And that's how all of that started...

Since some you asked for a part two...here the next part just not the part two but how All of this started....

#Roll Number 94

Summer was a terrible season to have exams. Actually, summer was a terrible season in general. For her, summer felt like the world had turned the heat up just to test how much irritation a human could survive before becoming emotionally detached from society. The air felt sticky. The sun seemed personally offended by humanity. And every student in the college looked one inconvenience away from committing a crime.

For her, college during exams didn’t feel like an institution. It felt like a temporary survival zone where students from different classes gathered only to suffer in parallel, not together.

G arrived at the examination center fifteen minutes early. Not because she was responsible, but because anxiety treated “being late” like a moral failure deserving punishment. (Anxiety, unfortunately, had strong opinions and no chill.)

The campus was already buzzing with different departments, different uniforms of stress, and the same collective exhaustion. Students stood in groups revising. Some paced, some prayed, and some had already given up emotionally but were still physically present out of respect for attendance rules.

G noticed everything: the girl adjusting her dupatta for the fifth time like it could fix her marks; the boy aggressively revising as if memorizing harder would physically force answers onto the paper; the professor walking past with attendance sheets like he was collecting souls instead of signatures. People thought silence meant absence of thought. It didn’t. It just meant observation without permission.

She stepped forward with her friend, Kumud. The exam hall was still a few minutes away, and students from different classes were scattered outside under the shade, waiting for entry. Kumud adjusted her pencil pouch.

“i hope I end up sitting with someone good” Kumud muttered.

G glanced at her.

“That’s your biggest fear?”

“Yes.” 

“Mine is existence itself, but okay.”

Kumud rolled her eyes. “You’re dramatic.”

“I’m accurate.”

They walked a few steps closer to the hall gate. G looked at the rows of students from different classes standing around.

“I hope some girl sits beside me,” she said casually. “At least it’ll be quiet.”

Kumud stopped walking for a second and stared at her.

“You are aware seating is random, right? Not your personal wishlist system.”

“I’m just manifesting peace.” G said

“You don’t manifest. You attract problems.”

“That’s not scientifically proven.”

“It is emotionally proven.”

G sighed.

“I think,” kumud said. “It’s gonna be a boy.”

“Why do you sound so confident in my suffering?”

“Because I’ve observed your life.”

“Observing doesn’t mean predicting.”

“In your case it does.”

G didn’t reply, because arguing with Kumud was like arguing with a mirror that had opinions. Kumud adjusted her bag again.

“Anyway, I’m going to my block. Different class, different hall.”

“Lucky you,” G said.

“You say that like I’m going on vacation.”

“looks like it is.”

Kumud gave a short laugh and stepped back.

“Good luck surviving your hall.”

“You too.”

Kumud waved and walked off toward her assigned block. G stayed back for a moment, watching the flow of students split into different directions based on their classes. Same exam. Different rooms. Same stress. Different seating charts. Life really loved dividing suffering into sections.

The bell rang for entry. Students began moving toward their respective exam halls. G checked her admit card.

Roll Number: 94.

A meaningless number that suddenly carried authority. She stepped forward and entered the hall.

Rows of desks. Ceiling fans doing their usual underperformance. The ritual of exams beginning again. She found her seat.

Seat two.

She took out her pens, checked them, and checked them again. Anxiety liked repetition more than peace liked consistency.

The seat beside her was empty.

A beautiful sight for her and a rare gift from the universe.

No introductions. No talks. No awkward human interaction. Perfect.

For once, life appeared willing to cooperate. Naturally, this was suspicious.

The exam began. Papers were distributed. Silence fell like it had been rehearsed. For her, exams weren’t about knowledge; they were about temporary disappearance from the world. No talking. No expectations. No unnecessary human interaction.

Thirty minutes passed.

Then forty.

Then fifty.

The seat beside her was still empty.

A small victory. Not that she cared, but still victory.

Perhaps fate had finally become tired. Perhaps miracles were real.

Perhaps—

The door opened, because peace never lasts longer than it should.

A student entered. Late. Very late. The invigilator looked tired in a way only repeated disappointment can create. The student looked unbothered. Most people feared authority this boy appeared to fear absolutely nothing, including clocks.

G didn’t react immediately, but her memory did. Last semester. Same face. Same pattern. Different exam Different partners (This time luckily or unluckily it has to be G), same habit of arriving late enough to make an entrance. Some people collected hobbies apparently, he collected attendance warnings. Not important, just familiar in the way repeated noise becomes familiar.

The invigilator pointed toward the empty seat beside her.

Of course.

Naturally. Because the universe had overheard her prayer and decided comedy was more entertaining.

Her empty seat had now officially lost its emotional ownership.

The boy walked in and sat down. And just like that, two completely different people ended up sharing a desk row.

G looked away instantly. Whatever. Not her problem. Just another student. Just another exam. Just another background detail she would forget the moment she left the hall.

