It was a fresh morning at St. Mira's Public School, but the air was anything but calm inside the school office.
The clock read 7:15 AM, and Principal Mrs. Vimala Rao was already on her third cup of black coffee. She stood near her desk, flipping through files faster than her secretary could process the documents she was passing along. Her sharp bob haircut framed a face that wore no nonsense—her sari was neatly pleated, her glasses sat firm on her nose, and her aura demanded discipline.
Across the room, teachers were slowly gathering, some still sipping tea from disposable cups, others adjusting their ID cards. The first day of a new academic year always brought with it a wave of hope—and chaos.
"We need to finalize the student welcome assembly instructions now, please!" Vimala raised her voice, without looking up. "And someone tell the maintenance team that those two broken fans in the auditorium were supposed to be fixed yesterday!"
The staff room was buzzing. Discussions flowed like parallel rivers.
Mrs. Alka Mehta, the soft-spoken English teacher, looked at the staff circular and sighed, "Why are we announcing new inter-house activities already? Shouldn't we give them a week to settle?"
Across from her, the enthusiastic Mr. Rajiv Sinha, in charge of Physical Education, laughed, "You settle. My sports room's already filled with new admissions from big-shot families. Their parents donated two cricket kits and a full fencing gear. Fencing! In a CBSE school!"
A few chuckled. It was true—the school had started seeing a spike in new admissions from elite families, especially those who had returned from abroad or migrated from other metros. The board had already whispered about expanding infrastructure to match the rising expectations.
"This year we must make an impression," Vimala finally said, pausing her file flipping. "If we want the trust of the new parents—and that trust fund from the board—we need this school to stand out. More clubs. More results. More refinement. By next year, I want St. Mira to be in the top five schools in the city."
There was silence for a moment.
Then Mrs. Mehta murmured, "And we also need more benches in 9B. They're short by three."
Everyone laughed lightly.
A new school counselor, Ms. Reema Joseph, walked in just then, holding a warm smile and a tablet. Her presence was refreshing—young, practical, and ready to handle emotional messes no one else had time for.
"I just wanted to remind you," she began, "we've got four new students joining Grade 11 today. Some are high-performing, some are... adjusting. Please make sure their class mentors are informed."
Mrs. Rao nodded. "Yes, yes. I'll handle the welcome. Just make sure their transition is smooth. Some of these kids come from difficult backgrounds; others are used to international-level facilities. We must show both care and excellence."
Meanwhile, the morning bell rang, echoing across the open quadrangle.
In the central courtyard, junior students were already lining up class-wise. Teachers moved out of the office, fixing their dupattas, holding morning prayer sheets, and preparing to address the sea of yawning, excited, and restless students.
The energy was rising.
The first assembly of the academic year was about to begin.
Banners reading "Welcome Back, Mira Stars!" hung on the gates. The school band was already in position. The school flag, slightly faded, stood ready to be hoisted. Behind the administrative buzz, a fresh journey was beginning for hundreds of students.
The gates had opened. The stage was ready. And the year... had just begun.
SCENE 2
The school ground had transformed into a sea of uniforms and excitement.
Batches of new students stood with their parents under the big banyan tree near the front lawn, wide-eyed and absorbing the new environment. The giant stage—decorated with flowers, banners, and a soft blue backdrop—stood at the center of it all. It wasn't fancy, but it held charm. On it, stood Isha and Shubhangi, clipboard in hand, whispering final instructions to the mic technician.
"Where is he?" Isha scanned the gate again, her brows furrowed. "He's the student rep. He's supposed to give the welcome address!"
Shubhangi tied her hair back into a quick ponytail. "Forget him, where is Ishaan? He said he'd bring the mics for the sports club announcement!"
Both girls were part of the Student Cultural Organizing Team, and the responsibility to make the first assembly of the year smooth had clearly landed on their shoulders.
Down by the front gate stood Shubham, in his trademark bright smile and an oversized school badge, assigned to welcome new students and parents. He had a small placard that read "Welcome to St. Mira – New Admissions This Way", but most people didn't need it—he was practically a walking welcome banner.
"Namaste! Welcome! That way, Ma'am. Yes, your daughter is in 9B, you'll be directed to her class after assembly!" he greeted everyone like he was running for school prime minister.
A small boy tugged at his sleeve. "Bhaiya, where's the playground?"
Shubham knelt and smiled, "You'll find it when you pass your first maths test." The boy giggled and ran ahead.
"Uff," he muttered to himself, looking toward the main gate. "Now where are my so-called heroes?"
And just as the first rays of the sun touched the school flag—they arrived.
The school gates parted like a slow-motion movie moment, and Rohit and Ishaan walked in together.
Rohit, with his usual calm expression, wore the school uniform like it was designed for him—perfectly pressed, ID card clipped right, sleeves neatly folded once. A soft breeze brushed his hair, making it move ever so slightly as he walked with the poise of someone who belonged to every inch of the place. On his shoulder hung his old black duffel bag, his cricket spikes barely making a sound on the concrete path.
Ishaan, on the other hand, strolled like he was walking a ramp. Shirt untucked just enough to look cool, tie hanging slightly loose, sunglasses on for no real reason except being Ishaan. He winked at a group of girls who burst into giggles near the notice board.
"Ladies," he nodded, and kept walking.
A junior whispered to another, "They're here… finally!"
Isha saw them and let out an exaggerated sigh. "Finally! The kings have arrived."
Shubhangi smirked, "God save us from these drama queens."
As Rohit and Ishaan reached the base of the stage, Nirmala Ma'am, the coordinator and in-charge of the student council, spotted them from the front row.
"There you two are!" she called out. Her tone was stern, but the warmth behind it was unmistakable. "Get up on stage. Parents and students need to see the faces of St. Mira."
Rohit nodded respectfully. "Yes, Ma'am."
He stepped up first, followed by Ishaan, who gave a quick salute with two fingers to the crowd below.
As they walked across the stage, a hush settled in. Students—new and old—watched the two boys with admiration and curiosity.
Rohit was the Class 11 Representative, a member of the Student Council known for his discipline and leadership. His calmness was his strength. In contrast, Ishaan was the Sports Club Leader, charismatic, bold, and unpredictable. Together, they were two sides of a coin—Green Flag and Red Flag, as some girls secretly joked.
A teacher whispered to another, "Every year starts with them walking in like they own the place."
"But they kind of do, don't they?" the other replied, chuckling.
As Rohit took his place at the podium and adjusted the mic, Simran handed him the morning speech outline. Their eyes met briefly, and she mouthed, "Don't mess this up."
Rohit smiled. "I never do."
The assembly was about to begin.
And though no one could guess it, behind all the welcome speeches and school fund plans…something unexpected was on its way.