The morning sun, a reluctant guest in Imphel city, painted the window of Nanda Canner's small apartment in muted gold.
He traced the condensation on the pane, a thin film separating him from the bustling street below. A familiar hum vibrated through the floorboards—his mother, Mishi, already awake, preparing breakfast.
"Nanda, you'll be late for school!" Mishi's voice, warm as toast, carried from the kitchen.
"Your oatmeal cools faster than you move, sleepyhead!"
Nanda sighed, pushing himself from the window. "I'm coming. Just enjoying the view."
He pulled on his uniform, the stiff fabric a daily reminder of his new life in the city. Wainen village felt a lifetime away.
He walked into the kitchen. His father , Taru, sat at the table, already nursing a cup of tea, a book open beside him.
He offered a small, knowing smile.
"The view from the ninth floor, or the view from your own mind, Nanda?"
"Both," Nanda mumbled, taking a seat. Mishi placed a steaming bowl before him. The scent of cinnamon and oats filled the air.
"Eat up, you need energy for that big brain of yours," Mishi urged, ruffling his hair.
"Another day at The Ideal High. Are you excited?"
Nanda picked at his oatmeal. "It's school, Ma. It's… fine."
Taru closed his book, marking the page.
"'Fine' isn't exactly a ringing endorsement, Nanda. Anything interesting happen yesterday?"
"Higa (chemistry teacher) just droned on about stoichiometry," Nanda replied, pushing a spoonful of oatmeal around.
"And Duun( English teacher) made us analyze a poem about a lonely cloud. Popo said it reminded him of me."
Mishi chuckled, leaning against the counter. "Popo always knows how to cheer you up. He's a good friend, Nanda. You're lucky to have him."
"He is," Nanda agreed, a small smile finally touching his lips. "He gets it. He doesn't ask why I prefer the back row."
"The back row offers a unique perspective," Taru mused, taking a sip of his tea. "Perhaps you see more from there. Or perhaps you feel less seen."
Nanda looked down at his bowl.
"It's just… easier." He picked up his spoon, the metal feeling cool against his fingers. He focused, a subtle pressure building behind his eyes. The spoon, imperceptibly, vibrated. He lowered it before either of his mothers noticed.
"Easier for what, dear?" Mishi asked, her brow furrowed slightly.
"To blend in? To disappear?"
"To… learn," Nanda finished lamely.
"Less distractions."
Taru's gaze was sharp, discerning. "Imphel is a big city, Nanda. A lot of distractions. But also a lot of opportunities. You wanted this, remember? The Ideal High, away from Wainen."
"I remember," Nanda said, pushing the last bit of oatmeal into his mouth. "It's just… different. Everyone here seems to know exactly what they're doing."
"No one knows exactly what they're doing," Mishi said with a gentle laugh. "We just pretend we do. Even your teachers."
"Speaking of which, you'll miss the bus if you don't hurry," Taru pointed to the clock. "Popo will be waiting."
Nanda grabbed his bag. "Right. See you later, Ma. Bye, Pa."
"Have a good day, Nanda! Learn something new!" Mishi called after him.
"And remember," His father added,
"your uniqueness isn't a burden. It's a gift."
Nanda nodded, not looking back. He knew what he meant. They all knew. He just wished it felt more like a gift and less like a ticking time bomb.
He met Popo at the bus stop, a flurry of motion and sound. Popo, all gangly limbs and boundless energy, waved him over.
"Nanda! You almost missed it, dude! Did your moms make you eat a whole cow again?" Popo grinned, his backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder.
"Just oatmeal," Nanda replied, falling into step beside him. "They worry."
"Parents do that," Popo shrugged. "Mine worry I'll accidentally set the house on fire with my science experiments. You know, the usual."
They boarded the bus, finding their usual seats at the back. The bus rumbled through the city streets, a blur of towering buildings and rushing people.
"So, big day today," Popo said, nudging Nanda. "Chemistry test. You ready?"
Nanda sighed. "As ready as I'll ever be. Miss Higa's tests are brutal."
"You'll ace it," Popo insisted. "You always do. You just pretend you won't to keep us mere mortals from feeling inferior."
"I don't pretend," Nanda muttered, looking out the window. "I just… study." He saw Tubi, a flash of bright yellow, waiting at a corner stop.
His stomach did a nervous flip. She boarded, her cheerful laugh echoing through the bus as she greeted someone. She didn't see him, lost in conversation with a group of friends.
"Hey, isn't that Tubi?" Popo whispered, following Nanda's gaze. "The girl from your building. You still haven't talked to her?"
