They say some things are like that — no matter how much you hate them, you still end up forming a strange kind of relationship with them. Especially when those things are important for you. And that’s exactly the kind of relationship I have with Chemistry.

I am Swara Singh, a second-year graduation student. I don’t think I have ever regretted anything in my life as much as choosing Science. And it’s not like I chose it myself. It was chosen for me. Because after 12th, I didn’t want to study at all. It wasn’t like earlier I wanted to study and then suddenly changed my mind. I never wanted to study. And it’s not like I had some hidden talent or skill, or that I had a passion and that’s why I didn’t want to study. I don’t know anything. I didn’t want to do anything. Still, I didn’t want to study. But my mother and father forced my admission into the most reputed college of the city, where rich kids go to study. Because according to them, either do something or study — just don’t sit at home.

Well, wasn’t that a bit too much? Leave it. Get to know more about me!

So this is how my admission happened here. Somehow I passed the two semesters of first year — crying, struggling, barely surviving — that too by scoring just 0.1 marks above the passing criteria. Now that’s some topper-level achievement! And today was the first class of my second year.

Standing in front of the mirror, I was tying my hair into a ponytail while mumbling to myself, because it just wasn’t happening. Sometimes a few strands would slip out here, sometimes there. Sometimes my hair looked pulled out from the front, sometimes messy from the back. I finally dropped my hands and took a long breath, then looked at myself. A black sleeveless kurti, white wide-leg denims… it actually looked good on me. And that itself was surprising because very few outfits suit me. I didn’t really need makeup, because my dusky complexion shines in the sunlight anyway. Hehe, that was a joke. To be honest, I don’t even know how to do makeup. I already told you — I don’t have any skills.

Just then, my mom came in, holding a plate of poha. But when she saw me muttering to myself, she placed the plate on the dressing table and took the comb from my hand, starting to fix my hair. And along with that, she gave me a free taunt too —

“Bees saal ki ho gayi hai aur abhi apne baal nahi sanware jaate tujhse! Itne chhote chhote baal rakhe hain phir bhi!”

I smiled and turned towards her, pulling her cheeks playfully,

“Meri mata bees ke hue toh kya? Rahenge toh aapki chhoti si laadli hi na! Raha in baalon ka sawaal — hum ne kaha toh tha hume ekdum chhote baal rakhne hain! Aapne hi karwaye kandhe tak!”

She got annoyed hearing that and removed my hands from her cheeks.

“Toh kya ladko ki tarah baal rakhne the tujhe?”

“Aur nahi toh kya? Phir jab bhi hum baalon mein haath daal sanwarte, ladkiyan humare pyaar mein pagal ho jaati!”

She smiled at my words.

“Pagal kahi ki!”

“Ab jaise bhi hain, aapki hi beti hain!”

“Haan, aur meri bachchi lakhon mein ek hai! Kisi ki nazar na lage!” Saying that, she removed the evil eye from me.

As I started gathering my scattered books, I asked,

“Why did your tone suddenly change, Mrs. Ragini Avneesh Singh ji?”

She picked up the plate, made a sad face, and extended a spoon of poha towards me. My hands froze while putting things in the bag, and I squinted at her.

“Mateshwari, aaj bhi poha?” I said, pouting.

She forced a smile and brought the spoon to my lips.

“Aaj kha le, kal pakka aaloo ke paranthe!”

“Sacchi?” I didn’t trust her words.

She blinked and nodded.

“Mucchi!”

“Agar kal bhi aapne poha ya chilla banaya na, mata ji, hum breakfast hartaal par aa jaayenge!” Saying that, I ate the poha from the spoon.

“Ab ye breakfast hartaal kya hai?”

“Breakfast nahi karenge hum kal se! Sirf lunch aur dinner!”

Holding back her laughter, she nodded and kept feeding me the poha. Wrinkling my nose, I somehow finished it. After Chemistry, poha was the second thing I hated the most.

“Aaj tere chemistry ke new professor aane wale hain na?”

Hearing that, I rolled my eyes.

“Ya, maa!”

“Hmm, sab kuch check karke neeche aa ja. Main intezaar kar rahi hoon!”

“Okay, mata ji!”

She went downstairs. I picked up my phone and called dad. He picked up his darling daughter’s call on the very first ring.

“Hello, bachcha!”

“Charan sparsh, pita ji!”

“Subah subah itni Hindi? Kya baat hai, beta ji?”

“Yuddh par jaane se pehle aapka aashirwad le rahe na isliye!”

He laughed.

“Achha, phir vijay praapti ho aapko!”

“I miss you, kab aayenge aap?” My voice softened. I really missed him.

“Holi par, aa raha hoon.”

“Sacchi?” I asked excitedly.

“Mucchi!”

“I love you, pa! You are the best!” I shouted.

“Love you too, beta! You are the best daughter!”

“Pa, aaj humare new professor aa rahe.”

“Achha?”

Just then, mom shouted from the door,

“Agar aap dono pita-putri ka ho gaya ho, toh rajkumari ji chalne ka kasht kijiye! Anyaatha aapko vilamb ho jaayega!”

