The narrow street was quiet, surrounded by cold air at the end of February. The sun barely touched the ground, and the light felt dim. Against a side wall, a boy in a torn school uniform sat bruised and bleeding. His nose dripped blood, one eye was darkened, and his white shirt was wrinkled and stained. Yet, his expression held no tears or anger—only emptiness. He looked as if this wasn't just a beating, but something deeper… like her innerself was already crushed by someone.
Four boys stood in front of him, all in the same school uniform with loose ties and untucked shirts. They had bikes leaning behind them, barely visible in the background.
One of them, Yash, stepped forward and landed a harsh punch across his face.
"Kyu bee saale… mere GF ka peecha karega? Tere itni himmat!"
his head jerked and he fell sideways.
Another boy, Kunal, came up and kicked him, knocking him hard into the wall.
"Class mein to bada shareef banta hai, saale tharki."
The others laughed while watching him slump.
Nikhil and Harsh, the last two, struck him in the stomach from either side. He gasped as his breath left him, spit flying from his mouth.
Suddenly, a distant police siren echoed down the street.
The bullies panicked, mounted their bikes, and quickly vanished.
Moments later, a girl arrived—probably from nearby—shocked by what she saw. She rushed to him, gently helping him sit up.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
He didn't answer. Slowly, he stood up with a limp, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and walked away silently.
---
Later that day, he walked home alone, still limping slightly. His face carried the same bruises. As he moved forward, his mind slowly drifted into memories.
He remembered a bright classroom, years ago. A teacher stood proudly in front of young students.
"Piyush Chauhan! Class mein first aaya hai is saal bhi!" she announced cheerfully.
Applause followed. A younger, shy Piyush smiled softly. That was Class 1st.
Quick flashes followed—Class 2, 3, 5, 6… each ending with "First Position." Teachers handing him medals. Parents clapping. A child who only knew how to study and stay silent.
Then came Class 9th (1st year).
A new school building, much bigger and unfamiliar.
Caption: "Class 9 – New School."
Inside the classroom, the teacher stood at the front. Piyush stood beside her quietly.
"Bachchon, yeh hai Piyush Chauhan. Naya student hai tumhare class mein."
She then pointed out his seat: "Fourth row, third desk."
The desks followed a boy–girl–boy pattern. Behind his seat sat a girl, reading quietly—Saisha Mehta.
Piyush slowly walked down the aisle. Some students noticed him, but no one spoke. He reached his desk, sat down, and opened his notebook hesitantly.
"Kya kar raha hoon main... pehli baar kisi ladki ke aage baitha hoon... bas normal reh, Piyush!" he thought nervously.
After the first period, a friendly-looking boy next to him smiled.
"Hi, I'm Shashank. Dosti karega?"
Piyush smiled back, unsure but comforted.
"Hi… Main Piyush Chauhan hoon. Tum mujhe bas Piyush bula sakte ho."
After school, the two boys walked together toward home. As they passed a turn, they saw another boy being pushed and mocked by some seniors. Piyush stopped, concerned, but Shashank pulled his wrist.
"Humein uss mamle mein padne ki zarurat nahi hai."
"Main uss ladke ko jaanta hoon — Yash. Bahut sanki hai. Class 6th mein national level Taekwondo ke final tak gaya tha. Usse uljhana mat."
Piyush looked back one more time… and walked forward in silence.