At fourteen, Ramcharan Sahoo — or Ram, as everyone at school knew him — had become the kind of boy who could do everything well.
Top of his class.
Perfect attendance.
Quiet but respected.
And yet, no one knew that behind his mask and cap, behind those sharp, wolf-cut bangs that half-hid his eyes, there was a different name — a name only his parents still used.
Tabu.
He hated hearing it. Not because it was ugly, but because it reminded him of her — the little girl who once laughed at him in the temple and called him "potato."
Ever since then, that word, that name, that memory — all stayed buried deep inside him like a sealed wound.
Now, everyone just knew him as Ram — the quiet, mysterious backbencher.
The school itself, Saraswati Sisu Vidyamandira, wasn't an ordinary Indian school anymore.
After the education reforms three years ago, it looked more like a modern Japanese academy — clean corridors, digital boards, garden courtyards, and organized clubs.
Even in this disciplined place, Ramcharan stood out.
Every morning, he arrived on his cycle, wearing his neat uniform, a black cap, and a white mask.
He said he wore it because he hated dust and smoke — but the truth was, it also kept unwanted attention away.
And still, every time he walked down the hall, girls turned their heads, whispering behind notebooks.
Something about his calm walk — like a South Indian movie hero moving in slow motion — made him hard to ignore.
But Ram didn't care.
He wasn't here to impress anyone.
He was here to learn, to win, and to stay invisible.
That plan lasted exactly until the day before Diwali break, when his class teacher walked in and said,
> "Alright everyone, we have a new transfer student joining us today. Please make her feel welcome."
The door opened.
A girl stepped in — sunlight spilling through the hallway framed her like an entrance scene straight out of a dream.
Her hair was golden-black, her eyes a deep blue with a hint of ruby. She carried herself with calm confidence — elegant but not arrogant.
And beside her stood her mother, Jessica, smiling politely.
For a heartbeat, the whole class fell silent.
Even the boys who usually joked around had their mouths half-open.
Ram looked up lazily — and then froze.
The air around him went cold.
That face.
That hair.
That expression.
It was her.
The same girl who once called him "potato" in front of the entire temple crowd.
He blinked twice, almost hoping it was someone else. But when his gaze flicked to the woman beside her, his stomach dropped.
It was the same mother too.
Meanwhile, the girl — Puja Rathod, now going by her English nickname Sita — looked at him briefly. For a split second, their eyes met. She found him… surprisingly handsome.
Her gaze lingered for just a moment longer than she meant to.
Then, as if realizing it, she quickly turned her head away, pretending to look out the window.
She didn't like pretty boys.
At least, that's what she always told herself. Pretty boys, in her experience, were just players in disguise — full of smiles, empty of sincerity.
> "Hello everyone," she said politely, her voice gentle but clear.
"It's nice to meet my fellow classmates. It's my first time studying in an Indian school, so please take care of me."
Her words were perfect. Her smile was controlled. She bowed slightly.
The teacher smiled warmly.
> "Very good, Sita. There's an empty seat at the back beside Ramcharan. You can sit there."
Sita glanced toward the back bench — and almost frowned. The boy sitting there wore a mask, cap, and emotionless eyes that didn't seem to care about anything. He looked like trouble.
Still, she walked over, sat beside him, and turned her face firmly toward the window.
Ram froze again. He could feel her presence beside him — familiar and sharp like an electric current.
He didn't move, didn't breathe.
He just stared forward, thinking,
> "Why… why her, of all people?"
A few of his friends whispered.
> "Hey, Ram, that new girl's super pretty, huh?"
"You know her or something?"
Ram started sweating instantly.
> "Wh–what? Me? Know her? No! I mean… I'm seeing that lemon-haired— I mean that girl for the first time!"
His friends laughed.
He buried his head in his notebook.
Class went on. Sita wrote quietly, her handwriting neat but slow. She wasn't good at studies — everyone realized that within the first hour. But she was cheerful, and people liked her instantly.
During his home , she told her parents and grandma that-
> "When Mom comes to pick me up, I don't want luxury cars or bodyguards. I want to live like a normal student. No need for attention."
And she kept her word. Every day, she came and left like an ordinary Indian girl — no BMW, no Ferraris, just a simple car and a simple wave.
But even so, her presence was impossible to ignore.
She made new friends quickly — especially among the girls. Some admired her, some whispered behind her back, jealous of her looks. The boys, meanwhile, watched her like she was a real-life princess walking through the hallways.
Everyone greeted her warmly.
Everyone except Ram.
He stayed silent, afraid that if she looked too close, she'd recognize him — the crying bald boy from the temple years ago. The potato.
But his friends wouldn't let it go.
> "Oi, Ram! Why didn't you say hello to her? You scared or what?"
They grinned mischievously.
Ram's pride flared.
Without thinking, he stood up, walked straight to Sita's desk, and said — in his most awkward, deep voice —
> "Hoi, I'm Ram."
For a moment, silence.
The whole class turned.
Even Sita blinked, confused.
She tilted her head slightly and said coldly,
> "So… do you need something?"
Ram's brain went blank.
> "Ah, no, nothing."
He turned, walked back, and sat down, his face burning under the mask.
His friends burst out laughing.
> "Who the hell greets a girl with 'Hoi'!"
Ram muttered under his breath,
> "Holy crap… why is she here? Of all people…"
Outside the window, the afternoon light shimmered.
Sita didn't know it yet — but the quiet, awkward boy sitting beside her was the same "potato" she'd once laughed at in the temple years ago.
And Ram…
couldn't decide if fate was a blessing — or a cruel joke.
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