no idea... Years later... Those words would become one of the biggest truths of my life. Because our story.... Has begun.

Chapter 7: The Cost of One Word

There is a strange thing about apologies. The hardest part isn't saying "I'm sorry." The hardest part is walking toward the person. After that... The words usually find themselves. The next morning, I reached coaching earlier than usual. Not because I wanted to study. Because I wanted to apologize before I lost my courage. The classroom was almost empty. Only a few students had arrived. I kept looking at the entrance. Every sound of footsteps made me turn my head. Then she walked in. Shruti. She saw me. Smiled politely. And went to her usual seat. I took a deep breath. "Now or never." I walked over. "Shruti..." She looked up. "Hmm?" "I'm sorry." She waited. I continued. "I promised I'd help you after coaching." "I forgot." "Ashu's cycle broke." "By the time we fixed it... everyone had gone." "I should've told you." "I should've waited." "I messed up." For a few seconds... She didn't say anything. Then she looked at me and asked, "Done?" I blinked. "What?" "Is that all?" "...Yes." She folded her notebook and smiled. "You know..." "I wasn't angry because you forgot." I looked at her. She continued, "I was angry because I waited." "And you never came." "I kept thinking maybe something happened." "Or maybe you just didn't care enough to tell me." Her voice wasn't loud. It wasn't emotional. It was calm. And somehow... That made it hurt even more. People often think shouting ends arguments. It doesn't. Calm words leave deeper marks. I lowered my head. "I really am sorry." This time... She smiled. A real smile. "I know." That was it. No drama. No tears. No emotional speeches. Just honesty. Sometimes that's enough. She looked at me for a moment and said, "Next time..." "If you're going to disappear..." "...at least tell me." I laughed. "I'll remember that." She smiled. "Good." Then she stood up. "Now explain that Physics question." I looked confused. "The same question you forgot." "Oh..." She laughed. "I knew you'd forget again." For the next thirty minutes, we discussed Physics. Or at least we pretended to. Half the conversation somehow became jokes. Half became arguments about formulas. And somehow... Everything felt normal again. During Chemistry class, Ashu quietly leaned toward me. "So?" "So what?" "You apologized?" "Yeah." "And?" "We're okay." He smiled. "Told you." "You were right." "I know." "You don't have to look so proud." "I earned it." Friendship has a funny way of returning. It doesn't come back all at once. It returns through little things. A shared notebook. A stupid joke. A saved seat. A Lunch break fun... Shruti was once again sitting with our group. Ashu immediately announced, "Breaking News!" "The Cold War has officially ended." The entire table laughed. Shruti rolled her eyes. "You boys have too much free time." Ashu looked offended. "Madam, we are Science students." "We don't have free time." "We create it." Even she couldn't stop laughing. A week later, our Physics test results were announced. As expected... I scored well. Shruti scored better than she expected. She walked over holding her answer sheet. "See?" "I passed because of your explanation." I shrugged. "You passed because you studied." She smiled. "You always do that." "Do what?" "You never take credit." I didn't know what to say. The truth was... I wasn't being humble. I genuinely believed people achieved things because of themselves. Maybe because I had spent years believing I had to face everything alone. That afternoon, while returning home, Ashu and I were riding our bicycles together. Without looking at me he suddenly asked, "Do you know why you two became friends?" "No." "Because she talks..." "...and you listen." I thought about it. Maybe he was right. Then he added, "But one day you'll have to learn to talk too." I laughed. "I already talk." "No." "You answer." "That's different." For the first time... I didn't argue. Because deep inside...

Something interrupted. Or maybe... I interrupted myself. Because deep down, I was afraid. Not of saying sorry. But of hearing, "It's okay." Sometimes those two words don't mean forgiveness. Sometimes they mean, "I've stopped expecting anything from you." That evening, while sitting on the hostel roof, I kept thinking about one simple question. "Why didn't I just explain?" The answer was painful. Because explaining required speaking. And silence had become my habit. After Class 9, I had built walls around myself to keep pain out. I never realized those same walls could keep people out too. A philosopher once said, "The opposite of love isn't hate. It's indifference." I didn't understand those words then. But I was beginning to understand something else. If I wanted to keep this friendship... I would have to do something I had avoided my entire life. I would have to speak first. And that single conversation... Would change everything between us. But that's a story for the next chapter. The chapter where I finally learned that "Sorry" is a small word... ...but sometimes it saves relationships bigger than our ego.

