Rhea's pov
The school announced the Annual Fest on a random Tuesday, which was bold of them—considering our class couldn't even handle a surprise test without emotional breakdowns.
"Participants list will be put up today," the teacher said.
That was it.
That sentence alone unleashed chaos.
By lunch, the notice board looked like a crime scene.
Names were being added. Removed. Added again.
Kabir's name was already there.
Basketball.
Of course.
Tall. Calm. Serious. Built like the school brochure hero.
Neel squinted at the list.
"Wow. Kabir made it. Shocking. The sun also rose today."
Kabir didn't react. He never did. That was his personality—silent threat.
Then Samar cleared his throat dramatically.
"Attention everyone," he announced. "I have applied."
"For what?" I asked, already nervous.
"Singing."
The corridor went quiet.
Even the ceiling fan paused.
"You… sing?" Neel asked slowly.
"I don't just sing," Samar said. "I perform."
Kabir blinked. Once.
That was his version of panic.
Practice started the very next day.
Basketball practice meant the ground. Sweat. Whistles. Kabir being aggressively good at everything.
I sat on the steps with Neel, watching.
"Why does he look like that while running?" Neel muttered. "It's unfair."
"Genetics," I said. "And zero personality flaws."
Kabir scored again.
Neel groaned. "I hate him respectfully."
Inside the auditorium, Samar was… doing something.
"I feel like a rockstar," he declared, holding the mic like it owed him money.
He sang one line.
One.
The music teacher froze.
"That's… enthusiastic," she said carefully.
Yuhan leaned toward me. "Is he serious?"
"Unfortunately," I replied, "very."
Neel whispered, "If he wins, I'm changing schools."
Meanwhile, the non-participants were causing more damage than the participants.
Someone unplugged the speaker mid-song.
Someone else started clapping at the wrong beats.
Two juniors started a dance battle in the aisle.
The teacher yelled, "THIS IS NOT A PICNIC."
Neel raised his hand. "Ma'am it feels like one."
Back on the ground, Kabir twisted his ankle slightly.
Everyone panicked.
I stood up instantly. "Idiot."
He looked at me. "It's fine."
"It's always 'fine' until it's not," I snapped, handing him water.
Neel stared. "Wow. Care unlocked."
"Shut up."
Kabir smiled. Barely.
Dress rehearsal day was worse.
Samar demanded fog lights.
"I need ambience."
"You need discipline," the teacher replied.
Kabir's team forgot their jerseys.
Neel suggested, "Just play in uniform. Call it symbolic."
I sighed. "This fest will end me."
By the end of the day, the corridor looked like a war zone.
Posters half-fallen.
Voices hoarse.
Egos bruised.
Kabir walked past me, spinning the basketball.
"Samar's singing," he said.
"I know."
"Are we surviving this fest?"
I smirked. "Barely."
And honestly?
I couldn't wait.
Fest Day arrived like a personal threat.
The school was decorated with balloons, banners, and a level of optimism that made me deeply uncomfortable. Everyone was running around like this was a movie and not an institution that usually survived on broken fans and sarcasm.
And then there was the basketball court.
Crowded. Loud. Sweaty. Dramatic.
Kabir's match.
Of course.
Neel dragged me to the front like it was my moral duty.
"If I'm forced to witness athletic excellence," he said, "you're coming too."
"I didn't sign up for this," I protested.
"You emotionally did," Samar yelled from somewhere, already wearing a backstage pass like a personality trait.
Kabir's team walked onto the court.
I noticed three things immediately:
He looked annoyingly focused.
His opponent was unnecessarily tall.
Half the school suddenly remembered they liked basketball.
Girls were whispering.
Teachers were pretending they weren't watching closely.
Neel leaned in. "If Kabir wins this, he's officially a campus legend."
"He already is," I muttered.
Neel gasped. "DID YOU JUST—"
"I DID NOT."
The whistle blew.
Game on.
Kabir moved like he belonged there—fast, precise, calm. The crowd roared every time he scored. I tried not to react.
I failed.
"He's good," I said.
Neel smirked. "That was emotional support."
Then things got intense.
The other team started playing rough.
Too rough.
One guy shoved Kabir. Another blocked him unfairly.
"ARE YOU BLIND?" I shouted.
Neel stared. "Ma'am please lower your volume."
Kabir stumbled but recovered, jaw tight.
I hated how my heart reacted faster than my brain.
Mid-game.
Score tied.
Kabir went for a shot—
Missed.
The crowd gasped.
Neel whispered, "This is character development."
Kabir wiped his face, eyes sharp now. Something switched.
Next play?
Steal.
Run.
Jump.
Basket.
The crowd exploded.
I forgot I was supposed to be cool and stood up clapping like a proud relative.
Kabir glanced toward the crowd.
Straight at me.
Just for a second.
Neel screamed, "EYE CONTACT. CONFIRMED."
I sat down immediately. "SHUT UP."
Final minute.
Sweat. Noise. Chaos.
Kabir twisted his ankle again slightly.
I froze.
"He's fine," Neel said quickly.
"He better be," I replied. "Or I'm suing someone."
Last play.
Kabir had the ball.
Ten seconds.
The tall guy blocked him.
Five seconds.
Kabir pivoted.
Two seconds.
Shot.
Everything stopped.
Ball in the air.
My breath caught.
SWISH.
WHISTLE.
MATCH OVER.
Kabir's team won.
The crowd lost their minds.
Neel hugged me.
I shoved him away.
"I was emotionally invested for the sport."
Kabir walked off the court, exhausted, victorious.
I intercepted him with a bottle of water like this was planned.
"You idiot," I said. "You scared me."
He smiled. Tired. Real.
"Worth it?"
I rolled my eyes. "Barely."
But I didn't move away.
From the stage nearby, Samar's voice suddenly echoed—
"THIS NEXT SONG IS DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND WHO JUST WON AND ALSO TO MY EGO."
I buried my face in my hands.
Kabir laughed.
And for once, with the crowd roaring, sweat dripping, and chaos everywhere—
Everything felt exactly right.