Class students fell silent, not out of fear, but out of respect. Professor Viraj had that kind of warmth: calm in speech, kind in demeanour, and genuinely liked by everyone in the class.
"Let's begin," he said, reaching for the attendance register.
As he opened the attendance register, his voice called out names one by one, a soothing rhythm of "Present" and polite nods.
Anu – Absent
Raki – Absent
Then
"Shreya..." No answer.
Bhairava's eyes drifted again to the desk near the window. Empty. The same one he'd glanced at earlier, unconsciously waiting for someone who hadn't yet arrived. It remained empty, quiet. Something about that absence nudged a deeper part of him.
Just as Professor Viraj moved to close the register --
"Sorry for the late!"
A cheerful voice almost melodic spilled into the room rushed in like a sigh of relief.
At the doorway stood Shreya, framed perfectly in the morning light. Her blond hair bounced gently around her face, her wide eyes and soft smile with apology, her presence catching attention like poetry read aloud.
She wasn't just beautiful. She was the kind of beautiful that made you forget why you were staring.
"Why are you late?" Professor Viraj asked, his tone still gentle.
"Sorry, I was stuck in signal," she replied, slightly breathless and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Okay, take your seat."
As she walked in, the room watched. Some casually. Some with awe.
But Bhairava watched differently.
His heart paced with each step she took. She was heading toward the desk he'd kept glancing at, as if some part of him knew her arrival would make the morning complete.
A one-sided love, tucked behind silence. Unknown to her. Unknown to everyone else - except Mano, and one other.
She reached it. Sat down. Unaware of the gaze that lingered just a little longer. And as she opened her notebook, casually unaware, Bhairava smiled just slightly.
Today had started. Properly.
It was the final semester. With no exams left, the focus had shifted entirely to thesis work. Yet, Professor Viraj had other plans to keep minds active and conversations flowing.
Professor Viraj scanned the room with a practiced glance and said, "Before we dive into thesis work," "let's begin today's class with a small topic."
His voice was smooth, unfazed, flowing into the topic with gentle authority.
He turned and etched "News Reporting" onto the board, then began dictating:
"News reporting in journalism is the process of gathering and presenting information about events and issues of public interest..."
The words drifted through the classroom, threading through minds.
Every student in class listening.
Except for Bhairava.
He wasn't even listening. His gaze lingered on the wall clock - 10:30 AM and then slowly to the back of his own hand. On the back of his hand, the faded letter "A" rested quietly in blue ink.
Then he pinched himself gently with his other hand, as though confirming whether this moment was real or something he was dreaming.
Beside him, Mano noticed the peculiar gesture. Raising an eyebrow, leaned in with a husky whisper:
"What are you doing?"
Bhairava came to, not startled but thoughtful. His voice was low, made of half-sleep and half-truth: "I'm planning to try lucid dreaming… tonight."
Mano tilted his head, confused. "Lucid dream?"
Bhairava nodded slowly, eyes still on the "A." "Yeah… I want to enter a dream where I know I'm dreaming"
Mano tilted his head. "The dream where you know you're dreaming? Is that even possible?"
Just then, the room's rhythm cracked.
"Mano!" Professor Viraj barked, halting his dictation.
Mano jolted, knocking his pen off the desk. He stood slowly, eyes wide. All eyes turned toward him. The room fell silent.
"What was I talking about?" the professor asked, arms crossed, gaze sharp.
Mano froze; he hadn't heard a single word since the dream talk. His mind scrambled for context.
Mano looked helplessly at Bhairava, who leaned in and whispered, "News reporting."
Mano turned back to the professor. "News Reporting, sir?"
Laughter erupted around the room. Professor Viraj snatched a chalk piece and lobbed it lightly. It bounced off the corner of Mano's desk.
"That's today's topic. In that, what exactly was I speaking about?"
Mano's face drained. He had nothing. The class watched with delight.
"Listen to the class," the professor said dryly.
Mano sat down quickly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He glanced sideways at Bhairava, who was laughing slowly.
Mano nudged him with a playful pinch.
"All because of you," he whispered.
Just then, Professor Viraj looked up again. "Bhairava, you tell."
Bhairava stood calmly, expression unreadable. Mano leaned back with a sly smirk and whispered, "Now it's your turn."
But Bhairava didn't flinch.
He looked straight ahead and said, "You were speaking about how to present news in a way that serves public interest, how it can engage readers and inform responsibly."
The room fell into a brief silence. Even Viraj paused.
Mano's jaw dropped. He turned toward Bhairava, eyes wide in disbelief. He'd been talking to him the whole time, how did he catch every word?
But that was Bhairava. The one who noticed everything. The one who could track both conversation and context, even while daydreaming about lucid dreams.