Chapter 6: The Loudest Silence

People think silence is peaceful. It isn't. Sometimes silence says the things words never could. And sometimes... Silence creates problems that never needed to exist. By September, my friendship with Shruti had become normal. So normal that I never thought about it anymore. She would save me a seat if I was late. I would explain Physics whenever she got stuck. She would steal my samosas. I would pretend to be angry. Life had become... comfortable. And comfort is dangerous. Because once something becomes part of your daily routine, you stop appreciating it. One Friday morning, Mr. Pathak announced a surprise Physics test. The entire class looked like someone had declared the end of the world. Except the toppers. They looked excited. I secretly hated those people. After the test ended, Shruti walked up to me. "How was it?" "Good." "You'll definitely score full marks." "I don't know." "Liar." She smiled. "I need help with the last question." "Okay." "Can we discuss it after coaching?" "Sure." A simple promise. One word. Sure. Funny how life sometimes changes because of one small word. That afternoon, Ashu came running toward me. "Ani!" "What happened?" "My cycle's chain broke." "So?" "So help me push it home." It wasn't far. Just fifteen or twenty minutes. I thought, "We'll fix the cycle and then I'll meet Shruti." Simple. Or so I believed. By the time we repaired the bicycle... Coaching had ended. The students had already gone home. Including Shruti. I reached home thinking, "I'll explain it tomorrow." Tomorrow came. Shruti didn't say a word. Not even "Hi." I noticed it. But I also noticed something else. She wasn't angry. She was... distant. There is a difference. Anger makes noise. Disappointment doesn't. The entire day passed without a proper conversation. At lunch, she sat with her friends. At coaching, she chose another bench. For the first time in months... There was an empty seat beside me. Ashu noticed it before I did. "What happened?" "Nothing." "You fought?" "No." "You forgot something." "No." "You definitely forgot something." "I didn't." He stared at me for a few seconds. Then sighed. "You're impossible." The next morning, Shruti finally spoke. "Good morning." "Morning." "Busy yesterday?" "Yeah." "Oh." That was it. Just one word. Oh. People underestimate small words. Sometimes "oh" carries more disappointment than a thousand angry sentences. The days that followed felt... strange. We still talked. But only when necessary. No random jokes. No Random chats. Just... Conversations. Formal ones. For the first time, I realized something. I missed the old version of us. One afternoon, while walking back from school, Ashu stopped his bicycle beside mine. "Tell me honestly." "What?" "Did you promise to help Shruti after class?" I froze. Then remembered. The Physics question. The broken bicycle. The forgotten promise. "...Oh." Ashu slapped his forehead. "You forgot." "I did." "You know she waited almost half an hour outside coaching?" "What?" "She thought you were coming." I stopped walking. For a moment, the road became completely silent. Not because there was no traffic. But because guilt is louder than noise. I had spent years believing people left me because they misunderstood me. Now I had unknowingly become the reason someone else felt ignored. There is a strange truth about relationships. People rarely remember every word you say. But they always remember whether you showed up when you said you would. The next day, I decided to apologize. Simple. Straightforward. Or at least that was the plan. Reality had other ideas. As I entered the classroom, Shruti was already sitting with her friends. I walked toward her. She looked at me. Smiled politely. Then the teacher entered. "Open your books." The opportunity disappeared. Again. The same thing happened after Chemistry. Then at lunch. Then after school. Every time I gathered enough courage...

