Rhea's POV — Home, Sweet War Zone
Home.
The one place where peace comes to die.
Dinner was almost over. Plates half-empty. Sabzi cold.
And there it was.
The last paratha.
Golden. Soft. Slightly crispy at the edges.
Destiny.
I reached for it.
My brother reached for it at the exact same time.
Our eyes met.
War.
"I saw it first," I said calmly, already pulling it toward me.
"You had TWO parathas already," he snapped. "This is equality."
Papa immediately cleared his throat. "Actually… Rhea is still growing."
I froze. "Papa, I love you."
My brother stared at him. "I am taller than her."
Mama didn't even look up. "And still hungry. Give it to him."
I gasped. "MAMA. BETRAYAL."
Mama raised an eyebrow. "Girls should eat less at night."
Papa slammed his hand lightly on the table. "She was attacked today."
I blinked.
My brother blinked harder. "WHAT?"
I panicked. "Papa—no—don't—"
Too late.
My brother stood up. "WHO."
Mama instantly joined him. "WHAT kind of people."
I quickly grabbed the paratha. "IT'S FINE. SEE? I'M STRONG. ALSO I WON."
Papa smiled proudly. "That's my girl."
My brother lunged. "GIVE IT BACK."
We both held onto the paratha like it was a tug-of-war rope.
Mama sighed dramatically. "Children these days. No values."
She tore the paratha in half.
Silence.
She gave one half to my brother.
Papa reached over and gave his paratha to me.
Mama stared. "Really?"
Papa shrugged. "Girl child."
I grinned, chewing victoriously.
My brother pointed at me. "You're going to pay for this."
I smiled sweetly. "After you do the dishes."
Chaos.
As always.
Rhea's POV — Front Bench Fiasco
Next day. School.
I should've known peace was illegal.
The chaos started before the bell.
Two front-bench girls—perfect braids, perfect notebooks, perfect anger—were standing like gladiators.
"This is MY seat," Girl A snapped, gripping the desk.
"I've been sitting here since April," Girl B hissed. "Move."
Front benchers instantly chose sides.
"You sit here on odd days."
"No, she's right, it's alphabetical."
"Why are you both shouting so early?"
On the other side of the classroom—
Samar had climbed halfway onto the bench.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," he announced, "WELCOME TO MONDAY NIGHT RAW."
Neel was clapping aggressively. "BLUE CORNER VS RED CORNER. NO REFEREE."
I turned around. "Shut up, both of you."
They ignored me.
"PULL THE CHAIR," Samar whispered loudly.
"USE THE NOTEBOOK," Neel added. "ILLEGAL BUT EFFECTIVE."
Yuhan face-palmed so hard I thought he'd dislocate something.
Kabir muttered, "Why are we friends with them?"
Teacher walked in.
Instant silence.
For exactly twelve seconds.
Mid-lecture.
Girl A: "Why are you using my blue pen?"
Girl B: "It was on the table."
Girl A: "So? My bag is also on the table."
Girl B: "So I should use that too?"
I bit my tongue.
Samar leaned toward Neel. "ROUND TWO."
Neel whispered, "Plot twist—pen is actually black."
Kabir shut his eyes. Yuhan prayed silently.
The teacher continued explaining like this was a normal background soundtrack.
Then—
"MA'AM," Girl A burst out, standing up dramatically, "SHE IS STEALING MY STATIONERY."
Girl B stood too. "I ASKED HER ONCE IN JULY AND SHE SAID NO."
The class gasped like a daily soap reveal.
Teacher snapped. "SIT."
They sat.
Glared.
Whisper-fought.
Samar held an imaginary mic. "Audience reaction?"
Neel nodded. "Solid performance. Emotion. Anger. Pencil abuse."
I laughed quietly.
Kabir glanced at me, shaking his head, but smiling.
Yuhan leaned back. "This class needs therapy."
Bell rang.
Front benchers still arguing.
Back benchers entertained.
Teacher exhausted.
Another day.
Same chaos.
