Midnight Without Words

Sri Mathi spent the entire morning in complete blankness. Not sad. Not angry. Just stuck—like her mind was caught in a foggy bubble she couldn't pop. She couldn't concentrate on anything, not even the scribbles on the blackboard. It was like she was there, but not really. A ghost in her own seat.

Esther, sitting beside her, noticed. Of course, she did. She kept glancing now and then, wondering if she should say something. But she didn't. Something about Sri Mathi's stillness told her that maybe she needed the silence more than words.

The class continued, voices droning, fans spinning above, the faint smell of chalk dust mixing with perfume and old wood. Most students were trying to pay attention—at least pretending to—but Sri Mathi hadn't flipped a single page of her notebook.

Then came English period.

The English teacher was a young man with an oversized wristwatch and the energy of someone who drank two coffees too many. He walked up and down the aisles as he spoke, his voice clear but slightly sharp.

He stopped midway through a sentence and looked directly at Sri Mathi.

"You," he called.

No response.

He tapped her desk.

She blinked slowly, then turned her head toward him.

"What's the difference between 'observing' and 'monitoring'?" he asked.

Still seated, eyes slightly unfocused, she replied in a calm, absent tone, "Monitoring means watching something and noting the changes—like measuring them. Observing is just looking or witnessing."

Then she looked away again, her gaze falling to the desk.

The entire class fell silent.

Even Esther looked mildly shocked.

The teacher stood still, eyebrows raised. "Well, that's… correct," he said slowly. "But next time, stand up when you answer."

He paused, then took a few steps forward and stood in front of her desk.

"You seem busy thinking. Care to share what's more important than your first-day lesson?"

Sri Mathi turned to him, her face calm.

"It's just a bridge course. Not even the actual class, so I don't feel this is so important ,I don't want to listen to it" she said.

A couple of students stifled a laugh.

The teacher's lips tightened. "Very well, then. Since this isn't a real class, you can spend your time outside."

Without protest, without drama, Sri Mathi got up, left her notebook on the desk, and walked out.

Esther watched her go, eyes full of quiet worry.

Outside, Sri Mathi stood near the corridor wall, leaning against it, arms folded. A gentle breeze moved her hair, and she tilted her head back, looking at the sky.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't sad.

She was just elsewhere.

And no one—not even she—knew exactly where that was.

In the evening, after class, the day had ended in a complete mess for Sri Mathi. But to her surprise, some boys thought she was cool. They asked about her to Esther. Sri Mathi knew they were talking about her. She just didn't care.

Once outside the building, Arjun—being Arjun—walked up beside her, casually took her bag without saying a word.

This time, Sri Mathi didn't argue. She just walked faster toward the hostel.

Once at the entrance, she took her bag back from Arjun and practically ran away from him.

After taking her evening bath and changing into pajamas, both Esther and Theresa were sitting on the bed, kind of worried.

Finally, Esther managed to ask, "What is your relationship with Arjun?"

Sri Mathi sat quietly for a while. Then she said, "We used to be so close."