Today, Anurag Sir didn't ask Sneha a single question. As if he deliberately kept his distance.
Sneha was sitting quietly on the back bench. In one corner of the classroom. Absolutely silent, her face buried in a book.
And Sir could sense it—some invisible discomfort seemed to be surrounding her.
A certain feeling of guilt was beginning to form within Sir's mind. It felt as though Sneha was feeling uneasy in his presence.
He asked himself silently—
"Am I really that terrible? Is my gaze so unpleasant that she feels the need to withdraw into herself like this?"
The thought pricked him like a thorn.
"I don't want her studies to suffer because of me," a worry started taking root deep in his mind. He knew, as a teacher, his first and foremost responsibility was to ensure the comfort and progress of his students.
The more he continued teaching, the more an inner sense of guilt began to rise. Unconsciously, a string of questions floated through his mind—
"Am I truly such a bad person?"
"Was there something in my eyes that made her so uncomfortable?"
"Is my gaze really that heavy, that inappropriate, that it can make a student feel so uneasy?"
"Did I do something that hurt her in some way?"
He didn't know the answers to these questions, yet the unrest inside kept growing.
This feeling didn't align at all with his identity as a teacher. He had never wanted any student to feel disturbed because of him. Especially someone who, perhaps, was already fighting many battles within herself.
The silence on Sneha's face—the way she appeared—seemed like a kind of protective shield she had drawn around herself.
In the classroom, Anurag Sir continued teaching as usual, answered everyone's questions, explained things on the board—but deep inside, a weight was building.
At the end of the class, without saying a word, he left the room, carrying the silent burden of self-reproach.
Quietly, like a slightly foggy morning.
Anurag Sir was walking through the corridor outside the classroom.
A vision lingered before his eyes—Sneha's silent face, her eyes lowered toward her book, and all those unspoken words that she might never express.
Meanwhile,
Meghmala Girls' High School
Anirban Sir's school.
(The common room of the twelfth-grade science students. It's lightly raining during the lunch break.)
Meghla: (standing by the window) Eepsi… do you know, today Anirban Sir was standing by the window while writing on the board… the soft sunlight from outside was falling right on his hair… uff… it was just like a scene from a movie!
Ipsita: (smiling shyly) I saw it too. I think I stared at him a bit too long… He looked at me from the corner of his eye and said, "Yes? Do you have something to say?" I was so startled!
Chaitali: (smartly, keeping a straight face) Girls, if we want to impress him, we need to have a plan. Today I went to him with a 'doubt.' I very carefully said, "Sir, I'm not quite understanding what you're trying to explain… could you please clarify?"
Meghla: (laughing) Did you say "please" or did you actually flirt?
Chaitali: (winking) Both. His voice got softer. He explained it very gently… and I noticed, he was mostly looking into my eyes.
Ipsita: (excitedly) I'm thinking of writing a note for Sir—"Sir, you're more attractive than physics!" Haha! I'll just leave it inside the textbook in class…
Meghla: Crazy girl! If you get caught, you'll be in serious trouble!
Ipsita: (in a theatrical tone) If Sir does catch me… I'll say, "Your gravitational pull was so strong, I just couldn't resist!"
Meghla: Then let's start the experiment from tomorrow? Whoever gets the most smiles from Sir will be at the top?
Chaitali: And the one whose name he remembers will be crowned "Champion of Winning Over Sir"!
(All three burst out laughing together. The sound of rain outside blends softly with their mischievous giggles inside…)
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(The common room door suddenly bursts open. Basundhara walks in. Meghla, Ipsita, and Chaitali are still laughing. Meghla glances at her with a slightly crooked smile.)
Basundhara — the most beautiful girl of Meghmala Girls' High School.
Her body is like a masterpiece born of a sculptor's tireless devotion. Only eighteen, yet her beauty and physical maturity make it hard to believe she has just stepped out of adolescence. For her, beauty isn't a blessing — it's a power. One she's fully aware of and uses without hesitation.
