The college breathed its usual restless breath, sunlight slipping unevenly through dusty windows, scattering golden specks that danced in the stale air. The old walls, weathered by years of laughter, whispers, and secrets, now held a heavier tension. Something had shifted beneath the surface, a quiet storm gathering strength. Rumors were fluttering like caged birds — small, frantic, impossible to ignore.
At the heart of it all stood Prottoy Giringi, who usually wore confidence like armor. But today, his usual cocky grin was uneven, like a mask slipping. He sat alone in the principal's office, the weight of silence pressing down on him as heavily as the faded ceiling above. Every tick of the clock seemed to echo louder, counting down the seconds of his unraveling.
His fingers tapped nervously on the wooden desk — not from fear of the principal's sharp gaze, but from the guilt twisting inside him like a storm. The truth was no longer a secret whispered in dark corners. The stolen question paper scandal was out. And worse, the web was tangled higher than he could see.
Because beside Prottoy, in this shadowy game, stood Mokbul Sir — the teacher whose voice once promised fairness and guidance, now stained with betrayal. The man who should have been a beacon of trust had traded his principles for a secret pact, a silent bargain made in greed and desperation.
Outside the office, life in the college corridor moved on — but not as usual. Sweety Mam leaned lightly against a wall, her eyes scanning the students who buzzed like restless bees. She said nothing, but the tight line of her mouth betrayed the storm swirling inside. Loyalty, doubt, confusion — tangled so tightly they formed a silent knot in her chest.
The air was thick with unspoken truths and suspicion. And beneath it all, like a shadow stretching over the entire school, lurked Khangari. His presence was more felt than seen. A silent force commanding attention, his influence was a dark tide pulling everyone under, blurring the lines between youthful defiance and dangerous power plays.
No one dared cross him — not because of fear alone, but because Khangari had learned how to weave himself into the very fabric of the school's life. Prottoy's closest ally, his partnership a storm that threatened to sweep everything away.
Meanwhile, Shekhor paced restlessly, his energy erratic, like a caged animal seeking an opening. Where Prottoy was calculated and cold, Shekhor was raw emotion — a volcano ready to erupt. Their clashing personalities weren't just a battle of wills; they were the collision of two worlds struggling for control.
In quieter corners, Raju Chumma and Montu Biri tried to hold the fragile peace with humor, their quick words and laughter offering brief relief. But beneath their jokes was a sharp edge — truths too painful to say outright.
And then there was Jony — silent, shrinking, weighed down by a relentless tide of bullying. His quiet suffering was a shadow nobody wanted to acknowledge. Yet that day, something inside him cracked. The quiet desperation finally bubbled over, leaving raw wounds exposed for all to see.
Caught in the tangled emotions was Naznin, her heart a fragile flame flickering in the gusts of desire and rivalry. Khangari wanted her fiercely, claiming her like a prize. Prottoy's guarded glances, his half-denials, spoke of feelings buried deep beneath bravado. Naznin stood in the eye of this storm, her every step a dance between power and vulnerability.
By the end of the day, the college was no longer a place of learning but a battleground where broken trust, raw pain, and tangled loyalties played out in full view. The question paper scandal was just the beginning. Beneath it lay a story of fractured friendships, whispered betrayals, and the messy, painful process of growing up — where nothing was simple, and every choice carried a cost.
The college corridors hummed with restless whispers — a symphony of secrets and suspicion. Students moved like shadows, eyes darting, breaths held in quiet anticipation. Word spread faster than wildfire: the question paper had been leaked. And no one was untouched by the storm.
Prottoy Giringi sat rigid in the principal's office, his usually unshakable confidence melting away beneath the cold gaze of Mokbul Sir. The room was stale, the smell of old wood and chalk dust heavy in the air, mirroring the heaviness pressing down on Prottoy's chest. His fingers drummed an uneven rhythm against the desk as he tried to summon the bravado that usually shielded him.
Across from him, Mokbul Sir's face was unreadable. The man was a pillar of authority, but today, the cracks showed. His tired eyes flickered with shame and calculation — a man caught between duty and self-preservation.