"I would've asked them to buy me another." "And Shruti?" "I didn't mind." Ashu put his hand on my shoulder. "My Dear Darling" "What?" "Congratulations." "For what?" "You have officially lost." "Lost what?" "Your heart." I rolled my eyes. "You're overthinking." He laughed so hard that he almost fell off the bench. Weeks passed. The teasing continued. Sometimes I got irritated. Sometimes I laughed with them. Sometimes even Shruti joined in. One afternoon, while everyone was leaving school, she suddenly walked beside me. "Ani?" "Hmm?" "Can I ask something?" "Sure." "Why do your friends keep teasing us?" I scratched my head. "I honestly don't know." She smiled. "I think I know." "What?" She looked ahead instead of at me. "If I tell you..." "...they'll tease us even more." Then she walked away before I could ask another question. I stood there for a full minute trying to understand what had just happened. I failed. Years later, I finally understood something. Sometimes life gives you answers long before you're mature enough to understand the questions. Back then, I thought my friends were simply making random jokes. I thought Shruti was just being friendly. I thought everything was perfectly normal. I was wrong. Because the story wasn't changing. It had already changed. I was simply the last person to notice. And before I could understand my own feelings... Life decided to test our friendship. A misunderstanding was waiting around the corner. The kind that would teach me that silence can hurt more than words. But that's a story for the next chapter.

Chapter 5: Things Everyone knows except me.

There is an old saying. "If one person calls you a fool, ignore them. If ten people call you a fool... maybe buy a mirror." Unfortunately for me, I didn't believe in mirrors. By September, life had settled into a routine. Wake up before sunrise. Run to coaching. Pretend to understand Physics. Survive Chemistry. Eat samosa as breakfast, Go to school. Come back. Repeat. The only difference was... Now I wasn't alone anymore. I had friends. Real friends. The kind who would save you a seat. The kind who would steal your Food. And the kind who would never let you live in peace. One morning, I entered the Physics classroom a little late. There was only one empty seat. Right beside Shruti. As I walked toward it, Ashu shouted from the other side of the class, "Bro! Your reserved seat is waiting." The entire class looked at me. I looked at Ashu. Ashu looked way too proud of himself. I ignored him and quietly sat down. Shruti whispered, "Your friends are weird." I smiled. "You haven't met all of them yet." That day during break, Ashu walked over with the most serious expression imaginable. "Ani." "Hmm?" "I have an important question." "What?" "Should I print your wedding invitation in English or Hindi?" I nearly dropped my samosa. "What are you talking about?" He pointed toward Shruti, who was talking to another friend. "You two." I laughed. "You're mad." He nodded confidently. "No. You're blind." The entire group burst into laughter. For the next week, this became everyone's favorite hobby. If Shruti asked me for a pen... "Awww..." If we walked out of class together... "Oho..." If we discussed homework... "Excuse us, love birds." We weren't even doing anything. At least that's what I believed. One day, during Chemistry class, Mr. Sanjay Singh announced, "Discuss this reaction with the person sitting beside you." Unfortunately... Or fortunately... Shruti was sitting beside me. We started solving the question. Halfway through, she frowned. "I don't understand this part." I explained it. She nodded. "Ohh... that's actually simple." Before I could reply, Ashu spoke from the bench behind us. "Of course it's simple." We both turned. He continued, "When Ani explains Physics, even Chemistry starts making sense." The class laughed. Even Mr. Singh smiled. That evening, while walking back from coaching, Ashu rode his bicycle next to mine. "You really don't know?" "Know what?" "She likes talking to you." "She's just friendly." "She asks only you for notes." "Because I help." "She waits outside coaching for you." "We leave together." "She laughs at your terrible jokes." "They're good jokes." "They're horrible." "They're average." "They're disasters." I stayed silent. Finally, Ashu sighed. "Bro..." "What?" "You're the only topper who can't solve the easiest question." "What question?" He smiled. "Exactly." I wanted to prove him wrong. So the next day, I observed carefully. Maybe he was imagining things. Physics class started. Shruti walked in. Instead of sitting with the girls... She walked straight toward my bench. "Is this seat taken?" "No." "Good." She sat down. Ashu looked at me from across the room. Then slowly covered his face with both hands. During break, I was eating samosas with Ashu. Shruti walked over. "Hi." "Hi." She looked at my plate. "You eat samosas every day?" "Yes." "Won't you get bored?" "No." Ashu interrupted. "He has been eating the same breakfast for months." She laughed. "So you're loyal to samosas?" I shrugged. "They've never betrayed me." She smiled. "Fair enough." Then she picked up one of my samosas... Without asking... Took a bite... And said, "Hmm... not bad." I froze. Ashu froze. Even the samosa froze. She thanked me and walked away. Ashu slowly turned toward me. "Excuse me! Brotherrrrr." "What?" "She just stole your......" "What?" "Samosa" "So?" "So?" He looked around dramatically. "If anyone else had done that..."

