PRE DEBATE TENSION
The moment Samiksha Ma'am left the room, it was like someone flipped a switch. The buzzing in the classroom got louder—every whisper felt like it was about me.
I sank into my seat, clutching the edge of my desk, my heart pounding louder than the class noise.
Love.
They seriously want us to debate love?
Of all topics, why this? On my second day. After that cafeteria incident. And now being paired with him—the same guy I yelled at, misunderstood, and who everyone thinks I'm dating.
"Eyana," Tejal whispered, sliding into the seat beside me, "you should've seen the look on everyone's faces. This topic's gone viral already. People are literally walking up to me, asking if you're dating either Avyansh or Siddhartha."
My chest tightened. "Why does it matter to them?" I mumbled, more to myself than her. "I didn't ask for any of this."
Jhanvi leaned in, trying to lighten the mood. "Well... at least they're obsessed with you. Must be the new girl effect."
I blinked, completely overwhelmed. "Wait—what? Are you serious?"
"They've gone feral," Jhanvi added. "You're getting dagger stares from half the girls in class."
"And questions from the rest," Tejal said. "Everyone's acting like you've broken some secret girl code."
I sighed. This couldn't be real. Rumors, stares, debates... What next?
Meanwhile, across the room, Atharva nudged Avyansh with a grin. "You and Eyana debating love? You'll either kill each other... or end up falling for each other."
"Shut up," Avyansh muttered, giving him a glare, but even he couldn't fully hide the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
Unbeknownst to us, Samiksha Ma'am was still standing by the door, arms crossed, watching us like a hawk. Her eyes landed on me and Avyansh, and she whispered just loud enough for Jhanvi to overhear, "Let's see if love is more than just hallway glances."
Jhanvi gasped. "What the actual—Is she planning something?"
A teacher walked in and announced we had a free period. Tejal turned to me with a smirk. "Perfect time to clear things up."
"Yeah," Jhanvi added. "Talk to him. Plan the debate. End the weirdness."
I sighed and glanced across the room where Avyansh sat, headphones half in, staring out the window. Ugh, this is gonna be so awkward. But they were right—I had to try.
Avyansh's POV
Eyana looked like she was building up courage just to walk over. And honestly? I respected that. Things had gotten weird, thanks to that cafeteria scene. And the rumors—don't even get me started.
She stood near my desk, clutching her notebook like it was some kind of shield. "Um... can we talk about the debate?"
Yeah," I nodded.
I nudged Veeryansh. "Swap seats. "Veeryansh, move to her seat," I said. "She'll sit here—easier to discuss."
He groaned but obeyed.
Eyana took the empty seat beside me, still stiff with awkwardness. Her presence was... different. She looked determined but also nervous. After a few seconds of silence, she turned to me.
"Listen, Avyansh... this is already weird and I don't want to keep pretending nothing happened yesterday. So, I'm really sorry. I didn't know you were trying to help me. I misunderstood, and I said some pretty rude things. Thank you for standing up for me—really."
She said it all in one breath, and I couldn't help it—I laughed.
She looked at me, clearly confused. "What's so funny?"
"You," I said, grinning. "You said that like you'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Chill out, puffer fish. Apology accepted."
Her face turned red. "Pigass."
Something about that moment cracked the ice between us. For the first time, it didn't feel like we were just two people trapped in a rumor. It felt like maybe, just maybe, we could make this work.
"We'll win this," she said suddenly, fire returning to her voice. "We've got seven days. I'll handle the history of love. After school, we can discuss how to gather real opinions—people of all ages, all kinds of perspectives. Emotional, physical, even mental aspects."
Her determination surprised me. And impressed me.
"Yeah," I nodded. "We're gonna make them regret putting us together. Let's show them what a real team looks like."
Eyana's POV
Well, we've got 30 minutes left. Let's write down whatever thoughts we have now, and after school, we can review the rest. Is that okay with you?" I asked Avyansh.
"Yeah, I'm fine with it."
