The air inside Class 12-B was dense, as though the very walls were holding their breath.
For a few fleeting moments, the usual rhythm of fidgeting students and whispered banter had returned after the quiz. But it was a fragile balance, one that shattered the moment the school's ancient PA system crackled to life.
The speakers let out a sharp static buzz, cutting through the murmurs like a whip.
"Attention, all students and faculty," came Principal Mehra's voice, firm and precise, a tone honed by years of commanding obedience in inspection week rituals.
"The Inspection Committee has arrived and classroom rounds will commence immediately."
A collective, invisible tremor passed through the school.
For students, it was the tightening of shoulders, the sudden straightening of spines. For teachers, it was the rushed smoothing of saree pleats, the hurried alignment of already-aligned notebooks.
In Class 12-B, the effect was immediate.
The low hum of conversation dissolved into a suffocating silence.
Mrs. Nair, who had up until now been merely tense, shifted into a state of rigid command. She stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor, clipboard tucked under her arm with military precision.
"Listen carefully," she began, her voice cutting through the classroom with a sharpness that allowed no room for distraction.
"This is not a drill. From this point onwards, every breath you take will be judged."
Aarav Sen, lounging at the back, allowed himself a smirk at her choice of words, but even he felt the shift in the atmosphere.
Mrs. Nair's gaze swept across the room like a radar, searching for imperfections.
"I want bags zipped, ties straightened, and not a single elbow resting where it shouldn't be," she continued, her tone brokering no argument.
Students hurried to comply.
Kunal, ever the rebel, tugged his tie with exaggerated slowness, earning a side glance from Aarav.
"Guess we're in for it now," Kunal muttered.
Aarav gave a nonchalant shrug, but his senses were alive.
The PA system's crackle still rang in his ears, amplified as though the announcement had been wired directly into his brain.
Mrs. Nair clapped her hands sharply. "Posture check!"
Desks scraped against the floor as students jerked into upright positions. The sound grated against Aarav's heightened hearing, each screech slicing into his skull like nails on a chalkboard.
He masked his wince by stretching his arms above his head, allowing his body to settle back into what he hoped was a convincingly casual slouch.
It wasn't.
His body aligned itself too perfectly.
He could feel it in the way his shoulders squared without conscious thought, the way his spine straightened as though tethered by invisible strings.
Anaya Rathore, seated ahead, had already locked into her default posture of perfection. Her hands were folded neatly on her desk, her expression the epitome of composed readiness.
But Aarav caught the flicker of her eyes scanning the classroom.
She wasn't looking for approval.
She was calculating flaws.
Her gaze paused momentarily when it reached Aarav.
For a second, their eyes met.
No words passed.
But the challenge was clear.
Stay in line, Sen.
Aarav responded with his trademark smirk, but internally, his body was waging a quiet war against his will.
Mrs. Nair's sharp tone snapped the moment back.
"I want absolute silence until the committee enters. If anyone even breathes out of place, you'll answer to me."
The door was closed with deliberate care, and the class transformed into a tableau of perfect stillness.
Aarav could feel the shift in air pressure as students adjusted their stances. Every small movement was magnified in his perception. The rustle of a shirt sleeve, the faint exhale of the student next to him—it was as if the room had been dipped into a layer of heightened reality.
Kunal nudged his foot under the desk.
"Survive the next ten minutes, Sen. Then we can go back to being useless."
Aarav smirked, but his ears picked up something else.
Footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate.
The inspection committee had begun their rounds.
The corridor, which had been an empty echo chamber moments ago, now resonated with the measured cadence of authority.
Aarav felt the vibrations first through his desk, a subtle rhythm that no one else seemed to notice yet.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to dull the sensory sharpness.
Mrs. Nair had returned to her pacing, every step perfectly choreographed, every glance a warning.
The class was in full lockdown.
But for Aarav Sen, this inspection was no longer about external impressions.
It was about keeping the internal storm in check.
The footsteps grew louder.
The real game was about to begin.