For a moment I didn't know what to answer. How do you explain two years of loneliness in one sentence? How do you explain becoming the boy everyone feared? How do you explain the walls you built around yourself? So I simply said, "I don't know." She looked at me for a few seconds. Then smiled. "I think you talk enough." It was a simple sentence. Probably meaningless. But for some reason I remembered it. Even today. Because sometimes the smallest words leave the deepest marks. People think life changes because of big events. But often life changes because of tiny moments. A conversation. A smile. A shared lunch. A borrowed notebook. A seat beside someone in class. And without realizing it, those tiny moments were becoming memories. At the time, I thought Shruti was simply becoming one of my closest friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. I didn't know that my friends had already started noticing things. I didn't know that Ashu had already figured something out. And I definitely didn't know that Shruti herself was hiding a few secrets. But that is a story for the next chapter. The chapter where everyone knew what was happening... Except me.

Chapter 4: The Girl Who Stole My Lunch Breaks

There is a difference between meeting someone and noticing someone. You meet hundreds of people in life. But only a few become part of your daily thoughts. At the beginning of Class 11, Shruti was just another classmate. At least that's what I told myself. The truth was a little different. After our first conversation about notes, we started talking occasionally. Then occasionally became frequently. And frequently became daily. The funny thing was that our friendship started with a lie. She had asked for my notes. I didn't have proper notes. Then I borrowed Ashu's notes and gave them to her. A week later she returned them. "Thanks." "Welcome." "Your handwriting is terrible." "They weren't mine." "I know." That was the first time I saw her laughing. And surprisingly, I didn't mind being insulted. Life is strange. A year ago I was throwing rocks at people. Now I was smiling because a girl made fun of my handwriting. Every morning coaching started at six. Most students entered class looking half asleep. Including me. Especially me. But somehow Shruti always looked fresh. Meanwhile I looked like someone who had been forced into existence against his will. One morning she looked at me and asked, "Do you ever sleep?" "Yes." "When?" "During Chemistry." She laughed. Unfortunately, Mr. Sanjay Singh was standing behind us. Neither of us laughed after that. Soon our conversations became normal. The comfortable kind. The kind where silence doesn't feel awkward. Sometimes we talked about studies. Sometimes about school. Sometimes about teachers. Mostly about nonsense. One day during lunch break she asked, "Why are you always so serious?" I looked at her. "I'm not serious." "You look serious." "That's just my face." She laughed so hard that even nearby students started looking at us. For the rest of the day my friends kept asking what was so funny. I had no answer. Another day she asked, "Everyone says you're very intelligent." I immediately replied, "Everyone is wrong." She smiled. "Then why do you answer all Mr. Pathak's questions?" "Because he asks easy questions." The next day Mr. Pathak asked a difficult question. I couldn't solve it. Shruti spent the entire class smiling. I knew exactly why. During school hours our friend circle started growing. There was Ashu. A few coaching friends. Some school friends. And somehow Shruti became part of every conversation. If there was a group discussion, she was there. If there was lunch, she was there. If there was a coaching break, she was there. Sometimes I wondered if we had become friends too quickly. Then I remembered something. Friendship doesn't measure time. It measures comfort. Some people need years to become friends. Others need a single conversation. One afternoon while returning from school, Ashu suddenly asked, "Bro, do you like Shruti?" I almost fell off my bicycle. "What?" "You heard me." "No." "Then why do you smile whenever she talks to you?" "I don't." "You do." "I don't." "You do." We argued for ten minutes. In the end he simply said, "Okay." That "okay" scared me more than the question. Because it was the kind of okay that meant he wasn't convinced. The next few weeks continued normally. Classes. Coaching. Homework. Tests. The usual student life. But there were small moments I started noticing. If she was absent from coaching, the class felt unusually quiet. If she arrived late, I would look toward the door more often than necessary. If she laughed, I somehow ended up laughing too. At that time I thought these things were normal. Maybe they were. Maybe they weren't. The problem with feelings is that they don't announce their arrival. They don't knock on the door. They quietly enter and start rearranging the furniture. And by the time you notice, they already live there. One day during lunch break, Shruti suddenly sat beside me. "Ani." "Hmm?" "Can I ask something?" "Sure." "Why don't you talk much?"