Nanda shook his head. "What would I even say?"
"'Hi, Tubi, I live in your building, and I think your laugh sounds like sunshine'?" Popo offered, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Popo, no," Nanda groaned, his face heating.
"Come on, Nanda. She seems nice. And she smiles a lot. That's a good sign, right? Less likely to judge your… quietness." Popo's voice dropped slightly on the last word.
"It's not just quietness," Nanda mumbled, pulling his textbook from his bag. "It's… everything."
Popo slapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, you're Nanda. And that's enough. Just be you. Anyway, chemistry. What's the formula for… uh… happy thoughts?"
Nanda managed a small smile. "There isn't one. But there's one for sulfuric acid."
"Close enough," Popo laughed. "Let's review."
The Ideal High loomed, a modern edifice of glass and steel. Students swarmed the entrance, a vibrant, noisy tide. Hugo, Mary, Chisel, Vir, and Lu, a boisterous group, passed them, their laughter echoing through the hall.
"Nanda! Popo! Don't tell me you two are still discussing the existential dread of the periodic table!" Hugo boomed, a wide grin on his face.
"Just trying to prepare for Higa's gauntlet of knowledge," Popo retorted good-naturedly.
Mary, always impeccably dressed, raised an eyebrow. "Gauntlet? It's just chemistry, Popo. Unless you've been concocting something illicit in your basement again."
"Only the elixir of academic success," Popo winked.
"Still perfecting the formula."
Chisel, perpetually glued to his phone, barely looked up. "Hope it works for me. My brain feels like a sponge that's been wrung dry."
Viru, a quiet boy but with a sharp wit, adjusted his glasses. "Perhaps you need a new sponge, Chisel. Or less gaming."
Lu, always the peacemaker, nudged Viru.
"Be nice, Vir. We're all in this together. Nanda, you look like you've already aced it."
Nanda offered a small shrug. "Just trying to keep up."
"Keep up?" Hugo scoffed. "You're always two steps ahead, Nanda. You're like a human supercomputer."
Nanda felt a familiar unease. "Not really. Just… good memory." He shifted his weight, his gaze darting around the busy hallway. Too many people, too many eyes. He felt a faint tremor in his hands. He clasped them together, willing it away.
"Well, good memory or not, I'm relying on your good vibes for this test," Lu said with a hopeful smile. "See you in class."
They dispersed, heading to their lockers. Nanda and Popo made their way to Chemistry.
Higa, a woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper mind, stood at the front of the classroom, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. She tapped a pen against the whiteboard.
"Good morning, class," Higa's voice was crisp, cutting through the last whispers. "Today, as you know, is our unit assessment on chemical reactions and stoichiometry. Put away all your notes, books, and electronic devices. Clear your desks."
The rustle of papers, the clatter of bags. Nanda felt a familiar knot in his stomach. Not fear of the test, but fear of… something else. A slip. A moment of weakness.
He placed his pen on the desk, his hands steady, or so he hoped. He could feel the slight thrum of energy under his skin, a constant companion. He focused on keeping it contained, a tightly coiled spring.
"You have exactly forty-five minutes," Higa announced, distributing the test papers.
"Begin."
The room fell silent, punctuated only by the scratching of pens. Nanda read the first question. A complex problem involving limiting reagents. He could visualize the atoms, the bonds, the electron transfers. It was like a miniature universe unfolding in his mind.
He wrote, his pen moving smoothly. He finished the first section, then the second. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through his pen. He paused, closing his eyes for a split second.
"Control, Nanda. Control."
He opened his eyes. He noticed Hugo in front of him, struggling, gnawing on the end of his pen. Hugo frowned, then glanced around, a desperate look in his eyes. He slowly, carefully, began to angle his paper, trying to catch a glimpse of Nanda's work.
Nanda felt a surge of something – annoyance? Empathy? He remembered Hugo's earlier remark about him being a 'supercomputer.' The expectation weighed on him. He could help. So easily. A tiny nudge, a gentle shift of Hugo's paper, bringing the answer into view. No one would ever know.
He felt the familiar pressure build behind his eyes, a subtle warmth spreading through his temples. He focused on Hugo's paper, just the edge of it. He could feel the paper, the slight texture of the fibers, the ink on the page.
He could 'feel' it.
Then, a sudden, sharp 'crack'.
Everyone jumped. Higa's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing.
A small, ceramic pot of Higa's prize-winning succulent, perched on the corner of her desk, had fallen to the floor, shattering into pieces. Soil and shards scattered across the polished linoleum.
