3.“Yeah, Maybe In The Future…”

After finishing my bath, I dried myself off with a towel and took a moment to examine my reflection. My hair was long and tousled, a result of my laid-back attitude and disinterest in school rules. I'd always been a backbencher, preferring to let my hair grow wild rather than conforming. Now, with the memories of my past life blending with the present, I accepted my reflection, even if it still felt strange. Krishna's influence had left its mark, but the face wasn't unappealing, just different.

My body was in good shape, but I realized that it was time to start exercising regularly. With a determined nod to myself, I wrapped the towel around my waist, shaking my head to clear my thoughts. As I opened the bathroom door, the soft morning light spilled into the hall.

Stepping out, I saw my Aaji (grandmother), settled on the sofa, watching TV. The gentle strains of a Vitthal song filled the room. She glanced up at me as I emerged.

I smile at her, feeling a surge of affection for the woman who had been a constant presence in my life. "Good morning, Aaji," I said cheerfully, placing my hands on my waist.

As I greeted Aaji, she didn't respond right away, just stared at me with a strange look in her eyes. I furrowed my brows, calling her again, "Aaji, what happened?"

She snapped out of it, smiling warmly. "Mauli," she said softly, using one of the names for Lord Vitthal, a term of affection she always reserved for me. "Come here."

I couldn't help but smile at that. I walked over to her, and she pulled me close, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. "You look a little different today," she said with a playful glint in her eyes, "but just as cute as Vitthal."

I wrinkled my nose at her words, pretending to be annoyed. "Aaji, don't call me cute. I'm not a kid anymore."

She chuckled, a gentle laugh that always seemed to hold warmth and wisdom. "Okay, okay, my little man. Now, go get ready. Wear your school uniform, eat your breakfast, and off you go."

I sighed and nodded, moving to put on my uniform. The fabric felt foreign against my skin after so long—school uniforms, classrooms, teachers—I hadn't dealt with any of that in what felt like ages. My mind flashed back to my previous life, and the oddity of going through this routine again in a different body, with a different face, yet with the same lingering memories.

Just as I was slipping on my shirt, Mom came out of the kitchen with my breakfast and tiffin in hand. She placed the plate down on the floor mat and smiled. "Eat quickly. You'll be late."

I gave her a small nod, finishing up with my uniform. As I sat down in front of the food, the familiar smell of poha hit me. It was such a comforting smell, the kind that makes you feel at home, no matter where you are.

I started eating, my mind drifting in and out of thoughts. The taste of the food was simple, but it felt richer today, perhaps because I was seeing everything with fresh eyes. Or maybe it was because I knew—this life, no matter how mundane it seemed, was a second chance. A fresh start.

After finishing my breakfast, I picked up my plate and walked to the kitchen, handing it to Mom. She gave me a small, approving nod, her hands already busy with the morning chores. I headed back to the hall and grabbed my tiffin, then approached my school bag. As soon as I tried to lift it, the weight nearly pulled my shoulder out of place.

"Why the hell is this bag so heavy?" I grumbled to myself, glaring at the overstuffed thing. "Indian education system, man..."

Frustrated, I tossed the bag down, unzipped it, and began yanking out half the books and notebooks crammed inside. I shoved them into a drawer, not caring what I left behind. Whatever wasn't immediately necessary could stay here—I'd deal with the consequences later. Satisfied, I zipped it back up and placed my tiffin inside. The bag felt lighter now, much more manageable.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror nearby. My hair was still a mess, sticking out in random directions. With a sigh, I ran my fingers through it, trying to tame the unruly strands. After a few swipes, it didn't look too bad—good enough for school, at least. I waved at my reflection, a silent gesture to calm the nerves gnawing at me. It was still strange seeing this younger, softer face. I wasn't used to it yet.

Bag slung over my shoulder, I walked toward the door and bent down to slip on my shoes. As I tied them, I glanced back at my brother and grandpa, both still fast asleep on the mattress. My brother's school started in the afternoon, so he was lucky to sleep in a bit longer.