Someone who had borrowed notes she never really needed. Someone whose "Hi Ani" somehow sounded different from everyone else's. At that time, I didn't understand why I noticed her more than others. I thought she was just another classmate. Just another friend. Just another chapter. I was wrong. Some people don't enter your life with noise. They arrive quietly. Like a sentence hidden in a book. You don't realize its importance when you read it for the first time. But later, you discover it was the line that changed the entire story. And for me... That line was named Shruti. But that story begins in the next chapter.

Chapter 3: The Enemy Who Became My Friend

There is a strange rule in life. The people you expect to stay forever often leave. And the people you never wanted to meet somehow become part of your story. Ashu was one of those people. If someone had told fourteen-year-old me that one day I would call him my friend, I would have laughed. Then probably thrown another rock. The last time I had seen Ashu in Class 9, there was blood, police, rumors, and enough drama for three Bollywood movies. After the incident, his father transferred him to a private school in another city. And just like that, he disappeared from my life. For two years. Meanwhile, I spent my high school years becoming the most feared introvert in town. Then came Class 11. One morning, I entered Saraswati Institute and noticed a familiar face. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Then I looked again. No. It was definitely him. Ashu. The same hairstyle. The same confidence. The same face. Just considerably less punchable now. For a few seconds, both of us froze. He looked at me. I looked at him. The memories probably replayed in both our heads like a movie trailer. The fight. The rumors. The police. The rock. Especially the rock. Then something unexpected happened. He smiled. Not a fake smile. Not a sarcastic smile. A genuine smile. And said, "Arre Rock Star, alive?" I stared at him. Out of all possible first sentences, that was not what I expected. I laughed. For the first time in years, we laughed about the same thing. And somehow, that broke the wall. People think friendships are built through similarities. Sometimes they're built through surviving stupidity together. Over the next few weeks, we started talking. At first it was awkward. Then it became normal. Then it became daily. One day after coching when we heading to home I finally asked him, "Why weren't you angry after everything that happened?" He thought for a moment. Then said, "At first I was." He paused. "Then I realized something. We were both idiots." I couldn't argue with that. Because he was absolutely right. The funny thing about growing up is that you start seeing your younger self as another person. A person who made terrible decisions. A person who thought ego was more important than peace. A person who believed winning a fight meant winning life. We both used to be those people. Now we weren't. Ashu once told me something that stayed with me. "Bro, if two fools keep remembering old fights, they become enemies forever. If both laugh at it, they become friends." At that time, it sounded simple. Years later, I realized it was wisdom. Because forgiveness isn't something you do for the other person. It's something you do to free yourself. Holding anger is like carrying a stone in your pocket. The person who gets tired isn't the enemy. It's you. And perhaps that's why we became friends. Neither of us wanted to carry the stone anymore. Soon we became known as an unlikely duo. People who knew the old story couldn't believe it. They would ask, "Weren't you two enemies?" Ashu would immediately reply, "Yes." Then point at me. "He upgraded my software with a rock." And the whole group would start laughing. Sometimes I wondered how different life would have been if that fight never happened. Maybe we would never have become friends. Maybe we would have remained strangers forever. Life is strange like that. A closed door often opens another one. The problem is that while staring at the closed door, most people never notice the new one. By the middle of the year, Ashu had become one of my closest friends. He shared notes. I helped him with Physics. He taught me how to talk to people. I taught him how not to get hit by rocks. A fair exchange. But there was one thing I never told him. Well... Not immediately. You see, while Ashu and I were becoming friends, someone else had quietly entered the story. Someone with short hair. Someone with bright eyes.