"What was that?!" Higa's voice was sharp, accusatory. Her gaze swept across the room, landing momentarily on Nanda, then moving on.
Nanda's heart hammered against his ribs. His face felt hot. He hadn't meant to. He'd just focused too hard. The energy had flared, uncontrolled. He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists under the desk.
*Too close.*
Hugo, startled, quickly straightened his paper, his face pale. He glanced back at Nanda, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
"Alright, everyone, calm down," Higa said, her voice still tight. "Stay in your seats. I will clean this up. Do not look away from your papers."
Nanda forced himself to breathe, to focus on the test. He finished the last question, double-checking his work. The incident had shaken him. He had to be more careful. He had to be 'normal'.
The bell for class change finally rang, a welcome sound. Students surged from the classroom.
"Dude, what was that?" Popo whispered, catching up to Nanda in the hallway. "Higa's succulent! It just… exploded."
Nanda shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Bad luck, I guess. Or maybe it just finally gave up on Higa's teaching methods."
Popo laughed, but his eyes were still wide. "It was weird, Nanda. I saw Hugo looking at your paper, and then BAM! Pot goes flying."
"Coincidence," Nanda insisted, his voice a little too firm. He didn't want Popo to connect the dots.
Popo knew about his 'quirks,' his 'talents,' but Nanda had always downplayed the extent of his abilities. He'd never wanted Popo to see him as something… other.
They walked towards the English classroom, the usual chaos of students around them.
Duun, the English teacher, a man with perpetually rumpled clothes and a penchant for dramatic pauses, was already at his desk, a stack of papers before him.
"Good morning, scholars," Duun announced, adjusting his spectacles. "Today, we delve into the lyrical brilliance of the human. We shall explore the intricacies of metaphor and the subtle dance of symbolism. And, of course, the dreaded essay."
A collective groan rippled through the class.
"Dreaded, perhaps, but essential!" Duun declared, a twinkle in his eye.
"Language is power, my young apprentices. Use it wisely. Your task today: a short analytical essay on the themes present in 'The Whispering Wind.'
You have the period. Begin."
Nanda found himself staring at the blank page, his mind replaying the shattered pot.
'Control.'
He needed to control it. His mothers had always told him it was a part of him, an extension of his will. But sometimes, it felt like a wild beast, just waiting for him to drop his guard.
He started writing, focusing on the words, trying to lose himself in the rhythm of the language. He wrote about the wind as a symbol of change, of unseen forces shaping lives. He thought about his own life, uprooted from Wainen, planted in Imphel, trying to grow.
The period passed quickly. As students handed in their essays, Nanda felt a small sense of accomplishment. He hadn't let the morning's incident derail him.
During lunch, Nanda and Popo found their usual spot in the noisy cafeteria. Tubi sat a few tables away, laughing with her friends. She wore a bright pink scarf today, a splash of color in the drab cafeteria. Nanda found himself watching her, a gentle warmth spreading through him.
"Still watching her, huh?" Popo said, nudging him with his elbow.
"Just go say hi, Nanda. What's the worst that could happen?"
"She could think I'm weird," Nanda mumbled, picking at his sandwich.
"Or she could just… not care."
"She lives in your building, Nanda. That's already a conversation starter," Popo insisted.
"'Hey, Tubi, nice scarf. I've seen you on the elevator. You live on the seventh floor, right? I'm on the ninth. Small world, huh?'"
Nanda winced. "That sounds like a stalker."
"Okay, maybe not " Popo conceded, taking a bite of his burger. "But you get the idea. Be normal. Be friendly. You're not a monster, Nanda."
"I know," Nanda said, but a flicker of doubt still remained. He wasn't a monster, but he wasn't entirely normal either.
The afternoon brought Physical Training with Giso, a burly man with a booming voice and an endless supply of enthusiasm.
Today's activity: dodgeball.
"Alright, you lot! Let's see some energy! Dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge!" Giso bellowed, tossing a pile of foam balls into the center of the gym.
Nanda hated dodgeball. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and required too much attention to his surroundings. He preferred activities where he could blend into the background, like long-distance running.
He tried to stay out of the fray, clinging to the edges of the court.
But Popo, ever the instigator, pulled him into the thick of it.
"Come on, Nanda! Live a little! Unleash your inner warrior!" Popo yelled, expertly dodging a ball thrown by Hugo.
Nanda ducked, a ball whistling past his ear. He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline, and with it, the subtle hum of his power. He tried to suppress it, to keep it locked down.
A ball came hurtling towards him, thrown by Viru, with surprising force. Nanda instinctively flinched, and a split second before impact, the ball veered sharply to the left, missing him entirely and smacking into the wall with a loud thud.