"Alright, time starts now. All the best."
I tried to focus, but my pen hovered over the page uselessly. My thoughts drifted as I glanced out the window. The sky had darkened; clouds hung heavy like they were carrying secrets too long. The cool breeze whispered through the glass, and the soft rumble of thunder rolled in the distance.
I love this kind of weather. It makes everything slow down, like the world is finally matching the pace of my mind. But today, it only mirrored the storm inside me.
Love.
Why does that word feel so heavy?
Why is everyone around me obsessed with it — whispering it in hallways, tossing it into rumors, acting like it's some magical truth we're all born knowing?
What is love, really?
Because to me, it's always felt like something that exists for other people. Not for me.
I thought back to my 14th birthday. The cake was store-bought, the candles already bent. My mom handed it to me without looking up from her phone, mumbling a distracted "Happy birthday" before walking off to take a call. My dad never even showed up — said he had a late meeting. That was love in our house. Quiet. Mechanical. Forgettable.
Even now, my parents and I barely speak unless it's about school or responsibilities. Their love feels like a transaction — do well, be quiet, and you'll be tolerated.
How am I supposed to speak about something I've never felt? How do I define something that's never once felt safe or lasting?
People think love is flowers and butterflies — but to me, it's more like standing in the rain without an umbrella, wondering why no one ever offered you one in the first place.
And now I'm paired with Avyansh — a guy who seems just as emotionally guarded as I am. Maybe that's why it unsettles me. Not the rumors. Not the assignment. But the mirror he unknowingly holds up — showing me that I'm not the only one who doesn't understand love.
I looked at my notebook. Still blank.
Only five minutes left.
I turned to look at him — and at the same moment, he looked at me too. There was something in his eyes. Softness. Hesitation. Pain, maybe? Whatever it was, it didn't need words.
I gave a tired smile. "Did you write anything?"
He shook his head.
I let out a small laugh. "We're doomed."
And then, to my surprise, he laughed too. A real laugh. Not the kind he throws around with his friends, but one that cracked open something quiet between us.
And for the first time, I didn't feel entirely alone in the storm.
Avyansh's POV
Love.
The word itself feels foreign. Too soft for a life like mine.
Samiksha ma'am kept speaking at the front of the class, outlining expectations, debate rules, formats — but I wasn't listening. I couldn't. My mind was elsewhere, buried under thoughts I never dared say aloud.
How do I write about love when everything I know about it feels... wrong?
I thought about last night — dinner at home. My plate sat untouched as my father spoke, not to me, but at me. Another lecture. Another list of things I hadn't done well enough. He didn't look up once. Just kept talking with that same cold tone, as if I wasn't his son — just a failed investment.
That's love in my house: performance, silence, and punishment.
He's never once said he was proud. Never once said he was glad I existed.
I used to believe maybe someday, I'd earn it. That if I got perfect grades or played the role well enough, he'd change. But I stopped hoping for that a long time ago. Now, I just exist in the background of his expectations.
So no — I don't know what love is.
Is it supposed to be patience? Safety? The way a voice softens when someone truly cares?
If so, I've never had it.
And now I'm expected to sit beside Eyana — someone who, from the outside, seems like she has it all figured out — and pretend to know how to define love?
But the more I looked at her, the more I realized she was just as lost as I am.
I saw it earlier when her eyes drifted to the window. That same faraway look I've seen in the mirror too many times. Her smile is polite, her voice steady — but her silence? It's loud.
And maybe that's what makes this whole thing a little less unbearable.
Maybe we don't need to define love. Maybe we just need to admit that we're both trying to find it.
Our eyes met. A quiet second passed.
"Did you write anything?" she asked.
I shook my head. "No."
She giggled and said, "We're doomed."
And just like that, something in my chest loosened — like the first breath after holding it too long.
I laughed, genuinely, and it surprised me how good it felt.
Maybe we are doomed.
Or maybe... maybe we're juststarting to understand.
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