And before he could finish speaking, I would blurt out, "Sir, answer is 42." Sometimes it was correct. Sometimes it wasn't. But somehow my confidence impressed people more than my accuracy. I started making friends. Real friends. The kind who shared snacks, copied homework, and discussed cricket as if they were national selectors. For the first time in years, I actually enjoyed going to class. Of course, success attracts attention. And attention attracts jealousy. A few of the coaching toppers weren't very happy that the quiet guy from the back bench was suddenly becoming popular. But that's a story for another day. The real story begins on July 1st. That morning, a new student joined the institute. Her name was Shruti. She arrived almost thirty minutes late. Which automatically made her the center of attention. She had short hair, a confident walk, expressive eyes lined with black kajal, and a smile bright enough to wake up half the classroom. Even the students pretending to study were looking at the door. Coincidentally, I was also late that day. So naturally, the only empty seat available was beside me. She sat down. Just like that. Meanwhile, I forgot everything Mr. Pathak was teaching. Physics had officially left the chat. I became painfully aware of my own existence. How do I sit? Where do I look? Why are my hands suddenly so awkward? For the first time in fifteen days, I didn't answer a single question. Mr. Pathak probably thought I was sick. After class, my new friends dragged me to Chemistry. I wanted to talk to her. I had absolutely no idea how. So I didn't. A strategy that had worked perfectly for me my entire life. A few days later, school officially started. The campus was full of new students. New uniforms. New faces. And while walking through the corridor, I suddenly spotted her. Shruti. I blinked. She blinked. At that moment, I realized she wasn't just in my coaching institute. She was also in my school. For some reason, that felt like winning a lottery. Throughout the day, every teacher conducted introductions. Students stood one by one and introduced themselves. When my turn came, my introduction was exactly as impressive as before. "Hi. I'm Ani." Done. Finished. Thank you. Next person. Meanwhile, Shruti spoke like a normal human being. Life is unfair. During lunch break, I was eating peacefully when someone approached me. "Hi, Ani." I looked up. It was Shruti. My brain immediately forgot how conversations worked. "Hi." "I saw you in Saraswati Institute," she said. "People say you're really good at studies." I nearly choked on air. "Maybe. I don't know." She laughed. Then she asked, "Can I borrow your notes?" Now this was a problem. Because my notes looked less like notes and more like archaeological evidence. Half complete. Half missing. And entirely unreadable. Still, I tried to act professional. "Actually... my notes aren't complete yet because I joined late." She looked disappointed. Then I quickly added, "But my friend Ashu has complete notes. I'll borrow them and give them to you." "Really?" "Yes." "Thank you." She smiled. Then walked away. I sat there staring at my lunch. A smile appeared on my face. For no reason at all. Or at least that's what I told myself. Oh, and before I forget. Remember Ashu? The friend whose notes I promised? Yes. That Ashu. The same rich guy from Chapter 1. The same guy who once challenged me to a fight. The same guy who got hit by a rock. Life has a very strange sense of humor. Somehow, after all that we have become friends in this 15 days. But that's a story for the next chapter.

