A N I K A

"Shut up and fuck you!" I sent the stink eye to my math notebook like it personally offended me.

I reread the question again, which made my head twist and turn. So, there's this dude 21 metres away from a pole, and the pole's playing hide-and-seek at Cos 45 degrees. Like, really? Is this some kind of secret pole dance move? How's that going to help me when I'm adulting with corporate shenanigans? 

I mean, I can't imagine myself in a board meeting going, 'Hold up, let me calculate the angle of that pole first!' 

"Calm down, Anika. Calm down." Savi's hand moved in soothing circles on my back as she caught sight of me, head in hands, like I was juggling stress grenades.

"Seriously, what is wrong with this guy? And why he's chilling 21 metres away from a pole, and the pole's all like, 'Cos 45 degrees, baby!'" I complained about this trigonometry question, and she laughed at my stupid complaints. 

It's been only a couple of months in here, and I'm already done with this. I legit thought I'd be an academic weapon this time, but it seems like I've become an academic victim instead.

Oh! And did I tell you I've made new friends here? At first, I observed them suspiciously, thinking I'd be facing trolls 'cause I'm a bit older around here. And yeah, sometimes I do dodge a few of those, but guess what? Most of my friends are awesome, like really awesome. Or, if I'm being straight, they're nice to me, or maybe it's just my wallet they're sweet on.

Savi offered me her seat on the first day. Instant connection, right? And we became really good friends in a matter of a few days. Even Raghav and Veer are nice, though.

"Anika Kashyap!" My attention went to our math teacher, who I didn't know when entered the class. A flutter of nerves danced in my stomach as I noticed a stack of mark sheets neatly arranged on the table.

"Miss Anika, this is the third time I've called you; are you sure you're normal?" I sealed my lips in thin lines as laughter echoed in the class due to his not-so-funny statement.

I don't find you funny. 

I got up from the table, approached him, and took the marksheet. My attention went directly to the bottom of the paper. I swear my eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into my hairline.

"Do better next time," Sir remarked, I couldn't believe my eyeballs—I passed! I swear, if my eyebrows were any higher, they'd be lost in outer space.

I retraced my steps back to my designated spot, gently placing the sheet on the bench. With a sense of anticipation, I leaned in, my eyes scanning the answers sprawled across the pages.

"What's so exciting? You just passed because of one mark." My head shot up to the class's president, the topper, a.k.a., Disha, who is probably not in the right disha. (direction)

"Not everyone is a gifted student, Disha," I retorted, sending a verbal arrow straight into the heart of her not-so-sweet applause. A hint of disappointment flooded through my veins as I sighed in defeat.

If parents could pick kid-like items from a candy store, they'd probably point to her and say, "Yes, that one, please!". She is so good at studying; she knows how to do equations like it's a cup of tea. She'd read one sentence and frame the whole ass essay with it. But here's the twist in this academic fairy tale: I sometimes thank my lucky stars that I'm not Disha 2.0. Sure, she's got the study game, but when it comes to friendship, it's like she's building a squad based on a secret algorithm only she knows. Friendship according to wants and benefits? That's some next-level social networking.

"Thank God, you're not gifted; that'd be such a bad crossbreed." 

"of course.But better than double dating, you know." I said calmly, faking my smile, which widened her eyes.

Of course. Just because I'm not involved in dramas doesn't mean I don't know any of them. Alas! Savi is my keen reporter, though. 

Oh! Did I mention that Disha was caught by his ex-boyfriend cheating on him with his closest friend?

Because, let's face it, I'd rather face the "ugly and uneducated" look than juggle equations and friendships like a circus performer on a unicycle. 

Life's too short for drama; I'll stick to my own not-so-perfect, but definitely more entertaining, story.

--

"I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!" I crumpled the mark sheet in my hands.

'At least I've got boys following me all around, unlike you, who've never been into a relationship!'  

There I was, stuck in the loop of her sentences, each repetition turning up the heat on my nerves until they were practically doing the samba of anger. 

As if having a fan club of boys was the ultimate measure of life success.

"Sure, she might have a fan club of boys trailing behind her like lost puppies, but did that really define a person's worth?" I huffed as I walked out of the campus, my friends following me.

"Boys following her like lost puppies? Was I supposed to be jealous? I mean, I've got my own fan club in mind. Thank you very much." 

"Breathe in, breathe out, Anika," Raghav said while looking at Savi awkwardly. 

"How about I stop breathing forever? Nice idea, right?" I gave him a sarcastic smile. My gaze then shifted to the crumpled paper I held in my hands, a symbol of frustration and disappointment.

Without a second thought, I let out a huff of annoyance and threw that crumpled paper onto the road with all the force I could muster. What I didn't expect was that it'd hit someone directly on the head- 

Our eyes widened collectively when it straight away hit a guy who was passing by the road on a bike.

The paper ball wasn't that heavy to cause a lot of damage, that too when you're wearing a helmet.

 As the guy on the bike glanced around, searching for the culprit, I couldn't decide whether to laugh nervously or offer a profound apology. 

