After the break, I sat down and pulled out my rough notebook to make a quick SWOT analysis for our new idea—the school newspaper and magazine. If we were going to pitch this properly, it couldn't just be two kids daydreaming about content and columns. It needed structure, logic. Something the management could respect.
Strengths? Plenty. A magazine would capture memories, highlight talents, and give students a platform for their thoughts. Plus, it can be edited over time before publishing—less risk of error.Weaknesses? For a newspaper, we'd struggle with frequency. We couldn't promise weekly editions with all the other responsibilities. Consistency would be a nightmare. Also, where would we print it?Opportunities? This was the biggest one. We could discover new writers, artists, even photographers. Kids who never talk in class might shine on the page.Threats? Time. Permission. Resistance. And worst of all, the possibility that students wouldn't take it seriously.
By the time I finished, the English class was halfway through, and I realized I hadn't written a single line about indirect speech or transitive verbs. Not that it mattered—this teacher mostly read from the textbook in a monotone voice that made time feel like a flat line. I folded the page and slid it toward Nishanth.
"Add your points," I whispered. "We'll meet 15 minutes before lunch ends. We only have two days to prep if we want to do something for Freshers' Day."
Nishanth didn't reply, just gave me a small nod like we were in some top-secret mission, which, I guess, we kind of were.
As the bell rang for the next period, Math sir walked in. No nonsense as always—he dove straight into polynomials. I shoved all magazine-related thoughts to the back of my mind and tried to follow along. But my brain was being pulled in too many directions. Embroidery. Mirror work. Fabric glue. Magazine. SWOT. Math. Freshers. Everything swirled around like ingredients in a mixer grinder with the lid slightly open.
Still, I forced myself to focus.
One hour of Math. That's it.
I honestly don't know how the lunch break went. One moment I was biting into my curd rice, and the next, the bell rang and I was sprinting back to class. I made it within ten minutes, just before the corridor patrols started. Nishanth appeared shortly after, holding a half-eaten apple in one hand and his notes in the other. His face was practically glowing with excitement.
We didn't even sit properly before he jumped in. "Okay, so what are we doing?"
I leaned closer. "Nishanth, you said you're good with digital stuff, right? Website creation and all?"
"Yeah," he said casually, like I'd asked him whether he could boil water. "It's not a big deal. But… website? Where's that coming from?"
"Think about it," I said, lowering my voice slightly. "If we're doing a magazine, I don't want it to be just print. We're not going to sell copies. The school won't let us sell anything, and even if they did, who's going to buy them consistently?"
He looked thoughtful, munching slowly. "Hmm… fair point."
"But," I continued, "if we go digital, we can make it last. A simple blog or digital magazine where students can read articles, poems, even see sketches or event write-ups. Something permanent. Something anyone can access if they just have the link."
Nishanth's eyes lit up. "Like a student blog, but cooler. This could be so good, Nila. I can definitely set up a sample page—just a mock version of what a full site could look like."
"Perfect," I said, unable to stop my grin. "We'll present that to the staff when we pitch the idea."
He paused, then frowned. "Wait. Photos. We're gonna need photos for this, right? But we can't carry phones. And none of us has access to cameras."
"I thought about that too," I said. "We'll write a formal application. Request permission to borrow the school's official camera during events. We'll promise to use it under a staff member's supervision. And we'll use the computer lab to upload and manage content."
He blinked at me, impressed. "You already have a plan?"
I shrugged. "Partially. The rest we figure out as we go."
"I'll check with the computer sir when we go to lab today. And if the camera's locked away in the AV room or something, we'll figure out who has the keys."
"Exactly. Let's keep it simple for now. This week, we cover Freshers' Day. That's our pilot edition. If we pull that off well, no one can say we're just wasting time."
"And the content?" he asked, now in full brainstorming mode. "What's going in the magazine?"
"Freshers' Day coverage first," I said. "Event summaries, maybe a behind-the-scenes look. We could write student interviews, maybe even a piece from a teacher about their first year teaching."
He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, and we can have a creative section. Like—student poems, essays, jokes, riddles, short stories."
"Yes," I said. "Even an art section. If someone wants to send sketches or comics, we can scan and upload them."
"We should have a monthly structure then," he said. "A regular format. Like—an editorial, a featured event, a student spotlight, art corner, literary page, and maybe a column."