And somehow—we survived it.
Rhea's POV — Free Period, Full Madness
Next period: FREE.
The most dangerous word in our class.
Within thirty seconds, Samar announced, "We are wasting potential. Let's play Chor–Police."
"Physical?" I asked, already tired.
"No," Kabir said calmly. "Paper chits."
Which sounded harmless.
It was not.
Chits were made. Folded. Shaken dramatically like lottery tickets of destiny.
Samar insisted on rules no one understood.
Neel accused everyone of cheating before the game even began.
First round.
I opened my chit.
POLICE.
I gasped like I'd won an Oscar. "YES. JUSTICE IS WITH ME."
Samar clutched his chest. "ARREST HER FIRST. TOO MUCH POWER."
Kabir smirked. "Chor already scared."
I won.
Second round.
Kabir opened his chit slowly, suspiciously calm.
KING.
Of course.
He didn't react. Just nodded like this was expected.
Samar stood up and bowed. "YOUR MAJESTY."
Neel glared. "He's cheating. Look at his face. That's a cheater face."
Kabir won again.
And again.
And again.
At this point, we were convinced destiny had a crush on him.
Samar won a couple of times and celebrated like he'd cracked UPSC.
Yuhan won twice and pretended not to care, but we all saw that smile.
And Neel?
Lost.
Every.
Single.
Round.
He opened his chit and stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.
"This is targeted," he announced. "You people are ganging up on me."
I laughed. "Neel, it's paper."
"EXACTLY," he said angrily. "EASY TO MANIPULATE."
He folded his arms and pouted like a child denied ice cream.
Samar pointed. "Someone call the police for emotional damage."
Kabir tried to be fair. "One more round. Neel will win."
Neel looked hopeful.
Chits opened.
Neel: CHOR.
Silence.
Then chaos.
Samar fell off the bench laughing.
Yuhan clapped. "Consistency is important in life."
I couldn't breathe.
Neel stood up. "I HATE THIS GROUP."
Bell rang.
Game ended.
Neel still sulking.
Kabir undefeated.
Me laughing till my stomach hurt.
Free period well spent.☺️😄
The Great Forced Treat
Walking home. Bags heavy. Brain empty.
Peace.
Then Neel made the mistake.
He casually pulled out his wallet.
Not to pay.
Not to check something.
Just… showed it.
"Why are you carrying money?" Samar asked, suspicious.
Neel shrugged. "I have cash today."
Silence.
Five pairs of eyes slowly turned toward him.
Kabir stopped walking.
Yuhan raised an eyebrow.
Samar gasped like he'd seen treasure.
I smiled sweetly.
"Oh," Samar said softly, "so you're treating us."
Neel laughed nervously. "Haha—no?"
I put an arm around his shoulder. "Yes."
"That's not how it works," he protested. "Money doesn't mean treat."
Samar nodded seriously. "Actually, in friend law, it does."
Yuhan added, "Unwritten rule. Ancient tradition."
Kabir said nothing. Just looked at Neel.
Neel cracked.
"Fine," he sighed dramatically. "But only pani puri."
We all smiled.
Five minutes later—
"Bhaiya," Samar said confidently, "ek plate pani puri, ek sev puri, ek dahi puri…"
Neel spun around. "WHAT HAPPENED TO ONLY PANI PURI?"
I pretended to think. "Oh? Did you say only? I heard all puri."
Kabir added calmly, "Balance is important. One of each."
Yuhan nodded. "For health."
Neel held his head. "I'm being robbed in broad daylight."
Plates arrived. Chaos followed.
Samar ate like it was a competitive sport.
Yuhan criticized the spice level like a food blogger.
Kabir calmly ate, judging silently.
I stole Neel's extra puri.
"HEY," he yelled. "THAT'S MINE."
I grinned. "Community property."
By the time we were done, Neel's wallet looked emotionally damaged.
He sighed. "Never showing money again."
Samar patted his back. "Lesson learned."
We walked home laughing, stomachs full, Neel broke—
And completely loved.