"You understand what this means, Prottoy?" Mokbul's voice was low but carried the weight of a thunderstorm.
Prottoy swallowed, the sting of guilt sharpening his words. "Yes, Sir... I took the paper."
The confession hung between them, fragile and devastating.
Outside, the world carried on, but the storm was far from over.
Sweety Mam leaned against the cracked plaster wall near the principal's office, her fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta nervously. The gossip swirled around her like smoke. Teachers whispered in hallways; students exchanged furtive glances. She was caught between roles — protector, observer, and silent participant in the unraveling truth.
Her eyes sought Prottoy's through the frosted glass, searching for a hint of the boy she thought she knew, or perhaps the man he was becoming. But the boy she saw was tangled in a web far bigger than himself — one woven with the threads of greed, fear, and desperation.
And then there was Khangari, whose reputation was like a dark shadow creeping over the campus. His influence seeped into every corner — a silent kingmaker who ruled not with kindness but with power and menace. His alliances were made of whispers and threats, and he held Prottoy tightly in his grip. Their partnership blurred the line between youthful rebellion and ruthless survival.
Down the hall, Shekhor's restlessness was a stark contrast. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, pacing like a caged tiger. Where Prottoy was cold calculation, Shekhor was raw fire — unpredictable and volatile. His eyes burned with a mix of frustration and jealousy, the sting of being sidelined in a game he desperately wanted to control.
In quieter spaces, Raju Chumma and Montu Biri moved among their friends with a practiced ease, their laughter a fragile shield against the mounting tension. Raju's jokes were sharper today, biting with the truth that everyone danced around. Montu's nervous glances betrayed the turmoil beneath his forced smiles.
Meanwhile, Jony's world was collapsing in silence. The relentless bullying had been a constant shadow, but today the weight was unbearable. His shoulders sagged under the pressure, his eyes hollow pools of loneliness. The laughter of others echoed cruelly in his ears, and his spirit frayed at the edges.
Naznin, the quiet center of a storm of her own making, moved through the crowd with cautious grace. Khangari's possessive glances lingered, a silent claim marked in the air. Yet Prottoy's fleeting looks — quick and guarded — betrayed a heart caught in conflict. Naznin's own feelings twisted inside her, caught between desire and fear, power and vulnerability.
The day climaxed in a confrontation that cracked the fragile peace of the college. Prottoy and Shekhor's clashing energies exploded into words sharp as knives — dominance meeting volatility. Raju and Montu tried to mediate with humor, but the cracks were too deep.
Jony's breaking point shattered the silence. His pain spilled out raw and unforgiving, exposing the cruelty no one wanted to face. Naznin stood at the edge, her heart a fragile flame flickering in the storm, caught between the forces that pulled at her from every side.
As shadows lengthened and the sun dipped below the horizon, the college was no longer just a place of study. It was a battlefield of fractured friendships, hidden betrayals, and the brutal awakening to the messy realities of growing up. Every choice now carried the weight of consequences, every glance a question of loyalty.
The Unfair Circus Called Life: Prottoy's Lament
I wake with hair like tangled jungle vines,Each strand rebelling, ignoring all confines.The mirror mocks me with a smirk so sly,Like, "Boy, what happened? Did a cyclone pass by?"
My bed's a trap, a warm, inviting snare,Yet life's demands pull me from its care.With heavy limbs, I face the dawn's first light,Prepared for battles fought in everyday fights.
School's a battlefield, not just a place for books,Where every glance feels like a thousand looks.Mokbul Sir's eyes, sharp like hawk's flight,Scan for trouble, ready to ignite.
Sweety Mam glides through halls with grace,But gossip trails her like a second face.Whispers curl around her, thick as smoke,While I'm just trying to dodge each cruel joke.
Tests are dragons breathing fiery heat,And here I am, tripping on my own two feet.A question paper scandal – oh, what a twist!Caught red-handed like a failed heist.
Khangari prowls like a lion in the grass,His roar silences all who dare to pass.Prottoy and Khangari—partners in crime?More like puppets dancing out of time.