I gulped nervously as soon as I saw that guy hopping off his bike and picking up the paper that I had just thrown at him.
Correction: unintentionally thrown at him.

He looked in my direction and started walking towards me, unfolding the paper and glancing down at it. shit.

"Guys, on the count of 3." Veer slowly muttered. Not so good idea, Dumbo

"Anika, is that you?" Now he was standing in front of us, his helmet displaying his dark brown eyes,

somehow familiar. I blinked twice as nervousness started to seek in 

"Uh, I'm sorry-" I cut off in mid-sentence when he took off his helmet, my jaw dropping on the mid-road. 

"Advik-" 

"And this is going to your brother." He said, displaying my grades in front of me, turning around, and walking off. 

"Do you know him?" I heard Savi murmuring from behind, but I couldn't pay more attention to her as I saw his figure walking back. I strolled behind him.

"suniye!"
(listen!)

He stopped and looked behind him, raising an eyebrow. "Uh, please don't tell Bhai about my result." 
I paused, looking down. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't have thrown it in the middle of the road." I friddle with my fingers. 

Advik then proceeded to sit on his bike as if I hadn't put my ego aside and apologised to him. 

"hop on!" he beckoned, his eyes wandering towards the vacant back seat of his bike.

"Huh?" I looked at him, confused. 

Did he just ask me to sit behind him on his bike?

"Are you kidnapping me?"  I questioned, curiosity lighting up my expression.

"Yes," he answered with a deadpan expression as if kidnapping were just another item on his to-do list. Nonchalantly, he turned on the engine. His phone buzzed, interrupting our conversation, and he handed me his helmet as he reached to pick up the call.

"Yeah, I'm here." He says on the call.

Am I really being kidnapped? that too, on a bike? sounds cool.

"I got it, bro. I wouldn't speed at all, and make sure she is wearing a helmet... Yes, yes, I got it... You know what? Just talk to her. She thinks I'm kidnapping her."

He handed me his phone, and I looked at the dial curiously. 'Aditya, it says.

oh.

"Hello."

"I sent him to pick you up and..." Bhai's voice trailed off and he paused, "Don't trouble him." he added, abruptly ending the call. 

I stared at the phone in my hand, a brief pause hanging in the conversation, then shifted my gaze back to Advik. I blinked twice, trying to comprehend what just happened.

"Here," I murmured, extending his phone towards him.

"Wear that helmet," he instructed, pointing to the headgear I was holding.

"What about you?"

"I'm experienced enough," he casually replied. As I obediently began to put on his helmet, a subtle aroma of soapy vanilla wafted through my nostrils. I fiddled with the straps, adjusting the helmet that seemed a tad too large for my head.

"Quick, quick," I gulped, and suddenly I could feel my cheeks warming up as I stepped closer. 

Butterflies danced in my stomach as I kept my left hand on his shoulder for support and hopped on his bike. Not the most graceful move, mind you. It was probably more like a frog attempting ballet.

I shifted on his seat, trying to maintain distance between us. Even though he had his backpack playing the role of an unexpected third wheel on his back, Advik was still a stranger to me. or maybe not.

"Are you scared of bike rides?" He asked suddenly. Oh, yes, in fact, I hate it. Once Bhai had a bike accident, and since then I despise bikes!

"kind of..." I played cool.

"Kid," he chucked. As the wheels started rolling, so did my stomach, doing somersaults. I clung onto his backpack for dear life, fingers grabbing onto it like a lifeline. 

After a short stretch of time, he brought the vehicle to a halt as we reached the traffic light, its glow transforming from green to vibrant red.

"Don't vomit on my patakha." He said it out of nowhere, in the middle of traffic, almost inaudible to my ears.

"What?"

"I said, don't vomit on my patakha." He said again, making me scrunch my nose at his remarks

"My what?"

"Patakha," he said proudly
(firecracker) 

"Where is patakha?" I looked at him confused because the last time I checked it was May.

He pointed his bike down and a laugh escaped my lips. 

"Who names their bike patakha?" I asked, amused at his weirdness. 

"Well, I do!" he said. His honey-like skin shone in the golden hour and he just sat there, flashing a grin that could make a rainbow jealous, all because of a nickname he had coined for his bike.

I swear, if confidence were a currency, he'd be a millionaire just from that smile. It was the kind of smile that said, 'Yeah, I came up with a legendary nickname, and I'm owning it.' The kind of smile that can revive those butterflies in the stomach. His honey-like charm made the golden hour feel a little more magical, turning an ordinary moment into a snapshot-worthy scene in the novel of life. 

Little did I know that his golden smile was just the beginning of a story filled with warmth and unexpected twists.

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To my non-Hindi speakers,  PATAKHA is simply "firecracker" or "explosive," often used in the context of celebrating festivals like Diwali. It can also be used informally to describe someone who is lively, energetic, or attractive. 

It is a small paper packet of coloured potash that explodes when thrown against a hard surface. Calling someone patakha in jest or among close friends who know you're complimenting is fine. However, people consider this word to be somewhat offensive and catcalling.]