"Hoorayyy! Finally, school after such a long time! I missed everyone so, so much!"
A girl's voice rang out, filled with uncontainable excitement, as she skipped through the school gates. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, and even the morning sun seemed to glow a little brighter on her face. She was practically bouncing on her feet, her enthusiasm spilling out like a fountain.

Walking beside her was her best friend, a boy who knew her well enough to be completely unfazed by her dramatic entrance. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, his voice laced with sharp sarcasm as he replied,
"Haan, haan... jo functions mein sabko bina yaad kiye, bas thuse jaa rhi tha non stop pure dedication and consistency ke sath bhains jaise . Clearly dikh raha tha kitna yaad kiya tha tune sabko ."

His tone dripped with mockery, his words hitting their mark with the precision of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of teasing her. The girl froze for a second, her mouth falling open in exaggerated shock before she let out a scandalized gasp.

Without wasting another moment, her hand shot out and landed squarely on his back with a loud thwack.

"Tu na... ek din tujhe main akele le jaa kar itna maroongi na, saari hekdi nikal jaayegi teri!" she huffed, narrowing her eyes in mock seriousness. But the mischievous sparkle in her gaze gave her away—her anger was nothing more than playful theater, a performance her best friend had seen a thousand times before.

He winced dramatically, clutching his back as though her slap had nearly broken his spine. "Ouch! Bas kar, Shaktimaan! Ek din toh mujhe hospital bhej degi tu," he groaned, but his lips betrayed him, curving into an amused grin.

This was their rhythm—the constant push and pull of her bubbling energy against his sharp sarcasm. They had been at it for years, and neither of them ever tired of it. In fact, it was this very banter that made them inseparable, and even the people around them couldn't help but smile when they witnessed the duo together.

The tall iron gates of the school now loomed behind them as they moved forward, stepping onto the familiar stone pathway that led to the main building. The morning air carried the faint smell of wet earth from yesterday's rain, mixing with the sharper scent of chalk dust and the polish freshly applied to wooden desks. The chatter of students filled the corridors—some were catching up with old friends, others were flipping through last-minute notes, and a few were rushing in hopes of beating the morning bell.

For her, though, none of that mattered in the moment. She had missed this—really missed it. The crowded hallways, the squeak of shoes on the marble floor, the posters about upcoming events pinned haphazardly on the notice board. It all felt like home, warm and familiar, like slipping into a favorite sweater after months away.

And beside her, her best friend was still muttering something sarcastic under his breath, clearly fishing for another slap. She shot him a sideways glare, lips twitching with the effort of hiding her laughter.

For a brief second, as the world around them blurred into background noise, it felt as if the school, with all its chaos and clamor, revolved around just the two of them.

But the moment didn't last long. As they stepped into the classroom, a shrill squeal erupted from the corner.

"Finallyyy! Meri Buggu ne darshan de hi diye mujhko!" Riha, their over-enthusiastic classmate, practically launched herself across the room. Before Anwesha could react, Riha wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug, squeezing the life out of her as if they had been separated for decades instead of a few weeks.

Anwesha laughed breathlessly, patting her friend's back. "Rihaaa... mujhe saans lene degi ya aaj hi khatam karne ka plan hai?"

Riha only grinned wider, refusing to let go, clearly unbothered by Anwesha's protests. The sight was pure comedy—Anwesha trying to wriggle out of the grip while Riha clung on like a koala.

Standing a few steps away, Agastya made a face of exaggerated disgust, clutching his stomach as if he might throw up any second. He tossed his bag onto his usual spot—the last bench by the window—and muttered loudly,
"Eww... lesbian meetup lag raha hai yeh."

His tone was dripping with mockery, designed solely to provoke.

Riha instantly shot him a glare over Anwesha's shoulder. "Shut up, Agastya! Jalti naa teri jali naa kyunki tujhe aise hugs saransh deta hi nahi."

Anwesha couldn't help but giggle at the exchange, caught in the middle of her best friend's sarcasm and Riha's fiery retorts. This, she realized, was what she had truly missed—the chaos of friends, the noisy banter, and the way their classroom was never just a room with desks, but a stage where laughter and drama played out daily.

"Chal na yaha se! Aur samajh le ek baat—hum dono straight hain, teri tarah nahi," Agastya sneered, his nose wrinkling as if the very sight before him was offensive.