Then "Good," the professor nodded, clearly impressed. Then his eyes shifted to Mano with a pointed gesture.
Mano groaned, hiding his face with his hand as if it could shield him from the embarrassment flooding in
Bhairava sat down quietly as Professor Viraj continued his line of questioning—not aimed at anyone in particular, but directed at the entire class. "So, what makes a reader engage with a report fully? What makes it good?"
Silence fell. Eyes shifted. No one spoke.
Professor Viraj scanned the room, waiting.
Then a soft voice broke the stillness, Shreya. "Telling the truth."
He nodded slightly. "Okay, then?" he prompted again, unsatisfied.
More responses trickled in from different corners of the room: "Providing information.""Providing proof."
But none hit the mark.
Finally, from the front desk, Divin raised his hand and spoke with calm certainty. "Writing it like a story."
Professor Viraj's expression changed and recognition flickering in his eyes. He pointed toward Divin. "Exactly."
He walked slowly toward the desk in front of the board and leaned back against it, arms folded. "Providing truth is important for journalists. But people don't care about truth, proof, information, transparency, fairness, accuracy… blah, blah, blah... unless it actually matters to them."
He glanced around. "They won't care about what really happened. They just need one good story to read."
A hand rose from the back row next to Shreya.
It was Ananya. Her skin was a rich, earthy brown, her medium-length curls framing her face like soft waves. She wasn't one of the loud ones, nor one of the silent ones.
Ananya asked, "But sir, as journalists, isn't it our duty to bring the truth to the public?"
Viraj paused, then gave a sly smile. "Do you really think everything you see on the news and everything you read in the papers is true?"
The class fell silent. Eyes darted from one student to another, stunned by the implication.
"The story you write will decide the outcome of the news," Professor Viraj said, pacing slowly across the front of the classroom. "Good storytelling can turn a small incident into something powerful. Bad storytelling can bury the truth behind even the biggest event."
Divin leaned forward, voice steady. "What does that even mean, sir?"
Just then, the bell rang - lunch break.
Another professor appeared at the door, waiting for Viraj to wrap up.
Viraj glanced at the class and said, "That's a big topic. Let's save it for another day. We'll end today's session here."
He picked up his notes and added, "And don't forget your thesis. Everyone must submit their topic by next week."
Groans echoed across the room.
Viraj raised an eyebrow. "What? You don't want to graduate?""This is your final semester. Your thesis will decide your final grade."
The class responded in tired unison: "Okay, sir..."
Once professor Viraj left, Students in class began to stir chairs scraping, bags zipping, voices rising.
Sam and Vihan poked at Aarav, who'd been asleep through the entire class.
"Finally, the lecture is over?" Aarav said groggily, blinking toward the front row.
Dev, the quiet boy near the board, quietly pulled out his lunch box, its metal sides clinking softly.
Aarav walked straight to him and snatched it gently from his desk. "What've you brought today?"
Divin, seated next to Dev, leaned in sharply. "Stop, give it back to him."
Aarav grinned and pointed. "Huh, look at the hero!"
Sam and Vihan burst into laughter.
Aarav stepped closer to Dev, rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, and looked Divin dead in the eye. "Don't always make us look like villains." He turned back to Dev. "He already said he'd share his lunch with us."
Aarav then gave Dev a playful slap not aggressive, more teasing than anything. "Right?"
Dev lowered his gaze and nodded softly. "Yes... you can take it."
Aarav popped open the box, leaned in, and sniffed dramatically. "Oof! Nice fragrance. Smells delicious." With that, he walked off, the lunch box in hand.
Divin, visibly frustrated, offered, "We can share mine if you want."
But Dev simply shook his head. "It's okay."
From across the room, Bhairava had been watching quietly. He walked over to Dev and said, "You should fight back."
Divin snapped, "Shut up. Don't give him any creepy advice."
Mano, who had followed Bhairava in, raised his voice. "He's trying to help him!"
Divin turned, face tense. "If you really want to help, tell him to stop Aarav.""You guys don't have the guts to confront him, but you expect Dev to be strong? What's the difference?"
Mano stepped forward quickly, eyes flaring. "What did you just say?"
Before things escalated, Bhairava raised a hand calmly, signalling Mano to stop. He looked directly at Divin, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Why should I? I don't have a reason to."
Then, without another word, Bhairava took Mano's lunch box and placed it gently on the desk in front of Dev. "Eat," he said.
Mano's jaw dropped. "My lunch!" he shouted.
But Bhairava placed a hand on Mano's shoulder in a friendly gesture, guiding him away. They walked off together, quiet but composed.
As they passed, Divin stared at Bhairava, eyes burning with resentment.
"You selfish bastard," he thought bitterly. "You haven't changed at all."