Collage Boy Yashu

Chapter 9 Return To Collage

Exactly two months later, the scene unfolds on a crisp morning. The sun hasn't fully risen, and a slight chill lingers in the air. Raipur's old bus stand is alive with its usual chaos—dusty roads, a crowd gathered around the chai tapri, and announcements blaring from the loudspeaker: "Bilaspur, Dhamtari... last call!" A white-and-blue government bus pulls in slowly, brakes screeching, engine rumbling, before the door hisses open.

Three boys step out, moving with deliberate calm—no rush, no nerves. It's as if they know the game is now in their hands.

First is Sameer, a bag slung over his shoulder, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, a light stubble framing a smile that says something unspoken.

Next is Yash, clutching a water bottle, his face fresh and brimming with confidence.

Last is Mukesh, the quietest, his eyes scanning the bus stand as if revisiting old memories.

These are none other than our Sameer, Yash, and Mukesh, transformed after two months of intense training in the mountains, under harsh conditions. They're back—changed.

The bus empties completely. The driver lights a cigarette. The trio stands by the bus, exchanging glances and faint smiles. No words are needed; they understand each other perfectly.

Mukesh checks his watch—10:00 a.m. sharp. He says softly, "It's 10 in the morning... Where do we go from here? College... or home?"

Sameer lets out a laugh, one laced with mischief, vengeance, and the taste of victory. He pushes his sunglasses up and says, "Bro, did we go through all that training just to sit at home sipping chai? We're going to college. And today... today, the seniors' game ends. No more secrets for them."

Yash nods. Mukesh gives a faint smile.

"Alright, boys," Mukesh says, "let's head straight to college."

They adjust their bags and step out of the bus stand. A rusty yellow auto-rickshaw waits outside, its engine still growling with life. The driver sips his chai. The trio approaches.

Sameer steps forward. "Bhaiya, take us straight to college."

The driver glances at them, as if he senses something, then smiles. "Hop in. I'll get you to your destination."

They pile into the back seat. The auto sputters to life. Raipur's streets, old trees, and small shops pass by—unchanged, yet everything feels new to the trio.

Soon, the college gate comes into view. The auto stops—85 rupees. Yash pulls out money, but Sameer stops him. "I'll pay." Mukesh, silently, hands over a 100-rupee note.

"Keep the change, bhaiya," he says.

The auto drives off. The trio steps through the gate.

The campus is quiet. Classes are in session—10:30 a.m. lectures are underway. Students are in their rooms. Only the rustle of leaves, a distant professor's voice, and the faint aroma of chai from the canteen fill the air.

The trio heads straight to their classroom, no pauses, no glances around. They know the moment has arrived.

The classroom door is ajar. Inside, the ma'am is teaching, scribbling on the board. Her voice carries clearly.

The trio stops at the doorway—Sameer in front, Yash and Mukesh behind.

In unison, with calm confidence, they say, "Ma'am, may we come in?"

Silence falls over the class.

The ma'am turns.

All eyes are on them.

And the game... is about to begin.

The ma'am places her hands on the desk and speaks slowly, "Yash, Sameer, Mukesh… I don't know where you three were or what you were doing these past two months. Maybe urgent work, maybe trouble, or maybe just fooling around. But let me make one thing clear—you've fallen far behind in your studies."

She gestures toward the blackboard. "Look, the class has moved this far. Half the syllabus is done. Tests, practicals, assignments—all missed. If you don't buckle down now, a year's hard work will go down the drain."

Yash lowers his head. Sameer fidgets, twisting his fingers. Mukesh stares out the window, as if searching for an answer there.

The ma'am sighs, her tone softening. "I'm not scolding you. I'm just explaining. You're all smart, just off track. Now's the time to fix it. Two extra hours of study daily, copy the old notes, clear your doubts. I'll help, but the effort has to come from you."

She smiles and adds, "Now go, take your seats. A new chapter starts today."

Outside the college's main gate, a group of seniors loiters. The first-period bell has rung, but their focus isn't on class—it's on the unfinished feud from two months ago. Suddenly, one of them reads a message on his phone and shouts, "Guys, those three are back! Yash, Mukesh, Sameer... they just walked through the gate!"

Anger and excitement flash across their faces. Anger, because the fight from two months ago remains unsettled. Excitement, because the chance for revenge has finally arrived. The group's leader, Rocky, quickly dials Yusuf.

"Boss, those three are here. Just now."

Yusuf's voice is ice-cold. "Hold off. Classes are on. We'll deal with it at lunch. No rushing. Stick to the plan."

"But boss—"

"I said wait." The call ends.

The seniors exchange looks, teeth gritted, fists clenched. One mutters, "We've been waiting two months... today, their bones will break." Another laughs, "And Yash? We'll gouge his eyes out today." They all laugh, but their eyes burn with rage.

On the other side, Harshita's eyes widen. The Yash from two months ago—cheerful, talkative, everyone's friend—is unrecognizable. His face is stone-cold, his eyes icy, no trace of a smile. He slams his bag on the desk, pulls out a book, and buries himself in it, as if in another world.

Harshita whispers, "Yash... where were you three? No news for two months... you didn't even pick up the phone..."

Yash looks up. His eyes hold something Harshita has never seen—hatred? Pain? Or something else? He stares at her for a second, then says in a cold, detached tone, "Mind your own business."

The classroom falls silent. Harshita's breath catches. She keeps staring at Yash, as if a stranger sits beside her. He dives back into his book.