Chapter 2: The Year Begin

In 2016, I passed high school and joined Class 11. Most of my classmates from high school had already escaped to Kota to prepare for engineering and medical entrance exams. The rest stayed in town. By this time, people from my old school had finally realized that I wasn't actually the monster the rumors had made me out to be. Apparently, spending two years silently sitting in corners was enough evidence. "No serial killer can stay this quiet," they probably thought. Still, I wasn't expecting much from Class 11. New school. New classmates. New faces. And according to my experience, new people usually meant new problems. Little did I know that Class 11 was going to be completely different. Before school officially started, my father enrolled me in a coaching institute. Let's call it Saraswati Institute. The institute had three teachers. And somehow all three were named Sanjay. First was Mr. Sanjay Pathak, our Physics teacher. A man known for roasting students for minor mistakes and his favorite word throughout the year "ponga" would pronounce our name this way for everyone. Second was Mr. Sanjay Singh, our Chemistry teacher. Strict. Disciplined. Always on time. If his class started at 7:00 AM, then 7:01 AM was considered next year. Third was Mr. Sanjay Mishra, our Mathematics teacher. The sweetest teacher I have ever met. His classes felt less like lectures and more like comedy shows that accidentally taught mathematics. Now here's the funny part. My father's name was also Sanjay. So for the next two years, my life was basically controlled by four Sanjays. I wasn't studying Science. I was trapped inside the Sanjay Cinematic Universe. When my father took me for admission, Mr. Pathak and my father somehow started talking. For one and a half hours. I have no idea what they discussed. India's economy? Physics? The weather? World peace? I don't know. I just stood there like luggage. Finally, Mr. Pathak looked at me and said, "Come from tomorrow. And if you face any problem, come directly to me." My father smiled. That smile worried me. Adults only smile like that when they have secretly handed over responsibility for your destruction to another adult. The next morning, I arrived at the institute at exactly 6:06 AM. The class had already started. Mr. Pathak immediately recognized me. "Ah, Ani. Come in." Then he did something terrifying. "Introduce yourself." My heart stopped. I had never introduced myself in front of strangers before. Ever. My brain completely shut down. I stood there staring at forty students. Forty students stared back. After an uncomfortable silence, I finally said, "I'm Ani." Then I stopped. Everyone waited. I waited. Mr. Pathak waited. The universe waited. Nothing happened. Finally, Sir sighed and said, "Okay. Go sit down." I walked to the back bench feeling like I had just delivered the shortest speech in human history. The class continued. Most faces were unfamiliar. Some looked friendly. Some looked dangerous. And some looked like future toppers. Then Mr. Pathak asked a Physics question. The funny thing was, I had joined late and didn't even know the chapter. But the question looked suspiciously like mathematics. So I calculated the answer and raised my hand. "Sir, is it this?" The entire class turned toward me. Mr. Pathak looked surprised. Then impressed. Then very impressed. He nodded. "Correct." For the first time in years, people weren't looking at me because they were scared. They were looking at me because I had answered something correctly. That felt nice. After Physics, we moved to Chemistry. And suddenly something unusual happened. People started talking to me. "Sit here." "No, sit here." "Bro, come sit beside me." I was confused. A month ago nobody wanted to stand near me. Now people were inviting me to their benches. Apparently, solving one Physics question was enough to change your social status. For the next few weeks, Mr. Pathak would ask questions.

For the next three days I didn't attend school. The funny thing was that almost nobody in my class knew my name yet. Imagine introducing yourself: "Hi, I'm Ani." "No need. We know you as Rock Guy." A few days later, a classmate who lived near my room informed me that the police had visited the school looking for me. I didn't sleep properly that night. The next morning I made a decision. Instead of waiting to get arrested dramatically, I walked straight into the police station. The officer listened patiently while I explained everything. Then he asked, "What's your father's name?" I told him. He knows my father so he looked surprised. "What does he do?" "He's an advocate." Then I quickly added, "Please don't call him. He sent me here to study." The officer sighed. Then he gave me a piece of advice I'll never forget. He said, "Being strong isn't about winning every fight. Real strength is controlling your anger when you have the power to hurt someone. One minute of rage can create years of regret." Then he continued, "Never let your temper make decisions for you. Your future is more valuable than your ego." After a long lecture and several minutes of me staring at the floor, he finally said, "Go back to school. Don't do this again. I'll handle the rest." To that day afterward the rich guy stopped coming to school. And because nobody knew the full story, rumors spread faster than Jio Network in 2014. Some students believed I had nearly killed him. Others believed I had actually killed him and somehow escaped prison. One kid made stories like I had gang connections. I didn't. I barely had friend connections. Soon everyone started avoiding me. Nobody wanted to sit beside me. Nobody wanted to talk to me. Nobody wanted to become friends with the guy who can kill someone with a rocks. And that's how I spent Class 9 and Class 10. Alone. Funny enough, I had arrived at high school expecting to make new friends. Instead, on my first day, I made an enemy. By my second week, I had gained a reputation. And by the end of one month, I had accidentally become the most feared introvert in the entire school.