She stands 5 feet 6 inches tall — and when she does, all eyes inevitably trace the graceful curves of her figure. She knows who's looking, for how long, and exactly what impression she's making. The way she walks, the way she holds her head high — it's all deliberate, like she's staging a performance of herself, every moment.
Her neck is long, swan-like — faint collarbones visible, enhancing her allure. She's studied herself in the mirror a hundred times, aware of the exact image she projects. There's an unyielding confidence on her face — sometimes bordering on arrogance.
Her breasts — full, firm, perfectly shaped. She knows exactly where eyes pause. And if someone stares too long, she returns a subtle smirk — a taunting little smile that says, "You had no choice but to look, did you?"
Her waist is narrow, hips curving into an hourglass shape — a figure she wears with unapologetic pride. The flick of her head, the sway of her hair as she adjusts it — it's all part of her unspoken assertion: she is here, and she commands attention. Every step radiates the confidence of someone who's made her own rules — and always wins.
Even the sound of her footsteps, the gleam of her skin, the curve of her shoulders — everything carries a hint of pride. She knows she is beautiful. And she wants everyone else to know it too. To accept it. Perhaps even envy it a little.
(The common room door suddenly bursts open. Basundhara enters. With a faintly curled lip, she looks straight at Meghla, Ipsita, and Chaitali, who are still giggling.)
Basundhara: (in a cold voice) Having fun, are we?
Meghla thought to herself, "What is this witch doing here now?"
Ipsita: (laughing) Oh no, it's nothing… we were just talking about Anirban Sir—
Basundhara: (interrupting) I heard everything. You girls think that quiet, reserved sir will melt at your giggles and silly little love notes?
Meghla: (getting annoyed) Basundhara, why do you always do this? You think we're incapable of anything?
Basundhara: (in a voice sharp as a mirror's reflection) Yes, exactly. What do you think? Bat your eyes and say "Sir, could you explain this once more?" and that's enough for someone to fall for you? Please.
Chaitali: (softly) Then what would you do?
Basundhara: (running her fingers through her hair, with an air of confidence) I'd just look into Sir's eyes once… then smile. That's it. He'll start the conversation himself. Because I'm not just the prettiest in the class — I'm the most beautiful in the entire school. Boys trail behind me day and night. Just look at me — top to bottom, I'm perfect. And I know that. So does Sir.
The other girls thought to themselves: God, what a jealous, arrogant girl! So full of herself.
Ipsita clenched her lips and looked directly at Basundhara, her voice slow but razor-sharp—
Ipsita: "So much confidence, huh? But I don't think Sir would ever like you. You're a nasty girl. And Sir isn't the type who'd go for someone as characterless as you."
Basundhara raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a mocking smile. She stepped closer to Ipsita, until she was right in front of her. Her eyes had a dangerous spark — like she was stepping into battle.
"Oh baby girl," Basundhara said with a soft laugh,
"What you think doesn't matter."
She slowly reached out and touched Ipsita's shoulder, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers — a motion filled with chilling confidence. She was humiliating her, almost playfully.
"I smell jealousy on you," Basundhara whispered,
"Because you know, deep down, you've got nothing that could attract Sir. No looks, no body language, no personality."
She locked eyes with Ipsita, then deliberately glanced down — at Ipsita's chest — and with silent disdain, let go of her hair and stepped back. Her posture exuded unstoppable self-assurance.
Narrowing her eyes, raising one shoulder, she gave a slight smirk and said—
"This isn't confidence. This is my reality. What you dream about… I live it."
Ipsita clenched her jaw, her eyes turning red with fury. But Basundhara had already flicked her long, straight hair back and walked past her — like she had won a silent war.
Meghla: (eyes blazing) "Looking at you, it feels like you won't win Sir… you'll lose to your own arrogance."
Basundhara: (smiling coldly) Let's see, Meghla. Let's see whose name Sir remembers… who becomes special in his class. You'll find out soon enough.
Basundhara turned. Slowly walked out, her long silky hair swaying down her back… her footsteps echoing with challenge.