From then to always

It was a new sunny day, and I had eagerly waited for years to see the sun without any restrictions—just the sun. Probably the only time I was on time. My school, or as I like to call it, my second home, was where I could meet my friends. However, I was scared, more scared than ever before. It wasn’t just the virus that worried me; it was the judgment that I might face. How would the teachers react? How would others respond? Did they remember what happened in 6th grade? Would they remember me after all these years?

These questions swirled in my mind as I hesitated to take a step forward until I encountered a face a familiar one that wouldn’t judge me for what I had done and for how I looked —one that I knew would always be there for me. Sneha the girl who could make my day just by smilling.

Of course, I couldn’t hear her as she was far away from me, but I could see her brown eyes shining more brightly . I didn’t know if it was the sunlight reflecting off them or my presence. She was an introverted girl with short height , as if a fourth grader was wearing suit salwar our new school dress and i had my old tunic on . She had a perfectly round face with natural pink lips, making her the most beautiful incarnation of God for me. It was just her and me, after a long three years! Premalata and Mahakalimata, the “vanilla girl” and, the “chocolate one”—she’s soft, and I’m loud I was tall, and she was short. We didn’t complete each other; we complemented each other perfectly.

Together, we headed towards our classes, ascending the steep but wide stairs. Now we were technically grown up—sixth, seventh, and eighth graders—though it felt like we hadn’t really studied much. We were making our way to the second floor, navigating new corridors that still held the essence of the old ones. Everything seemed familiar, except for the fact that the library was a bit closer now, and the computer lab was a floor down.

It was a new session with the same faces and the same scars, the same judgments. The only thing that had changed was that we had to wear masks and maintain some distance—at least, that’s what the notice said. But in India, rules often feel like they only exist on paper.

We were in class, engaging in our usual chit-chat, despite the noisy environment. We were wondering who our class teacher would be for the next session. I silently prayed, “Please, God, let it not be Saumya ma’am.She was a middle-aged woman, unmarried, carrying a tense aura that is unmatched. She is strict and biased, of course. I can’t handle her.”The last time I had an argument with her in our online class, we definitely had different views. I remember her threatening to take me to the principal, and I responded by saying, “Okay, I’m up for it. Let’s go.” It was clear she didn’t like me, and English was definitely my weakest subject.

Suddenly, a teacher entered who looked more like a student—at least until I noticed she was wearing a pink floral saree with blue flowers and holding the new register. Wearing her evergreen smile that could even melt stones, I knew just by looking that this year would be the best one, and I was right.I felt a wave of relief. I wasn’t entirely sure why I felt this way—maybe it was because she wasn’t one of the old teachers, or because she didn’t know about the mess I had created in the past, or simply because she wasn’t Saumya ma’am, with whom I had had a significant conflict. Besides, she was going to teach math, my favourite subject.

I glanced at Sneha, and we had the same reaction. The new teacher introduced herself as Shashi Priya Singh.

Later that day, Sneha and I were discussing our daily lives and judging how others had changed when I suddenly came across a group of people playing a game that was new to me. They were weaving stories, and when one player stopped, the others had to continue, making sure the story made sense—similar to antakshari, but even better. I moved closer to get a better look at the group, and I noticed the toppers: Avika Jaiswal, the teachers’ favorite. She was a beautiful girl with a wheatish complexion and a mole on her lips. Her eyes were deep and black like a black hole. She wore a tulsi mala, with a old slit watch on her left hand and to enhance her aura, she had a tilak on her forehead and neck..Back then, I didn’t understand why a certain image of her as a rude person lingered in my mind; perhaps it was my jealousy that led me to think that way. I have always wondered why I couldn’t be like her. I have long hair like her, probably the same hairstyle, the same height, and even almost the same academic performance. Yet, I still feel like I am less than her. Why?

Next to her was Sharaddha Singh, with whom I had never interacted. Because she felt a bit reserved, just observing her from a distance, she seemed cool—a person who could bring life to any situation. She was a little taller than Avika, and her big black glasses complemented her bossy personality. and Riddhima Pandey a thin and tall nerdy girl along with Samriddhi Singh she was even more reserved than Shraddha. I didn’t even know she existed. She was a chocolate girl with a mature-looking face, the opposite of her personality, and had a cute smile.. At that moment, Avika noticed me staring—she had an amazing skill of noticing things. She invited us to join their table, and we happily accepted.Shraddha ended the story on a very tragic moment. I could not find a word to start from, but somehow I am going with the flow. I tried my best to weave an engaging story, but, of course, I fell short. Still, I was enjoying the company, especially Avika’s.

All I wanted to know was the secret behind her captivating presence; I wanted to learn whatever magic potion allowed her to draw people in. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her directly, so I decided to be a friend her instead. That probably turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.

I didn’t believe in friendships back then, mainly because when I needed them the most, everyone backed away except for one person who stayed. She was enough for me. At that time, I didn’t even believe in God, unaware that the ninth grade would change everything. And when I say everything, I mean it.

I was sitting in the chair, my eyes fixed on the door as if I were searching for someone. The minute hand of my clock seemed to be moving a bit faster, and I kept my other hand on the chair beside me, saving that seat for Sneha. If only she could arrive on time, because Shashi Ma’am had a strict rule against seat reservations. My heart felt relief as I saw her climbing the stairs, carrying a black bag that almost touched her knees. The atmosphere was tense, but how could everything in this world go the way we want it to?

Before she could even reach, a girl—let’s call her Ladyfinger—came over and placed her bag on my books, claiming the seat I had saved for Sneha. She shot me sneering glance and said, “Seats are not meant to be reserved.” The look on her face was enough to tell me she was not someone I should cross paths with. I tried negotiating, as if she would let us sit together. However, it only made things worse when she said, “Oh, I know what you did in sixth grade. I know everything!”

I felt as if I had been trapped., I froze like a rock. I wanted to scream, to tell her that I had changed, but I couldn’t find the words. Just then, a familiar voice interrupted us. I recognized it, but I was in denial. It was loud—much louder than I expected. I turned around and saw her face red as if she had just had a full pack of spicy jolo chips.

‘‘She was speaking to you in a very polite manner, even if you didn’t deserve it. You should respect that’’, Sneha said to Ladyfinger. A wave of emotions trembled throughout my body, and I could feel butterflies in my stomach(The girl who needs someone else to order or buy her a single thing stood for me ).If there is any higher cloud than cloud nine I was there. I just wanted to hug her but stood still.

In an instant, when she realized she was being watched, she switched to her softer side faster than an actor changes characters. She grabbed her bag, headed toward the last seat, and mummered, “Vaishvi, don’t mind them. They’re just petty folks looking for something to gossip about. You know, don’t worry about it.”

“Come on, let’s enjoy being backbenchers today. Without khushi and vaibhavi, it would be great!”

How could I possibly tell her that I wasn’t worried about Ladyfinger? It was her that had me mesmerized. I followed her without hesitation, with my bag in one hand. That day, I probably replayed that scene in my mind over and over again, screaming inside, “She stood for me,” until I was interrupted by Saumya Ma’am and I knew this year is going to test my every bit of patience.