Chapter 1: How I Became the Most Feared Introvert in High School

For the last two years, I've been living away from my family. Looking back, I can confidently say that the person I was back then and the person I am today are completely different people. My transformation began in Class 9. I had managed to score well enough in the entrance exam to get selected for a government high school of excellence. My family was proud. I was proud. Life looked promising. Unfortunately, I chose violence before I chose friendship. It was literally my first day. Most students were busy introducing themselves. Some were making friends. One guy, however, was busy making an impression on every girl in the classroom. He came from a rich family, had expensive shoes, expensive confidence, and probably an expensive hairstyle too. Meanwhile, I was simply observing the class. At least that's what I thought. Suddenly, the rich guy walked up to me. "Why are you staring at me?" "I'm not staring at you," I replied. "I'm just looking around the class." He crossed his arms. "Not the class. You were looking at me." Now, if there was one thing fourteen-year-old me lacked, it was patience. A few arguments later, my hand reached his face before my brain could stop it. SLAP. The entire classroom froze. His eyes widened. My eyes widened. His ego suffered critical damage. He was just about to return the favor when the teacher entered the classroom like a superhero arriving exactly on cue. We immediately stepped apart. As he walked back to his seat, we maintained eye contact like two villains in a movie. He pointed at me and said, "I'll see you." I replied, "Can't you see me right now?" Not my smartest line. He ignored it. "Meet me after school." He pointed toward a public ground beside the school. I said, "Okay." Then school ended. And I completely forgot about it. I went home, ate food, and slept peacefully while this guy was probably preparing for a final boss battle. The next day I arrived late. As I entered the classroom, I noticed him staring at me. Not occasionally. Continuously. For the entire class. I ignored him. Which somehow made him even angrier. During lunch break he finally marched over. "What happened? Got scared? Why didn't you come yesterday?" I looked at him. Then looked away. Then sat on a desk. Then continued ignoring him. I had accidentally discovered psychological warfare. Talking wasn't working for him anymore, so he decided to upgrade to physical warfare. After school, he and two of his friends stopped me near the ground. They surrounded me. The rich guy started talking. Honestly, I don't remember most of what he said. I only remember replying, "With all that money, you still couldn't buy a personality?" His friends laughed. Big mistake. The rich guy slapped me. I tried to hit him back. His two friends grabbed my arms. Then he slapped me again. Now I couldn't move. Couldn't hit back. Couldn't do anything. At that moment I felt humiliated. But while they were busy acting tough, I noticed something important. A rock. A beautiful, glorious, movie-worthy rock. Behind me. The entire time my brain had only one mission: Reach the rock. Now, I grew up playing GTA. and this was not according to GTA logic, like kicking punching so I chose to use weapon. As soon as his friends loosened their grip, I stepped back, grabbed the rock, and suddenly all three heroes transformed into peace ambassadors. "Put it down!" "Bro, put it down!" "Calm down!" Unfortunately, I had already left the chat. I grabbed the rich guy and smashed the rock onto his head. Blood appeared. Everyone froze. Including me. But my anger still hadn't received the memo. The guy collapsed and I started kicking him like I wasmaking cheos in GTA. Within minutes, people rushed in and pulled me away. Now everyone was shouting. Everyone was accusing me. And my survival instincts finally activated. So I ran. Fast. I didn't look back. I ran all the way to my room.

Hindi Version

Manzil se zyada khubsurat woh musafir the, Jo raaste mein mile aur dil mein reh gaye.

English Translation

More beautiful than the destination were those travelers who met us along the way and stayed in the heart.