After my shoes were on, I stood up and called out, "Bye, Mom! Bye, Aaji!"

Mom and grandma both replied with their usual, "Take care."

I pushed open the door, stepping outside, the morning chill brushing against my face. Pune was slowly waking up—the distant hum of scooters, the soft chirping of birds, and the faint warmth of the rising sun in the distance. I took in a deep breath and started walking down the narrow staircase, feeling the concrete cool against my fingertips as I lightly gripped the railing.

As I came down the stairs and stepped outside, I noticed a boy standing near the exit of the building. He was wearing the same school uniform as me, his backpack hanging loosely over one shoulder. It was Yash, my friend—though you wouldn't guess he's a singer just by looking at him. He had this perpetually unimpressed look on his face, like nothing could faze him.

The moment he spotted me, his expression shifted. "Bro, I've been standing here for five minutes! What the f—" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he stared at me. Then, with a look of utter disbelief, he shouted, "What the hell, man?! Why are you wearing a proper uniform today? It's so weird!" He scrunched his face as if I had shown up wearing something completely alien.

I rolled my eyes and flipped him off, smirking as I said, "Good morning to you too, asshole. Can't you say something normal for once?"

Yash raised his hands in defense, still eyeing me up and down. "Sorry, sorry! It's just... seeing you like this caught me off guard. You're usually the rebel with the half-tucked shirt and untied shoes. What's with this new look?"

Hearing what Yash said, I smirked and replied, "From today onward, I've decided to change—new year, new beginning. Oh, and by the way, Happy New Year."

At that, Yash burst into laughter, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. "Hahaha! Happy New Year! Hahaha!" His laughter echoed through the quiet street.

I frowned, raising an eyebrow. "Why the hell are you laughing?"

Still chuckling, Yash wiped a tear from his eye. "You, changing? That's the funniest thing I've heard all year! Then why didn't you cut your hair, huh?"

I sighed, running a hand through my messy locks. "Except for my hair, I've changed plenty, okay? And don't laugh too much. People say if you laugh too much, you'll end up crying the same amount."

That shut him up real quick. Yash straightened, trying to stifle his laughter, his face suddenly serious. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Didn't mean to burst your bubble."

I smirked, satisfied. "Good. Now let's get going before we're late."

Yash nodded, falling in step beside me. We started walking toward school, the sound of our footsteps mingling with the early morning hum of the city. The streets were starting to come alive, vendors opening their stalls, and the familiar chatter of people going about their day filled the air. The cool January breeze tugged at our uniforms, and the sky was still tinged with the soft glow of sunrise.

Yash, having recovered from his laughing fit, glanced at me sideways. "So... what's this 'new you' gonna be like, huh? Gonna start paying attention in class? Maybe even take notes?"

I grinned. "Maybe. Don't hold your breath, though."

Hearing my words, Yash smirked. "Yeah, yeah, sure."

I rolled my eyes, deciding to change the topic. "By the way, how's your music practice going? Any news about the show?"

Yash's expression softened as he thought about it. "Practice is going fine, but I haven't heard anything about Indian Idol Junior season two yet."

I nodded. Yash had been chasing his dream of becoming a singer since last year when he auditioned for Indian Idol Junior 2013 but didn't make it through. It wasn't a lack of talent—his voice was good—but sometimes luck just doesn't align. Now, he was preparing to try again in the next season, determined to make it this time.

As I thought about that, Yash added, "You know, it'd be awesome if we had an Indian Idol Marathi. What do you think?"

"Yeah, you're right," I replied, imagining it. "Maybe they'll make it in the future. But hey, why don't you try YouTube in the meantime?"

Yash gave me a flat look, as if I'd suggested something absurd. "Seriously? You know how hard it is to get internet here, right? Plus, do you think my parents would ever let me use the phone for that?"

I chuckled, realizing he had a point. "True, true. Maybe in the future, though."

