Fadel's POV
Today, the classroom feels different. The sun’s gentle rays filter through the windows, casting a warm glow inside. There seem to be more students than usual. Were there always this many? Everyone’s faces look unfamiliar. I don’t even know most of their names.
Arshad—I know his name. He sometimes comes to the sports room. Despite his chubby cheeks, he has a muscular build, like he’s forgotten that he’s only in the 11th standard.
Who else do I know? I glance around the room. Maseera is in this class, right? And who’s that bespectacled guy staring at her? I try to recall his name when the classroom door opens, and—
Time stops.
A beautiful face appears before me. It feels like a movie scene, the kind where the wind suddenly starts blowing.
“Hey, turn off the fan!”
“No, leave it on!”
The classroom erupts into a debate, resembling a parliament session. I ignore the noise, my gaze fixed on the girl at the door. She is breathtaking. Even from a distance, I can see the sparkle in her light brown eyes, made even more luminous by the sunlight. I haven't seen her in class before.
“You haven’t seen anyone in class,” my subconscious mocks me.
Was she a new student? Then again, everyone feels new to me. She sits next to Maseera.
What do I care? I need to focus on basketball—and a bit on studies. Yesterday, Bhai’s words really shook me. Life is unpredictable. What if I can’t play basketball in the future? No, no, I shouldn’t think about that. I just need to make time for studies.
Let’s make a timetable.
I take out my notebook, but the schedule doesn’t fit. Frustrated, I scratch out the plan, tear the page, and crumple it in my fist.
Laughter erupts.
What’s happening? I lift my head and—
She’s staring at me.
Unblinking.
Why is she looking at me like that?
“Yeh mujhe kyun dekh rahi hai?” I mutter under my breath.
(Why is she staring at me?)
“Ise ghoorna kehte hain,” a voice whispers beside me.
(It’s called staring.)
“Ah!” I clutch my chest. “You scared me!”
“Oh, sorry, bro. You were so lost in your work that you didn’t even notice me. I thought—why disturb you?”
This guy talks too much.
“Oh, so thoughtful of you. Why are you sitting here? Don’t you usually sit with Arshad?” I ask. They usually sit in front of me, making them hard to ignore.
“You know Arshad’s name? Wow.” He feigns shock.
“It’s not a big deal,” I shrug.
“Okay, tell me my name.”
I rack my brain, but nothing.
“Forget that. Tell me—what’s our first class?” He asks like he’s hosting KBC.
Easy. “The first class is, umm…”
“Forget that too. How many classes do we have in a day?”
I start counting on my fingers.
“Forget that as well.”
Hey, let me answer!
“For you, this is easy. Now tell me—who is our class representative?”
“CR?” I blink at him.
He dramatically covers his mouth, blinking in disbelief. “Are you for real, bro? How can anyone be this clueless?”
“Koi na, main samjhoonga ke hamare yahan do naye students hain. Tension mat lo, main tumhe sab sikha dunga.” He pats his chest like a mentor.
(Don’t worry. I’ll assume we have two transfer students here. I’ll teach you everything.)
Oh. Right. The transfer students.
“By the way, who’s the new transfer student?” I ask.
“Wahi jo tumhe ghoor rahi thi,” he grins.
(The one staring at you.)
Ah, so it was her.
“By the way, why didn’t you let her sit yesterday?” he asks, pulling out his book.
I thought I was seeing a nymph in my dream, but it was real.
“Just like that,” I shrug. “I don’t like letting anyone sit next to me.”
“You’re suggesting I should leave too?” He smirks. “Not happening.”
Just then, Arshad turns around.
“Arsalan, aa ja yaar. Tere bina acha nahi lag raha,” he says softly.
(Arsalan, come back, it doesn’t feel right without you.)
Oh, so his name is Arsalan. Still doesn’t ring a bell.
“Nope,” Arsalan says, crossing his arms.
“Please, Arsalan, maan ja na.” Arshad pouts.
“No means no,” Arsalan huffs.
“Why, Arsalan?”
“Mera zameer iski ijazat nahi deta.” He sighs dramatically.
(My conscience doesn’t allow it.)
“Ab yeh zameer kaun hai?” Arshad frowns.
(Who is this ‘zameer’?)
“Zameer ko manaane ke baad hi maanega?” I ask, confused.
(Will you only agree after convincing ‘zameer’?)
He looks at us like we’re ghosts. “Main tum dono ko mere Abba se milana chahta hoon.”
(I want to introduce both of you to my father.)
“Why?” I ask.
“So I can tell him, ‘Dekhein, Abba. Aapke bete se bhi zyada bewakoof log duniya mein hain.’” He rolls his eyes.
(Look, Abba. There are people in this world even dumber than your son.)
What is he saying? I don’t get it.
The bell rings. The teacher enters. Everyone greets him.
His gaze lands on me. “Oh, Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up! Everyone, clap!”
I freeze as the class erupts in applause.
“Stand up, Mister Shams Fadel Qureshi,” the teacher orders.
I stand. All eyes are on me. I lower my head, staring at my blank notebook.
“From now on, I hope you’ll be attentive in class. Understood?”
Slowly, I lift my head and nod.
“Alright, sit down.” he said with a little hesitation
“Wow, bro,” Arsalan whispers. “How do you handle it?”
“What?”
“I mean, the teacher tried to embarrass you, but you didn’t even flinch. It’s like he got scared instead.”
I side-eye him. “Whatever.”
“Look, look! You’re scaring me too. Your sharp eyes, that serious expression—it’s intimidating.”
“Really?” I chuckle.
(A/N: Zameer = Conscience)
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Did you enjoy the Hindi dialogues in this chapter? I won’t be adding many in future chapters, but I’d love to know your thoughts!
How's the chapter?
What are your thoughts about arsalan?
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Until then, keep the pages turning.
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