I looked at the clock and screamed,

“Are baap re! Saadhe aath ho gaya!”

Dad started laughing.

“Best of luck, rajkumari ji!”

“Thank you, pa!” Saying that, I cut the call and looked at mom, who was glaring at me.

“Jaldi aa!” She said and walked away.

Picking up my bag and phone, I ran behind her and said,

“Mate, aapko jalan ho rahi kya?”

She glared at me and started walking down the stairs faster. Matching her speed, I came beside her, wrapped my arm around her shoulder, and said,

“Mateshwari, don’t be jalkukdi! Hum aapko aur pa ko ek jitna hi pyaar karte hain!”

She looked at me and turned her face away, pressing her lips to stop her smile. She removed my arm from her shoulder and went down.

I quickly went beside her again, held her finger and started singing using i my phone as s mic,

“Teri ungli pakad ke chala…”

As soon as I sang that much, she burst out laughing.

“Chup kar ja nautanki!” She lightly smacked my shoulder, took the car keys from the hall drawer, and said,

“Chal, nau baje tak pahunchna bhi hai!”

“Jo hukm, Maharani Sahiba!” I said and started wearing my shoes from the shoe rack. From behind, she lightly tapped my head again.

“Phir se sneakers? Kitni baar kaha hai, kurti ke saath flats achhe lagte hain!”

I made a puppy face at her.

“Mata ji, humse nahi pehna jaata flat-weit!”

“Theek hai, jo mann kare kar. Jaldi aa!” Saying that, she went outside.

I wore my shoes, stepped out of the house, locked the door, and came to the society gate. In a few moments, mom brought the car from the community garage. I sat in the passenger seat and blew a flying kiss to Laddu Gopal on the dashboard, making mom shake her head and smile. Then she started the car, and we left for college.

But I didn’t know that a new storm was about to enter my life.

---

POV switch

Some things become so dear that a deep attachment forms with them. You make them your own little world. And even if there is something wrong in them, you just can’t see it.

That’s the kind of attachment I have with Chemistry. For people, it might just be a subject. But for me, Chemistry is my second world.

I am Amit Mishra — a Chemistry professor by profession, and a student by heart. I believe that no matter what a person’s age is, they are always a student. Because at every moment, at every phase, and at every stage of life, there’s something new to learn.

My love for learning is so intense that I am good at almost every field. Honestly, not flexing it. And today too was one of those days when many new doors of learning were about to open for me. Because I was joining a new college today.

Where there would be new faces, new things, and I was going to learn so much.

While buttoning up the last button of my shirt, I looked into the mirror and smiled. After that, I picked up my coffee from the table. But as soon as I took a sip, my phone rang.

I bent down to pick it up… and the coffee spilled on me.

"Damnit, how could be you so clumsy, Amit?"

I hissed. No, it’s not my habit. I don’t make mistakes. And I never expect myself to make one either. But today… I don’t know what was happening.

With my eyebrows furrowed, I went to the washroom and changed. Then I took a white shirt from the wardrobe and began to put it on

I took a look around my bedroom and said to myself, "Everything is perfect! And that’s how perfect my life is!"

But was it really?

As I moved to pick up my laptop bag from the study table, my foot hit one of the table legs.

"What the hell?" I shouted.

Annoyed, I grabbed the bag, slipped the phone into my pocket, and left the room. In the hall, Mom was sitting on the sofa knitting a sweater. I touched her feet. She smiled at me and kissed my forehead lovingly.

I felt at peace. She held up the half-finished sweater and said, "Ye main abhi ke liye bana rahi hoon. Ek baar naap ke dekh, tujhe ho jaaye to use bhi ho jaayega."

I smiled and nodded.

"Sorry, Mom. Getting too late. Shaam ko aa ke check kar lunga."

"Oye angrez ki aulaad!" she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me back. "Idhar aa, do minute mein kya ukhad jaayega tera?"

I dropped my hands jokingly in surrender and stood still. As I took the sweater from her and wore it, the knitting needle slipped out, and the threads started to unravel.

Now I was irritated again. I calmed myself and handed it back to her.

"Sorry, Mom! Shaam ko aa kar ye galti theek kar dunga!"

Then, under my breath, I muttered, "Aaj itni saari galtiyaan kaise ho sakti hain mujhse?"

Mom looked at me, placed her hand on my shoulder, and pointed towards the temple.

"Bhagwan se bhi mil le."

"Okay, Mom."

I placed my bag on the sofa and entered the small temple. I folded my hands in front of Lord Shiva. I didn’t really have anything to say, because he never listens to me anyway. And just as I turned to leave, the temple bell slipped down and fell.

I shut my eyes tightly. Mom came running.

"Kya gira? Diya to nahi gira na?"

I opened my eyes, forced a smile, picked up the bell, and placed it back on the slab.

She chuckled softly and ran her fingers through my hair.

"Itna gussa kyun karta hai tu? Bhagwan par bharosa rakh. Sab accha hi hoga. Best of luck!"