He sighed, his eyes holding a mix of hope and frustration. "Yeah, maybe in the future…" With that, we continued toward the school, the early morning sun casting long shadows on the ground.

As we walked toward the road, I could see the city of Pune waking up. Shopkeepers were pulling up their shutters, vendors were setting up their carts, and people were rushing off to work. The air was filled with the sounds of morning—the distant hum of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, the occasional honk of a horn. It was a familiar routine, but one that felt strangely distant to me now, like I was watching it all from a new perspective.

Yash and I walked in silence for a while, our footsteps in sync as we made our way toward the school. When we finally reached it, the sight of the old building brought a wave of nostalgia crashing over me.

Boys and girls around our age were milling about, laughing, chatting, and some even casting glances in our direction. My eyes were drawn to the school board that read: Saraswati Vidya Mandir School—SVMS for short.

I sighed, a soft breath escaping my lips as I stood there, taking it all in. It had been years—well, a lifetime—since I last set foot in a school. There was something comforting about being here again.

I know some people hate school, dreading the early mornings, the endless assignments, the strict teachers. But not me. For me, school was always more than just a place to learn—it was a place where you could exist without the weight of the future pressing down on you. Sure, there were the usual annoyances, but if you ignored the petty stuff, school was good.

It was a sanctuary, a place where responsibilities could wait, where life could slow down, even if just for a few hours each day.

I looked at the school board one last time before stepping inside with Yash by my side. Our school wasn't anything fancy. Just a small, modest building with a ground in front of it. It wasn't one of those big, prestigious schools you saw in the movies. This one taught kids from 1st to 10th standard, and once you graduated, you moved on to college.

I couldn't help but smile at the simplicity of it all. The familiarity of the place settled something inside me. The classrooms, the playground, the sound of the school bell—all of it felt like a distant memory, but one I was eager to relive.

Yash nudged me with his elbow, breaking me out of my thoughts. "What's with the look? You look like an old man reminiscing about his childhood," he teased.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Maybe I am," I said, more to myself than to him.

After walking down the corridor, we finally reached our classroom. The sign on the door read 8th Standard Semi-English. Yes, you heard that right—not fully Marathi, and not fully English. Just something awkwardly in between. I sighed, already feeling a sense of resigned nostalgia.

Yash and I exchanged a look before stepping inside. As soon as we entered, the room fell quiet. I could feel all eyes on us. It wasn't like we were late or anything—we still had fifty minutes before class officially started. But something felt different.

I scanned the room, not too many students had arrived yet. Some were chatting quietly, others had their heads buried in textbooks or notebooks, and a few were just staring off into space. Pretty typical for early morning before school kicks in.

Then, I felt it—a gaze. A particular gaze, sharp and focused. My eyes drifted down to the third row, where Swara Deshmukh was seated. She was our class monitor, always sitting in the front row, first bench, like a model student. Swara was also the class topper—or at least, she had been until now. But not anymore. Not with me here now.

But something about the way she was staring at me felt... off. It wasn't just the usual glance of curiosity. Her eyes were locked onto me, as if trying to figure something out. There was a certain intensity in her gaze, a quiet observation that I couldn't quite put into words. It made me uncomfortable, but I wasn't about to let it show. She was always weird like this—occasionally stealing glances at me like I had done something to her. But as far as I knew, I hadn't.

Ignoring the strangeness of the moment, I turned my attention back to Yash and nodded. Without a word, we made our way to the back, where we claimed our typical spot—first row in last bench, right by the window. It was the perfect spot, not just in real life but also in the anime cliché sense. The window seat, where the protagonist of every anime or manga seemed to sit. I chuckled to myself, thinking how fitting it was.

As I settled into my seat, I could feel the slight chill of the morning breeze coming through the cracked window. Outside, the sun was climbing higher, casting warm rays across the courtyard. I leaned back, my mind wandering between thoughts of this life and my previous one. The quiet hum of conversation filled the room again, and for a moment, it was just like any other normal school day.

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