10-04-2025, 01:41 AM
Episode 12: Things Unspoken
It was the kind of morning that lingered somewhere between warm and lazy. The classroom windows were wide open, letting in streaks of sun and the faint smell of wet earth from the garden being watered nearby.
Meera Ma’am stood at the front of the class, chalk in hand, scribbling out a trigonometry identity. Her saree today was a soft cream with a dull gold border—light, flowing, the kind that moved like silk even if it wasn’t. The blouse was half-sleeved, high-necked but snug.
Arjun was in his usual seat. Pen in hand. Eyes elsewhere.
His friends had stopped teasing him. They noticed he didn’t react anymore. He just stared. Calm, still, absorbed.
Today, it was the way her pallu curved over her waist. The way she tilted slightly forward when she drew diagrams, revealing the gentle line of her spine through the thin blouse. The arch of her back. The grace of her hands.
She didn’t know.
Or if she did, she didn’t show it.
And Arjun couldn’t stop.
---
In the Staff Room
Later that afternoon, Meera walked into the staff room, dropped her attendance register on the table, and sighed.
Priya, who was pouring tea into two cups, glanced over. “Rough class?”
Meera gave a tired smile. “Not at all. Just... mentally drained. You know the feeling.”
Priya handed her a cup. “Welcome to teaching full-time teenagers. It’s an emotional marathon.”
They both sat down. The fan creaked above them, stirring just enough air to keep the room from going still.
“You’re adjusting well, though,” Priya said, nudging her shoulder. “You blend in like you’ve been here for years.”
Meera smiled. “You’ve only been here two years yourself. I still hear your name whispered in the corridor like you’re some senior rebel.”
“Good,” Priya grinned. “That means they’re still afraid of me.”
They sipped quietly for a few moments.
“You always knew you wanted to teach?” Meera asked.
“Sort of. I came into it sideways. Tried a few things after college—corporate training, content writing. Nothing stuck. Teaching was the first thing that felt real.”
Meera nodded. “I was always the quiet one in college. Obsessed with neat handwriting, sitting first bench. I thought I’d end up in an office. But somehow... the classroom feels more like me.”
“You ever think of leaving?”
Meera shook her head. “Not yet. I still feel like I’m arriving.”
Priya smiled, watching her. “You never talk about... you know, personal stuff. Relationships. Family pressure. None of that?”
“No,” Meera said, without hesitation. “I never felt the need to explain myself. I like my space. I like my pace. People expect a story—but sometimes, there isn’t one.”
Priya raised her tea cup in salute. “Amen to that.”
“And you?”
Priya grinned. “Same. No sob story. No dramatic heartbreak. Just… not interested in being someone’s second job.”
They both laughed. It was a different kind of connection. Not about sharing wounds—but about owning the lack of them. The quiet, firm kind of independence that doesn’t always need explaining.
---
Back in the Classroom
The final bell had rung. Arjun was still at his desk, flipping pages slowly. Not reading. Just waiting. Meera was wiping the board, hair pinned up loosely now, a few strands falling against her neck.
She caught his eyes briefly and said, “You don’t get bored staying back every other day?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
She didn’t push it.
She turned back to gather her books, unaware of the way the evening sun had lit up the side of her face and the sliver of skin visible between the blouse and saree pleats.
And Arjun—he didn’t blink.
Not because he was trying to memorize her.
But because every time she moved, it felt like he was already forgetting how to look away.
To be continued…
It was the kind of morning that lingered somewhere between warm and lazy. The classroom windows were wide open, letting in streaks of sun and the faint smell of wet earth from the garden being watered nearby.
Meera Ma’am stood at the front of the class, chalk in hand, scribbling out a trigonometry identity. Her saree today was a soft cream with a dull gold border—light, flowing, the kind that moved like silk even if it wasn’t. The blouse was half-sleeved, high-necked but snug.
Arjun was in his usual seat. Pen in hand. Eyes elsewhere.
His friends had stopped teasing him. They noticed he didn’t react anymore. He just stared. Calm, still, absorbed.
Today, it was the way her pallu curved over her waist. The way she tilted slightly forward when she drew diagrams, revealing the gentle line of her spine through the thin blouse. The arch of her back. The grace of her hands.
She didn’t know.
Or if she did, she didn’t show it.
And Arjun couldn’t stop.
---
In the Staff Room
Later that afternoon, Meera walked into the staff room, dropped her attendance register on the table, and sighed.
Priya, who was pouring tea into two cups, glanced over. “Rough class?”
Meera gave a tired smile. “Not at all. Just... mentally drained. You know the feeling.”
Priya handed her a cup. “Welcome to teaching full-time teenagers. It’s an emotional marathon.”
They both sat down. The fan creaked above them, stirring just enough air to keep the room from going still.
“You’re adjusting well, though,” Priya said, nudging her shoulder. “You blend in like you’ve been here for years.”
Meera smiled. “You’ve only been here two years yourself. I still hear your name whispered in the corridor like you’re some senior rebel.”
“Good,” Priya grinned. “That means they’re still afraid of me.”
They sipped quietly for a few moments.
“You always knew you wanted to teach?” Meera asked.
“Sort of. I came into it sideways. Tried a few things after college—corporate training, content writing. Nothing stuck. Teaching was the first thing that felt real.”
Meera nodded. “I was always the quiet one in college. Obsessed with neat handwriting, sitting first bench. I thought I’d end up in an office. But somehow... the classroom feels more like me.”
“You ever think of leaving?”
Meera shook her head. “Not yet. I still feel like I’m arriving.”
Priya smiled, watching her. “You never talk about... you know, personal stuff. Relationships. Family pressure. None of that?”
“No,” Meera said, without hesitation. “I never felt the need to explain myself. I like my space. I like my pace. People expect a story—but sometimes, there isn’t one.”
Priya raised her tea cup in salute. “Amen to that.”
“And you?”
Priya grinned. “Same. No sob story. No dramatic heartbreak. Just… not interested in being someone’s second job.”
They both laughed. It was a different kind of connection. Not about sharing wounds—but about owning the lack of them. The quiet, firm kind of independence that doesn’t always need explaining.
---
Back in the Classroom
The final bell had rung. Arjun was still at his desk, flipping pages slowly. Not reading. Just waiting. Meera was wiping the board, hair pinned up loosely now, a few strands falling against her neck.
She caught his eyes briefly and said, “You don’t get bored staying back every other day?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
She didn’t push it.
She turned back to gather her books, unaware of the way the evening sun had lit up the side of her face and the sliver of skin visible between the blouse and saree pleats.
And Arjun—he didn’t blink.
Not because he was trying to memorize her.
But because every time she moved, it felt like he was already forgetting how to look away.
To be continued…
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