Shekhor Ghaura, my partner in mischief's spree,His wild ideas set my nerves free.Montu Biri, jittery as a cat on ice,His anxious glances slice through my vice.
Raju Chumma's jokes, a much-needed balm,Though sometimes they sound more like a qualm.Jony, poor Jony, bruised and small,Silent screams echo down the hall.
And Naznin—oh, Naznin!—queen of cold,Her stare's a story, untold and bold.I chase her shadows in daylight's gleam,While pretending I don't care, or so it seems.
At home, the drama's no less intense,Where rules are walls and love's immense.My parents' voices, a constant tide,"Be serious, boy! Let nonsense slide!"
Their lists of rules, pages thick and long,Each one feels like a nagging song.I try to follow, slip, and fall,Learning life's lessons in the hall.
I'm the clown in this circus grand,Tripping, stumbling, losing hand.But laughter's the shield I raise each day,To keep the darker shadows at bay.
When failure's knocking, loud and clear,I slap on a grin and hold back the fear.Because life's a joke that never ends,Where every fall just amends and bends.
I'm the king of punchlines, lord of slips,Master of calamity's cruel quips.Yet through the chaos, the noise, the strife,I'm just a clown who loves this life.
The sun sets low, another day done,Another round lost, another race run.But as stars wink through the city's glow,I find strength in the mess I know.
Because unfair or not, this is my fight,The circus where I find my light.And though life's tricks come thick and fast,I'll laugh the loudest till the last.
Then there's Khangari—the shadow king,Ruler of whispers and everything.He pulls the strings with a smirk so sly,And I'm just the jester trying not to die.
Shekhor Ghaura is buzzing like a bee on fire,His wild plans fueling my nervous quire.Montu Biri's trembling, a leaf in the storm,Together we're chaos, far from the norm.
Raju Chumma's laughter is the comic relief,But even he knows this ain't no brief.Jony's silence is heavy, a dark, quiet weight,Bullied, beaten, stuck in his fate.
Naznin—the enigma, ice wrapped in flame,Her glances burn like a secret game.I chase her shadow, pretending I'm free,But my heart whispers differently.
Home is a cage with invisible bars,Where love and rules battle like distant stars.My parents' voices drone and drone,"Grow up, Prottoy! Stop acting alone!"
Their lists of "musts" and "must nots"Feel like a prison with invisible locks.Yet here I am, slipping and falling,Laughing through life's endless calling.
College politics, a cruel dance floor,Where friends become foes and nothing's sure.The question paper scandal? Just one act,In a play where truth's a fading pact.
Khangari's power grips the place,Like a storm no one dares to face.Prottoy and Shekhor, partners in crime,Dancing on the edge, losing time.
Montu Biri, jittery and true,Trying to survive this crazy zoo.Raju Chumma's jokes lighten the load,While Jony bears scars no one showed.
Naznin's coldness cuts like a knife,Yet she's the center of my reckless life.Her silence speaks what words cannot,A tangled web I'm caught in a lot.
Life's unfair? It's a cruel jest,That tests my patience, mocks my best.But still, I grin through every fall,Because laughter's the only rule I call.
Each day a circus, a madcap spree,Where I'm the clown who won't let it be.And though the world's a stage of strife,I'm the fool who loves this messy life.
Naznin's Soliloquy
There's a stillness in the air this morning, but not the kind that brings peace. It's the kind of silence that hums with things left unsaid, like a room after everyone's left but the echo of their footsteps lingers, refusing to vanish. I stand at the edge of the college courtyard, hands wrapped around a cup of lukewarm tea, and watch the world move around me—the noisy chaos, the whispered rumors, the power plays that unfold like a drama I'm both part of and apart from.
They say I'm distant, cold even. Maybe they're right. But what do they see when they look at me? A girl who never laughs enough? Who never says quite the right thing? I think they only see the surface—a carefully crafted shield that hides the storm underneath.
Today, that storm feels heavier.
Khangari's shadow looms larger than ever. His eyes, sharp and calculating, follow me like I'm some prize waiting to be claimed. I can't decide if I'm terrified or just tired of trying to run from it. He wants me, everyone knows it, but what does that mean to me? Is it affection? Power? A way to hold on to something in this unpredictable mess of college life?
