The classroom buzzed with noise before the lecture began.
Some students discussed practical files.
Others hurriedly copied unfinished notes.
Near the front benches, a few students were comparing answers from yesterday's homework while someone complained about an upcoming physics test.
Anaya barely heard any of it.
Her entire attention remained fixed on the mathematics notebook lying open in front of her.
The same question.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Half the page was already filled with rough work.
Differentiate:
(x² + 3x + 1)(x + 2)
Below it she had written:
Method 1
Then crossed it out.
Below that:
Method 2
And that looked even worse.
Her final answer matched the one printed in the reference book.
The solution didn't.
That was the problem.
Anaya stared at the page.
Then at the solution book.
Then back at the notebook.
The book reached the next step in two lines.
Her notebook had already consumed half a page.
"How?"
she muttered quietly.
No answer appeared.
She tried again.
First bracket.
Second bracket.
Differentiate separately.
No.
Wrong again.
A small arrow appeared beside the rough work.
Check step 3.
Then another note.
Don't skip.
A few minutes passed.
The classroom noise continued around her.
Someone laughed.
Someone borrowed a pen.
Somewhere near the front benches, a discussion about derivatives had started.
Anaya heard only fragments.
"Product rule..."
"Chain rule..."
"...shortcut method..."
She understood some of it.
Not enough to help with the question in front of her.
After staring at the page for several seconds, she opened the reference book again.
This time she copied only the first step.
Then covered the rest of the solution with her hand.
Fine.
She would try from there.
A few moments later the answer finally moved one step forward.
Only one.
But still progress.
Anaya immediately wrote a small note beside it.
Product Rule.
Differentiate one function while keeping the other unchanged.
That sentence made more sense than the entire textbook explanation.
For the first time that morning, the question looked slightly less impossible.
Then suddenly—
the classroom became quieter.
Not completely.
Just enough for people to notice.
Anaya looked up from the notebook.
Aarav had entered the classroom.
The lecture started normally.
Questions appeared across the board one after another while students hurriedly copied every step before Aarav erased them.
Anaya tried following the solution carefully.
The first step made sense.
The second one too.
The third completely disappeared from her understanding.
She stared at the notebook.
Then at the board.
Then back at the notebook again.
For several seconds she hesitated.
Finally—
"Sir..."
Her voice was not loud.
But it wasn't a whisper either.
A few nearby students glanced toward her briefly.
Aarav continued writing on the board.
Maybe he hadn't heard.
Anaya waited.
Then tried again.
"Sir..."
This time the student sitting in front of her turned around slightly.
But Aarav simply moved to the next step of the solution.
No pause.
No reaction.
Nothing.
Anaya slowly lowered her hand.
Fine.
Maybe he really hadn't heard.
A minute later, a student near the front benches raised a doubt about the same question.
Aarav stopped immediately.
"Look at the denominator first," he said calmly while writing another line beneath the solution.
Several students nodded in understanding.
Anaya looked down at her notebook again.
The same incomplete step still stared back at her.
A strange thought crossed her mind briefly.
Was she imagining things?
Or had he actually ignored her?
The thought stayed only for a moment.
Then she forced herself back toward the notebook.
There was no point thinking about it now.
She would figure it out herself later.
Most notebooks already looked crowded.
Some students were still writing yesterday's notes.
Others were trying to understand today's explanation.
Anaya focused on the question in front of her.
Differentiate:
(x² + 1)³
Below it she had written:
Step 1:
Use chain rule.
Then nothing.
The next step refused to come.
She stared at the page for several seconds.
Near the front benches, a student raised his hand.
"Sir, if the outer function is power and inner function is trigonometric, then same method?"
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
A few students nodded and continued writing.
Anaya quietly wrote in the corner:
Chain Rule → revise later.
The lecture moved ahead.
Another question appeared.
Another explanation followed.
This time a different student asked,
"Sir, shortcut method?"
"First learn the normal method."
Soft laughter spread through the classroom.
Aarav ignored it and continued teaching.
Meanwhile Anaya was still trying to understand the previous step.
That was the problem.
Whenever class discussions moved ahead, she was often still stuck somewhere behind.
Not because she wasn't listening.
Because she usually needed more time.
No coaching.
No tuition.
No one explaining the same thing twice at home.
If she didn't understand it now, she would have to figure it out herself later.
Beside her, Ritu looked frustrated.
"Why is this minus coming?"
Anaya glanced toward the notebook.
"Derivative ke baad sign change hua hai."
Ritu checked again.
"Oh."
Then both returned to their work.
The lecture continued.
Theory notes slowly filled the board.
Below one solution Aarav wrote:
Presentation matters.
Method matters.
Correct answers alone are not enough.
Several students immediately looked worried.
Including Ritu.
Anaya almost ignored the sentence.
Almost.
Because her notebook was full of crossed-out calculations and rewritten methods.
Half the time her answers arrived through trial and error.
A few minutes later Aarav began checking notebooks row by row.
The classroom became noticeably quieter.
Pens started moving faster.
Unfinished work suddenly became very important.
When he finally reached Anaya's desk, his eyes moved across the page.
Wrong attempts.
Scratched steps.
Corrections.
Alternative methods.
A small note in the corner:
Check Step 3.
Then he pointed toward one line.
"Step three is wrong."
Anaya looked down immediately.
For a moment she wanted to argue.
The answer matched.
Then she checked again.
The answer matched.
The step didn't.
A small irritation settled somewhere inside her chest anyway.
Not because he was wrong.
Because somehow he always seemed to notice mistakes before anything else.
Without another word, he moved toward the next desk.
The lecture continued as if nothing had happened.