His disgusted expression was almost comical, eyebrows furrowed and lips twisted, as though he were witnessing a crime instead of two friends hugging. At that exact moment, Riha was still clinging dramatically to Anwesha, her arm looped tightly around Anwesha's bicep as if she would never let go.

"Dekha? Dono chipak to jese baithi hai jaise dono bichdi hi janam ke saathi ho ." agastya muttered under his breath, half-exasperated but secretly amused.

Riha, of course, was unfazed by Agastya's theatrics. She tilted her chin proudly, her grip on Anwesha tightening. "Straight? Crooked? Mujhe kya farq padta hai! Tu toh bas jealous hai, Agastya. Tujhe kabhi aise hug milte hi nahi, isliye aag lag rahi hai."

Agastya placed a hand over his heart dramatically. "Jealous? Main? Tujhse? Arre, meri toh reputation kharab ho jaayegi agar main kisi ko aese hug kar loon. Pura school sochega mujhe infection ho gaya."

The class around them had begun to notice their loud exchange. A few students turned in their seats, stifling laughter, clearly entertained. Their classroom was no stranger to Agastya and Riha's bickering—it was practically a free morning show before the teacher arrived.

Anwesha, caught in the middle, sighed and looked helplessly between the two. "Bas bhi karo tum dono... subah-subah shuru ho gaye ho jaise India–Pakistan match chal raha ho." But despite her words, her lips curved into a smile.

It wasn't chaos to her—it was comfort. This noisy, ridiculous banter was exactly what made school feel alive.

"Bhai, kuch bhi kaho... Agastya bro, tune baat toh sahi hi kahi thi iss ganji chudail ke baare mein."

A new voice cut through the chatter, laced with mischief. Before Agastya could even turn around, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder with a friendly thump. It was Pranav—lanky, loud, and always ready to stir the pot. He grinned from ear to ear as he leaned down, his weight pressing slightly against Agastya's chair.

Without waiting for an invitation, Pranav swung his bag off his shoulder and dropped it carelessly on the desk behind Agastya. Then, with all the confidence of someone who considered the classroom his personal adda, he plopped into the seat.

Already sitting there, half-buried in his notebook, was Kabir. Unlike Pranav, Kabir wasn't one for dramatic entries—he simply raised his eyes briefly from the page, gave a small smirk at Pranav's comment, and shook his head as if silently saying, "Yeh banda kabhi nahi sudhrega."

Agastya glanced over his shoulder, his lips curving into a triumphant grin. "Dekha? Main hi sahi hoon hamesha. Proof toh khud aa gaya." He spread his arms out smugly as if he'd just won a courtroom battle.

Riha, still holding on to Anwesha's arm, gasped in mock horror. "Ganji chudail? Main? Tujhe toh main..." She raised her hand threateningly at Pranav, who immediately ducked behind Kabir's shoulder like a child hiding from punishment.

"Arre, Kabir! Dekh na, bacha le mujhe is chudail se," Pranav whined dramatically, clutching Kabir's arm for protection.

Kabir didn't even look up properly this time, just muttered under his breath, "Tu khud bulata hai maar, ab mujhe mat ghaseet."

"Bhai, tum log ladte raho... main bottle bhar ke laati hoon, chal riha " Anwesha announced dramatically, grabbing her half-empty water bottle with riha before slipping out toward the cooler.

The others chuckled at her exit, but the laughter in the row didn't die down. Friendly insults and ridiculous overreactions flew back and forth, each louder than the last. It was this chaos—messy, loud, and full of energy—that gave the classroom its unique heartbeat.

Just then, the door creaked open again. Sara stepped in, sticking close to Sanchi's side, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her bag. Her eyes darted nervously around the buzzing classroom. It was her very first day here, and though she tried to mask it with a calm expression, her body betrayed her nerves—the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the cautious way her steps fell, as though she were entering not a classroom, but a stage where everyone else already knew their lines.

Sanchi, in contrast, looked perfectly at ease. She strolled in like she owned the place, flashing a wave at a couple of familiar classmates. "Arre, chal, udhar baithte hain ." she said casually, nodding toward the row where Agastya and his friends were gathered.

Sara's steps faltered. Her gaze swept over the group: Riha clinging dramatically to Anwesha's arm earlier, Pranav still laughing at his own bad joke, Kabir quietly rolling his eyes at all of them, and in the middle of it—Agastya, smirking like the world revolved around his sarcasm.

