When I entered the school campus that morning, I didn't take the usual turn toward our classroom.
Instead, I headed straight to the computer lab.
It was quiet except for the low hum of machines and the rustle of paper.
As I stepped in, I spotted Nishanth already there, leaning over a desk. His sleeves were rolled up, and his bag was wide open, stuffed with carefully stacked sheets.
Computer Sir looked up from his seat. "That was better than what you two prepared yesterday."
I smiled sheepishly.
Nishanth, without missing a beat, added, "We went impromptu, sir. Someone—" he looked at me with mock drama "—couldn't memorize the script."
"Excuse me," I said, raising my brows. "It was a choice. I didn't want it to sound like another boring announcement. I wanted them to feel why Student Voice matters."
Computer Sir chuckled. "Well, it worked. You both sounded natural and sharp. Now, check the posters. I printed them early this morning."
Nishanth held up two freshly printed designs. One was a large A3-sized color poster—eye-catching with vibrant blues, clean fonts, and a big Email ID and Website Link at the bottom. The other was a simpler A4-sized black-and-white version with all the same details in a crisp, minimal format—perfect for pinning inside each classroom.
"For today, we're covering grades 9 to 12," Nishanth said, flipping through the bundle. "This should be enough."
"Wow. This is perfect," I said, taking the color poster into my hands, admiring the quality. "I didn't expect them to look this good."
"But…" Nishanth trailed off, rubbing his chin. "I feel like we should add something else."
I paused, thinking. "We'll write the website and email ID in all the blackboards too."
His eyes lit up. "That's brilliant. Everyone will have to see it. They can't ignore it even if they don't read the posters."
"But we'll need time. Let's skip PT today and use that slot."
"PT?" Nishanth groaned. "That's the only class where I feel alive."
"No one else will give us permission to walk into classes and scribble on their boards. During PT, teachers are least likely to ask questions. Just for one day."
"Fine," he said dramatically. "I'm sacrificing my only exercise time. I hope you know I'm doing this for the greater good."
I grinned. "I'll treat you to an ice cream when we go home."
"Make it two scoops."
"Done."
Computer Sir looked amused. "Alright you two, hurry up. Your first class is about to start."
"Thank you for the posters, sir," we chorused, gathering the materials.
We split the work—Nishanth went classroom to classroom dropping off the A4 posters, while I ran across corridors, stairwells, and corner walls pinning up the big color posters on the common notice boards. Every floor has at least one.
I was just pinning the last A3 on the top floor corridor when the bell rang.
I rushed to class, heart racing a little—not from nerves, but from that familiar adrenaline of doing something.
I reached just seconds before the Math teacher walked in.
Nishanth slid into his seat across from me, slightly breathless but triumphant.
"All done?"
"All done," I whispered back. "Phase one of Operation Shout Out At the School—complete."
We shared a smile.
The Math sir started class, and for the first time this week, I allowed myself to relax into the rhythm of numbers and formulas.
Outside the classroom doors, our posters waited silently, carrying our message.
We had no idea who would actually respond, who would send an article, or who might come forward to volunteer.
But one thing was certain—they knew we existed now.
After class started, another excitement began to bubble inside me—I'm going home today.
Just thinking about that gave me butterflies.
I could already imagine Appa waiting outside the school gates. He'd definitely be there—he wouldn't send someone else when he knew I was coming home after weeks. But who else would come? Amma? Santhosh? Or maybe Appa alone? I realized I had forgotten to ask during the last phone call. Still, the mystery made it better. Surprise elements always felt like gifts.
We could choose to return either Sunday evening or early Monday morning. I hadn't decided yet. But either way, I had just one weekend. One beautiful, warm, chaotic weekend at home.
I was already daydreaming—about Amma's cooking, Santhosh tugging at my hand to play Ludo or video games, curling up on the couch in our living room while Appa read the newspaper beside me. I knew one thing for sure—I would not be touching my books at home. This weekend was strictly for family and food.
Thank the gods and every known saint—I had already finished all my assignments and notes. Everything was done. Polished. Cross-checked.
If, by some stroke of divine mercy, we didn't get any homework today, then I could literally walk out of school with an empty bag.
I let that fantasy sink in for a second longer.
But then, reality crashed back when Math sir said, "Three sums for homework."
I groaned internally. Just three! But even that felt like a mountain in my current state of mind.
I was determined not to let this ruin my Friday mood.
My eyes slid toward Nishanth.
He had a guidebook on his desk—the guidebook that had textbook problems solved in crisp, neat steps. He wasn't using it at the moment, so I poked him lightly and pointed to it.
He passed it to me wordlessly.
I flipped through, found the three problems, and began copying them into my notebook, hidden under the desk.
I knew I was breaking a major unspoken rule.
Math sir hated it when we copied or scribbled during his class. His teaching style was clear—listen now, write later. He even once gave a mini-lecture on how copying during explanation meant "you chose shortcuts over learning."
But today?
Today I was willing to risk it.
My plan was to complete the homework right now, while he was still explaining another example on the board. That way, I wouldn't need to carry this work home at all. I'd walk out with a clean conscience and a free weekend.
Of course, I was also trying to maintain eye contact now and then, pretending to follow the class. I even nodded when he asked a general question, just to not look too suspicious.
Every time he looked in my direction, I held my breath.
If he caught me copying right now, I was dead.
But luck was on my side.
I managed to finish all three problems just as he wrapped up the class.
Mission: Homework-Free Weekend—accomplished.
As I closed my notebook and returned Nishanth's guide, he gave me a sideways glance and grinned. "Caught you red-handed."
"I owe you an ice cream and a math pass," I whispered back.
"You owe me big," he said smugly.
The next two classes before lunch were smoother.
No surprise assignments. No notebook checking. Just regular classes with half-sleepy students and half-interested teachers, dragging their way through a Friday afternoon.
The excitement about going home had infected everyone. I could see it on their faces. Even those who weren't going home looked less stressed today, probably just happy that it was Friday and the week was coming to a close.
By the time the lunch bell rang, I was floating.
Everything was done.
No pending work. No staff lectures. Just food, freedom, and the countdown to 4 PM, when the school day would end, and I could finally pack up and walk through that gate into my little world again.
As I walked down to the dining hall, the breeze outside felt sweeter, the sunlight warmer.
It was almost as if even the universe was in a good mood today.