The next morning felt ordinary.
Too ordinary.
By the time Anaya entered the classroom, half the students had already arrived.
Some were discussing assignments.
Some were comparing answers.
Someone near the back benches was loudly complaining about mathematics.
Nothing unusual.
Anaya slid into her seat quietly and opened yesterday's assignment notebook.
Increasing functions.
Decreasing functions.
Half the questions were complete.
Half were covered with corrections.
A small note appeared beside one solution.
Check interval again.
She stared at it for a moment.
Then crossed out an entire line.
Wrong sign.
Again.
Beside her, Ritu dropped onto the bench dramatically.
"I give up."
Anaya didn't look up.
"Hm."
"I'm serious."
"Hm."
"I spent forty minutes on one question."
This time Anaya glanced sideways.
"Did you check the derivative?"
Ritu opened the notebook.
Paused.
"Oh."
A few seconds passed.
"You know what's annoying?"
Anaya returned to her notebook.
"What?"
"You always solve things eventually."
"I also get them wrong eventually."
"Not like us."
Anaya didn't answer.
Across the classroom, students continued talking.
Pages turned.
Pens moved.
Someone laughed.
Near the front row, Naina was explaining something from the assignment.
Her notebook looked exactly as organized as always.
Straight margins.
Clean steps.
Short solutions.
Anaya looked at it for only a second before lowering her eyes again.
The corridor outside gradually became quieter.
Not silent.
Just enough.
A few students immediately sat straighter.
Several notebooks opened.
Someone hurriedly closed a packet of chips.
Without looking up, Anaya already knew.
The classroom door opened.
Aarav entered.
Register.
Two books.
Same expression.
Same silence.
He placed everything on the desk and began writing on the board.
No greeting.
No wasted movement.
The lecture started.
Students copied quickly.
Another question appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
The chalk moved faster than most pens.
Anaya followed the first solution.
Then the second.
Then somewhere in the middle of the third one—
the next step disappeared.
She stared at the notebook.
Then at the board.
Then back again.
Nothing.
The same blank space.
The same missing connection.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the pen.
For a second—
"Sir..."
The memory appeared before the voice did.
No response.
The lecture moving forward.
Someone else asking.
An explanation following immediately afterward.
Anaya looked back at the notebook.
No.
Not again.
She wrote quietly beneath the question.
Check later.
The lecture continued.
Half an hour later Aarav closed the register.
Several students visibly relaxed.
Too early.
He picked up a stack of notebooks instead.
The relief disappeared immediately.
Checking.
Desk by desk.
Correction after correction.
"Complete it."
"Units?"
"Rewrite this."
The same calm voice.
The same expression.
The same pace.
Footsteps moved slowly between rows.
Eventually they reached hers.
A shadow fell across the notebook.
Anaya kept writing.
Aarav's eyes moved across the page.
Wrong attempts.
Corrections.
Arrows.
Margin notes.
Crossed-out calculations.
A brief pause followed.
Then—
"Still skipping steps."
Anaya's pen stopped.
Only for a second.
"I solved it."
"Show it."
She pointed at the next line.
Aarav looked.
Another pause.
"Write it properly."
That was all.
He moved away.
The checking continued.
The classroom continued.
Everything continued.
Yet the same line remained sitting on the page.
Write it properly.
Anaya stared at the notebook.
Then added another step beneath the solution.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The bell rang.
Students immediately began talking again.
Assignments.
Tests.
Homework.
Complaints.
Anaya packed her bag quietly.
No conversation.
No hurry.
By afternoon she was home.
The house was unusually crowded.
Voices filled the living room.
Relatives.
Children.
Television.
Someone laughing loudly.
Someone discussing exam marks.
Anaya lasted six minutes.
Then disappeared into her room.
The notebook opened automatically.
Question three.
Derivative.
Interval test.
Sign change.
She solved one line.
Stopped.
Crossed it out.
Started again.
Outside, voices drifted through the door.
Inside, only pages turned.
The solution moved forward slowly.
Then halted.
Again.
Her eyes remained fixed on the notebook.
But the classroom returned anyway.
A shadow falling across the page.
"Still skipping steps."
Then another memory.
"Step three is wrong."
Another.
"x cube dekho."
Another.
"You got this idea from there?"
The pen stopped moving.
Anaya leaned back in the chair.
Annoying.
Completely annoying.
She closed the notebook.
Opened it again.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
The solution still waited.
The same unfinished step.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Her younger sister entered.
"You've been staring at the same page for ten minutes."
"I'm studying."
"Looks painful."
Anaya ignored her.
Her sister glanced at the notebook.
Then at her.
Then smiled.
"The khadoos teacher again?"
"No."
"That's definitely a yes."
Anaya picked up the pen.
"No."
"Then why do you look irritated every day?"
No answer came.
For several seconds the room remained quiet.
Finally her sister shrugged.
"Maybe he's just strict."
Anaya looked down at the notebook.
Maybe.
The pen moved again.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
This time the solution worked.
The answer appeared neatly at the bottom.
For a moment she simply stared at it.
Then wrote beside the margin:
Don't rush.
A brief silence followed.
The same words returned unexpectedly.
Write it properly.
Anaya frowned.
Crossed out the note.
And rewrote it more neatly.
Outside, evening slowly settled over the city.
Inside, another page filled with calculations.
And somewhere between derivatives, corrections, and unfinished irritation—
a question had quietly appeared.
Was he like this with everyone?
Or only with her?