I don't know.
I sip my tea slowly, letting the bitterness remind me of all the things I want to forget. The way Khangari's smile doesn't reach his eyes, the way his words feel like they're laced with a promise and a threat all at once. It's suffocating, like walking a tightrope stretched thin across a canyon, knowing one wrong move means falling into something dark and endless.
And then there's Prottoy Giringi.
He's the contradiction I can't unravel. Loud when he tries to be quiet, reckless when he pretends he's in control. He acts like he doesn't care, like Naznin is just some name tossed in the wind, a shadow he pretends not to notice. But I catch the way his eyes soften when he thinks no one's watching. The way his voice falters just a little when he speaks to me, even if he doesn't admit it.
I want to believe he cares.I want to believe I'm not just a puzzle he's too scared to solve.
But then I remind myself—he's trapped in his own battles, his own masks. He's fighting just to survive this place, this world. Maybe he doesn't know how to hold someone else without falling apart.
My heart tightens.
It's a complicated kind of ache, like a dull throb behind every breath. I feel like I'm walking a path where every step is watched, judged, misunderstood. At school, at home—nowhere is safe enough to drop the act, to let the real me breathe.
Jony. Poor, silent Jony.
I see him more clearly now than ever before—the boy who carries his scars like armor, who shrinks away when the world gets too loud. The bullying he endures is like a dark cloud that follows us all, even if some of us pretend not to notice. I feel sorry for him, yes, but also helpless. Because how do you reach someone who's built walls so high even his own voice is muffled?
I want to help him.I want to protect him.
But what can I do when I'm barely holding myself together?
Sweety Mam's eyes sometimes find mine across the room. I catch the hesitation, the questions buried behind her polite smile. Does she see this war inside me? Does she understand the tightrope I'm balancing on, between who I want to be and who I have to pretend to be?
The college is no longer just a place to learn. It's a battlefield of whispered secrets, alliances, betrayals. Today, rumors of the leaked question paper sweep through the halls like wildfire, scorching everything in their path. The scandal shakes the fragile order here, dragging us all into the mess whether we like it or not.
Prottoy—he's at the center of it, tangled in a web he can't easily escape. The pressure bears down on him like a storm, and I see it in the flicker of his eyes when no one's looking. He's not a villain, not really. Just a boy caught between his mistakes and the impossible expectations stacked on his shoulders.
And Mokbul Sir—the teacher, the man who was supposed to guide us—his involvement cuts deeper than anyone wants to admit. When authority bends, who can we trust? The walls close in, the lines between right and wrong blur, and I'm left wondering if any of this will ever make sense.
The tension is thick enough to choke on.
Khangari watches all this unfold with a knowing grin. He thrives in this chaos—the power plays, the whispered deals. His influence stretches far beyond what most see, and he wields it like a king holding court. I hate that I feel both drawn to and repelled by him, like a moth circling a flame it knows will burn.
I look at my reflection in a cracked window—eyes tired, lips pressed tight. Who am I now? The cold girl everyone warns against, or someone who longs to be more?
The day drags on, heavy with moments where I'm both invisible and spotlighted. Naznin—the girl who's too sharp, too quiet, too much to understand. I hide behind my silence, but inside, the feelings churn—anger, fear, hope.
Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to scream all this out, to shatter the glass walls around me. But the fear always wins—the fear of being seen, truly seen, and rejected.
Prottoy passes by, his gaze flickering toward me, fleeting but impossible to miss. Does he feel the same? Is he wrestling with his own storm, wishing he could reach out but afraid of what might happen?
I don't know.
But in this tangled mess of college politics, hidden desires, and fragile loyalties, I hold onto a secret hope—that maybe one day, someone will break through the walls, see me for who I am beneath the cold mask, and stay.
Until then, I am Naznin—silent, guarded, caught in the shadows beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to breathe.