Viru blinked, looking confused.
"Huh. I thought I had that one."
Nanda's breath hitched. "Too close again." He looked around quickly. No one seemed to have noticed anything unusual.
Popo was too busy laughing at Hugo, who had just been hit square in the face.
He needed to get out of here. He needed space.
"Mr. Giso, can I be excused?" Nanda called out, raising his hand. "I'm not feeling well."
Giso, mid-cheer, paused.
"Not feeling well, Canner? You look fine! Come on, a little exercise will do you good!"
"My stomach," Nanda insisted, clutching his midsection. "It's really bothering me."
Giso, after a moment of consideration, sighed. "Alright, alright. Go to the nurse's office. But don't think you're getting out of future dodgeball sessions, Canner!"
Nanda almost ran out of the gym, the noise and chaos a pounding headache. He made his way to the nurse's office, but instead of going in, he veered off into a deserted corridor. He found an empty classroom, the door ajar. He slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
The silence was a balm. He leaned against a desk, his heart still racing. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing, trying to calm the tempest within him.
'This is going to be harder than I thought,' he thought. ' Much harder.'
He opened his eyes. On the teacher's desk, a single, wilting flower sat in a small vase. It looked sad, neglected.
He felt a pang of empathy. He focused on it, a gentle, almost imperceptible surge of energy flowing from his hands. The petals, slowly, subtly, began to unfurl, their color deepening, vibrant once more. He watched, mesmerized, as the flower seemed to drink in an invisible sustenance, standing tall and proud.
A small, genuine smile slips.
'This is a part of me too.'
Then, a voice from the doorway.
"What are you doing in here, Nanda?"
Nanda's heart leaped into his throat. He spun around. Tubi stood there, a curious expression on her face, her pink scarf a bright spot in the dim classroom. She held a stack of books.
Nanda felt his face flush. "Tubi! I… I was just… uh…" He gestured vaguely at the revitalized flower. "I was just admiring the… the plants."
Tubi walked further into the room, her gaze falling on the flower. Her eyes widened slightly. "Wow. That looks… amazing. It was completely wilted this morning. I thought it was dead." She looked from the flower to Nanda, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Did you… do something?"
Nanda stammered, his mind racing.
"Me? No, of course not! I just… looked at it really hard. Maybe it just needed some positive encouragement?" He forced a laugh, which sounded strained even to his own ears.
Tubi tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Positive encouragement, huh? Maybe I should try that with my homework.
It usually just wilts under my gaze." She walked closer to the desk, gently touching a petal. "It's really beautiful, Nanda."
Nanda felt his cheeks burn. "Thanks. I… I guess it is."
"So, you're Nanda, right?" Tubi asked, turning to face him fully. "From the ninth floor? I'm Tubi. I think we've ridden the elevator a few times."
"Yes! I mean, I am Nanda. And yes, we have," Nanda managed, feeling his introverted self screaming internally.
' This is it. '
His chance. And he was blowing it.
"You seemed pretty upset leaving the gym," Tubi observed, her voice gentle. "Everything okay?"
Nanda hesitated. "Yeah. Just… not a fan of dodgeball. And… a bit of a stomachache."
"Oh," Tubi nodded. "I get it. Giso can be a bit much. I usually try to hide behind the tallest person." She giggled, a sound like wind chimes. "So, you're new here, right? To Imphel?"
"Yeah," Nanda replied, feeling a little more at ease. "From Wainen. My mom wanted me to get a good education."
"Wainen? That's so far out," Tubi said, her eyes wide. "What's it like there? I've never been outside Imphel."
"It's… quieter," Nanda said, a wistful note in his voice. "Lots of trees. And the stars are really bright at night." He paused, then added, "It's… peaceful."
"Peaceful sounds nice," Tubi mused. "Imphel is always so… loud. But it's exciting too, right? So much to do."
"Yeah," Nanda agreed. "It is." He found himself looking at her, really looking at her. Her eyes were bright, curious. Her smile was genuine.
"Well, I should probably get these books back to the library before Duun sends out a search party," Tubi said, gathering her stack.
"It was nice talking to you, Nanda. And nice job with the… positive encouragement for the flower." She winked, then turned and walked out, leaving Nanda alone in the classroom, the revitalized flower a silent testament to his hidden power.
He stood there for a long moment, the scent of the flower filling the air. He had almost been caught. But he had also talked to Tubi. And she hadn't thought he was weird. Not entirely, anyway.
The final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Nanda walked out of the classroom, a strange mix of apprehension and exhilaration.