The exam continued. Time moved. Pens scratched. Silence held. No conversations. No introductions. No eye contact. Exactly how she liked it.

When the final bell rang, the hall erupted into movement. Freedom always makes people loud, like silence was something they had been personally oppressed by.

She packed her things with the urgency of someone escaping a crime scene.

The boy beside her kept talking to his friend like silence was a personal enemy and he was determined to win the war.

She stood, didn’t look, and left.

Outside, the heat hit like reality checking attendance again.

Summer, in all its unnecessary aggression, waited patiently. She stepped out of the hall area and joined the crowd where students from different classes were already mixing again. Her friend met her near the gate.

“How was it?” Kumud asked.

“The exam?”

“No, your emotional stability.”

“It survived.”

“That bad?”

“That average.”

“So useless?”

“Efficiently so.”

Kumud laughed.

“You know normal people discuss answers after exams.”

“Normal people are terrifying,” G replied

Together they walked toward the gate. Students argued, some celebrated, and some looked like they were rethinking their entire education. G moved through all of it like an observer trapped inside the simulation.

“So…” 

G already regretted it.

“So?”

“You had a seat partner.” Kumud asked.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“My eyes disagrees.”

G exhaled and replied.

“There was a seat partner.”

“Aha.”

“He came late.”

“Aha.”

“He sat.”

“Aha.”

“He wrote.”

“Aha.”

"He talked like the world is ending Tommorow"

"Aha"

“End of story.”

Kumud nodded slowly and said.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told.”

Many times, by people who eventually stopped trying.

They walked toward the gate together. Sunlight stretched across the corridor like it had nothing better to do.

Kumud was talking about something irrelevant again of course, her crush.

G was listening halfway, as usual. They stepped out of the gate.

Later, near the exit-

that’s when she saw him again, coming from the opposite direction.

Same boy. Same late energy. Different class, different path, same timing coincidence that felt like the universe had a sense of humor it refused to explain.

G looked up.

Their eyes met.

Just a second.

No meaning assigned. No story created. Just recognition.

Then she looked away and kept walking, because for her, people weren’t stories yet. They were just details, and details only mattered when they refused to stay irrelevant.

By the time she reached her stop, her social battery was completely dead. For her, crowded spaces always felt louder than they actually were like even silence had pressure. The small house stood exactly where she'd left it. Unfortunately. G looked at it with the same enthusiasm people reserved for dentist appointments. Home. Technically.

She stepped inside. Her aunt was in the kitchen. Her uncle was not at home. No one looked particularly happy to see her. A normal day. No conversation, no "how's the exam was." Good.

G escaped to her room before anyone could continue.

The room was small, hot, and familiar. For her, it wasn’t comfort exactly; it was familiarity pretending to be comfort. She dropped her bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed.

The ceiling fan spun overhead slowly, lazily, mocking her existence. She stared at it, then at the cracks in the ceiling, then back at the fan. One exam down. Several more to go. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

"I swear," she muttered to herself. "Next semester I'm never coming back here."

A promise she'd made before. A promise she'd break again. Because reality didn't care about promises. Reality cared about money, about circumstances, and about choices she didn't have.

She closed her eyes. Outside, the city continued moving. Inside, sleep began pulling at her thoughts. Tomorrow would bring another exam, another crowded hall, another exhausting day. And hopefully... no conversations. Because if there was one thing G was certain of, it was this people complicated everything. Sleep, on the other hand, never asked questions.

P.S.

Well well well Dear readers, 

You probably think she didn’t notice him.

You probably think he didn’t notice her.

Fair assumption. People love being confidently wrong.

She is the kind of quiet that makes rooms forget she exists until they need attendance confirmed.

He is the kind of loud that could start a conversation with a wall and somehow expect a response.

She speaks in pauses. He speaks in paragraphs no one specifically requested.

And no there’s no conversation. Not even a “hi.”

Which, of course, is exactly what you expected from two strangers sharing oxygen for three hours in the same exam hall.

Some of you were probably waiting for accidental eye contact, instant chemistry, dramatic tension, or at least one dropped pen.

Unfortunately, real life does not always cooperate with reader expectations.

You might even think they don’t care.

Or worse, that they didn’t register each other at all.

Cute theory.

People notice far more than they admit.

Especially the ones pretending not to.

But admitting that would require self-awareness, and humanity has never been particularly consistent with that.

She left the hall thinking nothing of him.

He probably did the same.

Or maybe they didn’t.

After all, people are excellent at lying to themselves.

Sometimes they do it so well they deserve awards.

We never really know, do we?

That’s the problem with stories like this

the important parts rarely announce themselves.

They don't arrive wearing neon signs and background music.

They usually show up quietly, disguised as ordinary moments everyone ignores.

And sometimes, the ones who look like background characters...

aren’t.

Which is unfortunate for them.

And potentially entertaining for the rest of us.....