I nodded and stepped outside. As I bent to pick up my bag from the sofa, it fell down again.

Now I clenched my jaw and fists.

Mom came from behind, laughing, picked up the bag, and handed it to me.

"Kya hua, Mr. Perfectionist? Aaj itni galti kaise? Kisi kanya ne dimaag mein ghar kar liya hai kya?"

"Mom, please!" I requested.

"Accha sorry! Par tu bhi soch na, zaroori nahi ateet har baar khud ko dohraaye..."

I cut her off.

"Mom, main chalta hoon. Aur apni dawaiyaan time se le lijiye ga. NGO ke bachchon ke saath-saath apni sehat ka bhi dhyaan rakhna zaroori hai!"

"Haan theek hai. Tu bhi apna khayaal rakhna."

She smiled softly and rubbed my shoulder.

I nodded and glanced at Dad’s photograph hanging on the wall behind her, blinking my eyes once… and immediately walked out of the flat.

In the basement, while starting the car, I looked up at the sky and whispered to myself,

"Miss you, Dad."

And then I left — on a new journey.

A journey where I had no idea that a new storm was waiting for me.

Within no time, I reached the college.

As soon as I parked the car in the parking lot, the door of the car beside me suddenly opened and smashed into my window, breaking it and sending it crashing down.

"What the...?"

I hissed in frustration. I stepped out of the car and first looked at the shattered glass on the ground… then at the girl, who was sitting frozen with one leg still hanging outside.

"Do you have any sense or not? Aise kaun kholta hai darwaza?" I shouted, punching the roof of my car.

"I’m really sorry," she said, her head lowered, while slowly stepping out and closing the door.

"I will pay for your loss."

That was it. My anger shot to the roof.

"You will pay for my loss? Ye tum ameer ghar ke bachchon ka bhi accha hai! Pehle galti karo, phir sorry bolo, phir paison ki dhauns dikhao! Har cheez ko paison se tolne ki adat kab jaayegi tum logon ki? Emotions naam ki bhi koi cheez hoti hai!"

She looked up at me. Innocent black eyes — ones that, for a moment, calmed me. Then she spoke softly,

"Hum sirf loss ki bharpai ki baat kar rahe the. Sorry, hume nahi pata tha ki aapke liye ye gaadi itni keemti hai. Hum aapke emotions ki kadar..."

I snapped, "Aur agar pata hota to kya karti tum? Nahi hoti tumse ye galti? Pata hai kya—tum ek ameer maa-baap ki bigdi hui aulaad ho, jise manners aur behaviour kya hote hain sikhaye hi nahi gaye hain! Aur baat karti ho mere emotions ki kadar karne ki!"

"Enough is enough, mister!" Now she shouted too.

"Kab se dekh rahe hain, chillaye hi ja rahe hain! Maana ki humse galti hui hai. Par aapko humare maa-baap par jaane ki koi zaroorat nahi hai! Unhone kya sikhaya hai aur kya nahi — it is none of your matter! Agar hume sach mein manners nahi aate hote, to hum aapko sorry hi nahi bolte. Balki paise aapke muh par phenk kar yahan se chale jaate!"

Her voice softened… but in the very next second, it rose again.

"Par aapko ye baat kaise samajh aayegi? Kyunki aapne apni aankhon par ameeron se nafrat ki patti jo baandh rakhi hai!"

For some reason, I couldn’t say anything. I just stood there, staring at her face, absorbing each and every word she said…

Because she wasn’t wrong.

Just then, a middle-aged lady walked in, fixing her saree.

"Sweetie!"

The girl turned around. The lady scolded her,

"Ye kaunsa tareeka hai kisi se baat karne ka?"

"Maate, lekin..." she tried to explain, but the lady interrupted,

"No words. Say sorry to him! Aur hua kya hai? Kyun lad rahi ho aise?"

"Humse inka kaanch toot gaya tha, aur humne inko sorry bhi bola. Par ye bewajah hum par chillaa rahe hain!"

She glared at me, and I felt myself falter. Still staring, she pulled out her phone from her purse and called someone, telling them to send a mechanic to City University — she was about to WhatsApp the car number.

I tried to stop her.

"Dekhiye ma’am, I’m sorry, but iski koi zaroorat nahi hai."

She glared again. I swallowed and stepped back. She took a photo of the car and said,

"Zaroorat to aapko chilane ki bhi nahi thi. Lekin chillaye na? Jabki galti kisi se bhi ho sakti hai… aur galtiyon se hi to insaan sikhta hai. Ek seekh ke liye meri beti se aapka itna nuksaan ho gaya, to bharpai to karni padegi na."

Then she looked at her daughter, who was standing with her head lowered — but I could clearly see her mischievous smile.

"Chalo sweetie! Aur agle baar jab door unlock karo, to use pakad kar rakhna!"

And then they left.

The girl looked at

me, stuck her tongue out, and followed her.

"Kitni badtameez ladki hai!" I muttered.

Just when I had started feeling bad for her because of her mother’s words… that one action of hers wrinkled my forehead again.

I just wish meri is se dobara kabhi mulaqat na ho.