“May I come in, Sir?” I stepped back and stood there.
ONE YEAR AGO…
“Come, come on in…” said my math teacher, Mr. A.K Sharma, in a sarcastic way, “this is not a school. No, not at all, who call it by this name. This is a Hotel. You can check in or check out anytime you want.” The whole class sniggered at me. My eyes scanned all those laughing at me and were fixed at a girl who was wearing glasses. An oval-shaped face girl with round glasses was chuckling at me but stopped when she saw me watching her. Her dark brown ponytail had left some strands of her hair over her green eye. She put them behind her ear and turned her face to the notebook. I had never seen her in my class, school or anywhere else till now. I found myself gazing at her. I couldn’t help it.
“Harish…” I almost forgot that before my very eyes was standing the teacher.
“Where are your eyes?” asked teacher sternly, “look straight.” angry.
“Don’t call me Sir. You are my guest, I am your host. I should call you Sir.”
“I am sorry, Sir,” I apologized, staring the floor, “I will not do it again.”
“I’ll not be late again, Sir.”
He glared at me, didn’t say a word for a while then came to me with glowering eyes. I was really scared because he was a new teacher in the school and I had no idea how he would react.
He will punish me not allowing me in or he will forgive me? I think, I’m going to be dead.
His furious face turned into a calm one when he said to me, “This is your first and last warning. I will not allow you next time. Go and take your seat.”
I entered the class and looked for vacant seats. There were three empty seats on the second, third and fourth benches in the first, second and fourth rows respectively. I lolled on the bench in the fourth row, adjacent to the bench on which the new girl was sitting bolt upright. As I sat on my seat, she looked at me and grinned. I smiled.
After the maths period ended, the teacher left the room. The classroom was filled with noises — really deafening noises.
“You should have looked at your face when he was scolding you,” said Raghav, my friend, the only boy in our class who had long hair and long sideburns. “I will not do it again.” He imitated me.
“You should look at your face when Ananya talks to you.” Ananya was Raghav’s crush.
I was looking for the new girl. She had left the room after the teacher. I walked and stood at the door of the room searching for her but my sight was unable to spot her. Perhaps she was not there or my eyes required the spectacles like hers.
“What are you doing at the door?” asked a passing teacher.
“Looking for something,” I replied.
“Nothing.” And I went into my classroom.
TO BE CONTINUED. . .
- CLICK HERE TO READ (PART #4)