Prottoy Giringi's Soliloquy
The Weight of Shadows
The day drags on like a heavy monsoon cloud, thick and oppressive, full of thunder and the promise of a storm that's been brewing far too long. I can feel it in my bones—the tension twisting tight inside my chest, squeezing like a hand that won't let go. I try to steady my breath, but it stutters, like it's caught in a cage. This isn't just another day at college. Not anymore.
It all started with a secret—a question paper, stolen, whispered about, turned into a weapon in the game we all pretend we're just playing for fun. But there's nothing fun about it now. Not when everything begins to unravel so fast that I barely recognize the pieces that are left behind.
I remember the first time I laid my hands on it. The paper wasn't just sheets of paper; it was a ticket—a key that promised control, an edge, a future not written by fate but by me. Mokbul Sir's involvement had been the shock beneath the surface, the betrayal that twisted the whole thing into something darker than I wanted to admit.
I told the principal. Confessed everything. There was a strange mix of fear and relief in that moment. Like jumping off a cliff and hoping the fall would hurt less than the guilt that held me down. The principal's eyes didn't look at me with hatred or anger; they were calculating, cold—already weighing the consequences, the damage, the fallout.
Mokbul Sir—he was supposed to be the guardian of our futures, the one who guided us through the labyrinth of exams and hopes. Instead, he had become a player in a corrupt game, a shadow in the light. That realization hit me harder than any punishment could.
And then there was Sweety Mam, standing on the sidelines of this mess, her silence louder than any accusation. I can't read her. One moment, she's the teacher I thought I could trust, the next she's a ghost, watching, waiting, maybe afraid to speak, or maybe just choosing not to. Her loyalties remain a mystery—one I'm afraid to unravel.
I don't want to admit how much power Khangari holds over me. His grip isn't just physical; it's psychological. The way he moves, talks, smiles—it's like he owns this place, the air we breathe, the rules we break. We joke that we run the college, but the truth is, he runs us. His influence spreads like a dark vine, tightening around every plan, every friendship, every betrayal.
Shekhor—he's a firecracker, unpredictable, volatile. We clash, like sparks flying, ready to ignite a wildfire. Sometimes, I envy his chaos—his ability to act without thinking, to challenge the world with nothing but his reckless charm. But then I see the cracks, the moments when his bravado slips, and I realize he's just as lost as I am. We're both fighting, just in different ways.
Naznin. She's the calm in this storm, the quiet pulse beneath the noise. I pretend not to care, tell myself I'm above it, but every time she's near, I feel the world tilt just a little. She hides her feelings with a mask as well—one of indifference, maybe even disdain—but I see through it. There's softness there, vulnerability that she shields fiercely. I want to reach her, but I'm afraid of what I might find—or what I might lose.
Jony—poor Jony. He's the easy target, the one everyone ignores until he's a punchline or a victim. I want to help him, to be something better than just another bully or bystander. But I'm stuck too. Trapped by the games we play, the alliances we forge. I don't know if I can save him or even myself.
Every day feels like walking a tightrope over a chasm of doubts and fears. One wrong step and it all collapses—friendships, reputations, dreams. The principal's office was colder than I expected, the air thick with judgment and disappointment. Sitting there, confessing, I tried to keep my voice steady, tried to be the one in control. But inside, I was unraveling.
I wonder if anyone really knows me—the scared, uncertain boy who hides behind threats and bluster. Or am I just a ghost, a rumor, a scandal whispered in hallways?
The question paper was supposed to be a shortcut, a way to cheat a system that feels rigged against me. But now, it's a noose tightening around my neck. Every secret, every lie, every glance from those who know makes the weight heavier.
And yet, despite it all, there's a flicker inside me. A stubborn spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, I can be more than my mistakes. Maybe I can look at Naznin and not feel like I'm wearing armor made of shame and pride. Maybe Shekhor and I aren't destined to be enemies forever—that maybe we could be allies in this mess.
For now, that hope is fragile, like a candle struggling to stay lit in a storm. But it's all I have.
So I breathe in the storm, brace myself for the fall, and prepare to fight the chaos—because in this world, sometimes survival means becoming the very thing you fear.
episode 9 is coming soon.....