I was genuinely amazed at how fast our ideas were building on each other. "Exactly. And this way, even if it's just once a month, there's always something to include. Like next month is August. We'll have Independence Day. Then Amitavashini Cultural Fest. Then Teacher's Day, Diwali…"
Nishanth laughed. "So we're covered all year. But—this means we'll need a team."
"I know," I said. "We'll start small. We won't tell too many people yet. Let's pull off this one edition first. Once people see what we're doing, they'll want to join. Writers, illustrators, organizers."
"Maybe even someone who can scan things properly and someone to help with proofreading," he added.
I smiled. "See? You're already thinking like an editor."
He mock-bowed. "Vice-captain, remember?"
"Fine," I said, pretending to roll my eyes. "But don't get too used to the title yet. We still haven't impressed the staff."
"Challenge accepted," he said with a grin. "So—today after class, lab work?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "Let's stay back for a while. If we can draft the camera permission letter and start setting up the mock site, we'll be way ahead."
We both looked at each other, realizing we were already more excited about this than any club, sports day, or committee meeting we'd ever been a part of.
The bell rang again, and the classroom filled with students dragging themselves in for the next subject. But for the two of us, something had shifted. The school felt a little less like a place we had to be in—and a little more like a place we could make our own.
After lunch, we had computer class. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. While everyone else settled into their usual routine of pretending to pay attention to PowerPoint slides about Excel formulas, Nishanth and I had already split the task between us.
"I'll start working on the website outline," he said as we entered the lab. "Basic layout, a couple of sample sections, maybe a dummy homepage."
"Good," I nodded. "I'll go speak to Sir. Try and explain our idea and ask if he'd be willing to mentor us—if we make this into a proper club or something."
Nishanth gave me a thumbs-up and headed straight to the last row, claiming a computer like it was his personal workstation. I took a deep breath and made my way to the front.
Computer Sir—Mr. Ganeshan—was typing something fast, squinting at the monitor through his half-slid spectacles. I stood quietly for a second before he noticed me.
"Nila?" he asked, surprised. "Yes?"
"Sir, I wanted to speak to you about something... extracurricular," I said quickly, before I lost my nerve.
He blinked, then gestured toward the chair next to him. "Go ahead."
So I did. I told him everything—our SWOT analysis, the idea to cover school events like Freshers' Day, the plan for a digital magazine and eventually a website. I explained how we wanted it to be student-led, student-written, and student-designed. How it could serve as a platform for creative expression and event documentation. How we didn't expect any major resources, just some guidance.
He listened carefully, nodding a little now and then. His expression was unreadable, and that made me nervous.
"We were also wondering," I added hesitantly, "if we could request to shadow you during the Freshers' Day event. We heard you might be the one handling the school camera?"
That finally brought a flicker of emotion to his face—a small smile. "You want to learn photography too?"
"If it helps us capture better content for the magazine, yes," I said honestly. "And… if you could consider sharing the pictures you take this time? It would help us so much."
He leaned back in his chair. "You and Nishanth are serious about this?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "We really are."
Just then, Nishanth waved from the back row. "Sir, if you have a minute, I've just made a rough wireframe. Can I show you?"
Ganeshan Sir raised an eyebrow but got up and followed me to Nishanth's system. What he saw seemed to shift something in him. Nishanth had already created a mock landing page with clean design, our imaginary school magazine logo titled The Sixth Period, and placeholder sections titled "Student Spotlight," "Latest Events," and "Art Room."
"This is impressive," Sir murmured. "You built this in… thirty minutes?"
Nishanth shrugged modestly. "It's just a draft, sir. I can polish it more later."
"And you're in ninth grade," Sir said, as if reminding himself. Then he turned to both of us. "Alright. I'll help you. I'll speak to the principal and see if we can make this into an official activity or club under extracurriculars. For now, consider me your mentor."
I looked at Nishanth, and he looked at me. Neither of us said it out loud, but the feeling was mutual—we had just crossed the starting line.
"I'll also share a folder with Freshers' Day photos," Sir continued. "If you're going to be part of documentation, it's good you learn how to cover events properly. You can assist me this Saturday. But don't get in the way."
"We won't," I promised quickly. "We'll just learn."
"Good," he said. "Now get back to your seats before I give you both a conduct mark."
We all laughed, but the butterflies in my stomach hadn't calmed down. Not from fear, but from excitement. Something had just begun—something much bigger than either of us expected.