Something clicked in Sara's memory. She tugged lightly at Sanchi's sleeve and whispered, "Ye wahi hai na... Agastya? Jo vacation par gaya tha?"

Sanchi grinned knowingly, her eyes twinkling. "Haan, vohi hai. Don't worry, tu bhi jaldi hi in sab ke saath adjust ho jaayegi." She gave Sara's arm a reassuring pat before pulling her gently toward the lively corner of the classroom.

Sara's stomach fluttered with a cocktail of nerves and curiosity. She didn't know these faces yet, didn't know the inside jokes or the rhythm of their banter. But there was something magnetic about them—their unfiltered laughter, their playful jabs, the way they filled the classroom with their presence.

As she followed Sanchi closer, she couldn't help but feel it: she was stepping into the middle of a story already in progress.

As Sara and sanchi were talking about random things , the classroom door banged open again. Anwesha returned, her bottle now brimming with water, with Riha still trailing behind her, continuing some pointless chatter about who looked like a buffalo during last year's function.

Sara's eyes fell on Anwesha—and for a split second, the world around her froze.

That face. Those eyes. The way she laughed, tilting her head just slightly to the right.

It couldn't be.

Her steps slowed, her breath caught in her throat. Memories she hadn't thought about in years suddenly came flooding back—hot summer afternoons of playing hide-and-seek in narrow lanes, fighting over stolen mangoes, scribbling silly drawings in school notebooks. A childhood she had long tucked away as "lost forever."

"Anu...?" The name slipped from her lips before she could stop herself, soft, trembling, almost disbelieving.

Anwesha, mid-sentence with Riha, froze. She turned her head sharply, eyes scanning the room until they landed on the girl standing beside Sanchi. For a moment, her expression was blank—like she was staring at a stranger.

And then recognition struck.

Her water bottle nearly slipped from her fingers. "Sara?" she whispered, voice cracking with shock.

Everyone in the row turned toward them, curious. Even Agastya, who had been ready with some sarcastic remark about "new admissions," kept his mouth shut, sensing something bigger.

The next moment, Anwesha didn't think twice. She dropped her bottle onto the nearest desk and rushed forward, colliding into Sara with a forceful hug that almost knocked the breath out of her.

"Mujhe yakeen hi nahi ho raha... tu yaha? Itne saalon baad?!" Anwesha's voice shook between laughter and tears.

Sara's arms clutched her just as tightly, her own eyes brimming. "I thought I lost you forever... tujhe yaad bhi hai hum..."

"Pagal! Tujhe bhool sakti hoon kya?" Anwesha pulled back just enough to look at her face, still in disbelief. "It's really you."

The classroom buzz quieted for a moment. Even Riha, usually the loudest in the room, had her jaw hanging open. "Oye... yeh kya filmy reunion ho raha hai?" she muttered, though her eyes softened at the sight.

Pranav leaned toward Agastya, whispering, "Bro, yeh toh 90s ki Bollywood wali reunion vibes aa rahi hai."

But Agastya didn't reply. For once, even his sarcasm had failed him.

The laughter in the classroom slowly settled. A few students still glanced their way, whispering, but most returned to their own groups.

Sara and Anwesha were still standing close, both looking at each other as if trying to confirm they weren't imagining it.

"Yeh... sach mein tu hai?" Anwesha asked quietly, her tone softer now, almost hesitant. "Mujhe laga tha tu toh kabhi wapas hi nahi milegi."

Sara let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "Same, yaar. Main toh sochti thi tu mujhe bhool gayi hogi."

Anwesha shook her head firmly. "Pagal hai kya? Childhood ki best friend ko koi bhoolta hai?" Her voice wavered slightly, the weight of years apart pressing into the moment.

There was a pause. Both of them smiled—awkwardly at first, then more naturally, like slipping back into an old rhythm.

"Waise..." Sara tilted her head, studying Anwesha with a mock-serious expression. "Tu bilkul waise hi hai. Bas height thodi si badh gayi hai... aur attitude double ho gaya hai."

Anwesha rolled her eyes but grinned. "Aur tu bhi same hai. Ab bhi utni hi slow... itna time laga mujhe pehchaanne mein."

Sara chuckled, scratching the back of her neck. "Sachi mein, I didn't expect to find you here of all places."

The two of them exchanged a look—half amazement, half relief. And then, almost naturally, they both sat down together, still processing how fate had dropped them back into the same classroom after all this time. "