The result was supposed to come out at 10 a.m.

At 9:11, Myra was already awake, phone in hand, refreshing the state board website like it had personally wronged her.

It stared back at her.

Same login page.

Same slow loading.

Same nothing.

Her phone buzzed.

Aarvi:

-tell me why I feel like throwing up

-like actually.

Myra immediately replied:

-don’t

-your mom will blame the result on that too.

Aarvi:

-shut up 😭

-I’m serious

-what if I messed up math

Myra:

-what if I messed up everything

Aarvi:

-oh great

-we’re both failing

Myra:

-yeah

-joint downfall

Aarvi:

-at least we’re consistent

Myra huffed out a quiet laugh.

-we’ll open a coaching centre after failing

-what NOT to do in boards

Aarvi:

-stop

-I’d join that

Outside her room, her mother’s voice cut through.

“Check your result as soon as it comes.”

“Yeah.”

Her thumb kept moving.

Refresh.

Refresh.

Refresh.

Aarvi again:

-okay but imagine this

-we both get like 90+

-insane plot twist

Myra:

-I’d actually pass out

Aarvi:

-same

-my parents would think it’s fake

Myra:

-mine would ask why not more

Aarvi:

…

-same

The messages paused for a second.

Not awkward.

Just… understood.

Then Aarvi:

-okay no

-we’re getting decent marks

-I refuse to suffer and then flop

Myra:

-agreed

-I didn’t survive on caffeine for nothing

Aarvi:

-SAME

-my sleep schedule is permanently damaged

Myra:

-mine never existed

Aarvi:

-fair

9:59 a.m.

The page flickered.

Then changed.

Myra straightened.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Roll number.

Carefully typed.

Checked twice.

Date of birth.

Checked again.

Her thumb hovered over login.

For a second—

everything came rushing back.

Late nights.

Unfinished chapters.

That constant pressure sitting at the back of her head.

And—

that one mistake.

A conversation.

A person.

A version of herself she didn’t like thinking about.

She pressed login.

Loading.

Still loading.

Then—

556/700

79.43%

Myra blinked.

Read it again.

556.

Not bad.

Not great.

Just—

there.

Her chest felt hollow.

Not relief.

Not disappointment.

Something quieter.

Her phone buzzed like it was about to explode.

Aarvi :

-MINE IS NOT OPENING

-I’M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY

-TELL ME YOURS

Myra stared at the number for one more second.

Then typed:

-556

-79.43%

Typing…

-WHAT

-SEVENTY NINE???

-HELLO???

-WHY ARE YOU SO CALM???

Myra let out a breath.

I don’t know how to react

like it’s good??

but also I thought I’d do better??

but also I was dying during exams???

Aarvi:

-EXACTLY

-SAME FEELING

-LIKE WE SUFFERED TOO MUCH FOR “GOOD”

Myra:

-RIGHT

-like pick a struggle

Aarvi:

-don’t worry

-we’ll fix it in 11th

Myra:

-we better

Aarvi:

-WAIT

-MINE OPENED

-oh my god

-78

-I DIDN’T FAIL

Myra smiled, actually smiling.

-proud of you

-see??? all that drama for nothing

Aarvi:

-excuse me the drama was valid

-I was emotionally unstable

Myra:

-you always are

Aarvi:

-and you’re emotionally constipated

Myra:

-that is NOT true

Aarvi:

-it is

-you feel things and then go silent

Myra paused.

Then typed:

-only with others

-not with you

Aarvi didn’t reply for a second.

Then—

-yeah I know

-same

A quiet understanding.

No explanation needed.

“Result?” her mother called again.

Myra stood up.

Walked out.

“Seventy Nine.”

Her mother nodded.

“That’s fine.”

Her father glanced up briefly.

“You’ll need to work harder this year.”

Myra shrugged.

“Yeah.”

That was it.

No “are you okay.”

No “you did well.”

Just expectations.

Always expectations.

Back in her room, Myra shut the door.

Sat down again.

79 percent.

It didn’t sit right.

Not after everything.

Her phone buzzed.

Aarvi :

-okay listen

-uniform pehen ke aana hai na?

Myra:

- yes, 'proper'

Aarvi:

-yeah yeah, but do we really have to make two hair plates again?

Myra:

-most probably, yes.

-you know, how the supervisor acts even if one hair strand is falling out.

Aarvi:

-true.

Myra:

-augh...

-fuck that.

-this is the last time I'm doing two hair plates.

Aarvi:

-right, NEVER again.

Myra:

-Besides that, this year is our—

-new academic weapon era

Aarvi:

-I support this

-we’re becoming toppers

Myra:

-we’re becoming free

Aarvi:

-…yeah

A pause.

Then—

-meet at gate?

Myra:

-yeah

-don’t be late

Aarvi:

-YOU don’t be late

Myra:

-I’m always on time

Aarvi:

-biggest lie of 2026

Myra:

-watch me

Myra changed into her uniform.

White checked shirt with navy blue collar.

Navy blue skirt.

White socks.

Black shoes.

She did her hair, looked at herself in the mirror.

Same calm expression.

Same controlled posture.

Good.

But inside—

something had shifted.

Seventy Nine percent.

Not enough.

Her jaw tightened.

No more distractions.

No more slipping.

This time—

she’d do it right.

At school, the gate was crowded.

Students everywhere.

Noise, laughter, comparisons.

“Myra!”

Aarvi rushed toward her, slightly out of breath.

“Okay first—why are you early? I don’t like this version of you.”

Myra smirked.

“I can be on time.”

“Suspicious.”

Aarvi looked her up and down.

“Uniform. Shoes. Hair done. This is serious.”

Myra shrugged lightly.

“Maybe it is.”

Aarvi grinned, looping her arm through hers.

“Good. Because this year?”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice just slightly—

“We’re not staying stuck here.”

Myra looked ahead as they walked in.

Something in her expression sharpened.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

“We’re not.”