The Torch and The Test

Monday arrived with the heavy scent of coming rain and the faint afterglow of the Talent Round still trailing Vishakha like a soft echo. In the corridors, a few heads turned as she passed. Some students nodded; others smiled. Even a senior — someone from 12A — paused to say, "That folk song was beautiful." Vishakha muttered a shy thank you, but something inside her stood a little taller.

But as quickly as the applause had come, so did the real challenges.

By second period, the announcements began.

"All nominees for Class Representative will speak on Wednesday — two minutes each. Campaigning permitted until Tuesday."

Vishakha froze. She had almost forgotten about the nomination. Her name, printed third on the list, was still on the board. The other nominees included Aarushi Mehta — confident, articulate, and already handing out handmade bookmarks with motivational quotes. The second was Ritika Kapoor, who came from a well-known academic family and had already led her previous school's debate team.

"Looks like we've got a quiet rebel in the mix," Juhi teased, nudging Vishakha's arm. "Gonna give your speech in a song?"

Vishakha forced a laugh. But her thoughts were racing.

Later, at the lunch table, she stared at her notebook. The blank page dared her again, like the Talent Round had.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted.

"Start with why you care," Sana said, peeling her orange slowly. "Not what you think they want to hear. What you believe."

"What I believe?" Vishakha murmured.

That evening, at home, she sat with her diary open, the ceiling fan whirring like an old memory. Her little brother was doing homework beside her, mouthing multiplication tables to himself.

She thought of her first day. Of her narrow street. Of her mother tying the maroon ribbon like it was sacred. Of her father's newspaper hiding proud eyes.

She started writing.

Wednesday – Speech Day

The classroom was buzzing. Students whispered and placed casual bets on who might win. Vishakha's palms were clammy again, her speech folded twice in the front pocket of her skirt.

Ritika went first — clear, concise, polished. "I believe in discipline, structure, and excellence. As your representative, I will ensure we stay focused on our academic goals while building a culture of ambition."

Then Aarushi — her speech a whirlwind of charm. "I want to be a friend first and a leader second. Together, let's make 11B not just a class, but a team."

Then it was Vishakha's turn.

She walked to the front of the class, paper in hand, but when she stood there — facing faces she was just beginning to know — she didn't look down. She didn't read.

She spoke.

"I'm Vishakha Sharma. A few weeks ago, I was just a name on an admission form. One of many hoping to get into this school.

Today, I'm not just hoping anymore. I'm standing here because I believe in growing through uncertainty.

I don't know everything. I'm not from a big school or a famous family. But I know how to listen.

I know how to work hard. And I know how to show up — even when my voice shakes.

If you choose me, I won't speak the loudest, maybe. But I will always speak for you.

Because I believe leaders aren't perfect — they're present."

Silence. Then clapping — not just polite, but sincere. Ananya looked like she might cry. Juhi gave a tiny, impressed nod. Even Aarushi smiled, albeit slightly tightly.

Friday – Election Results

They were posted outside the staff room. Three names. One star beside the winner.

11B Class Representative: Vishakha Sharma ✳

Vishakha stared at it. For a moment, she didn't believe it. Then it sunk in — not like a crash, but like dawn. Quiet. Certain. Real.

Ananya whooped and hugged her. "Madam CR! Look at you!"

Vishakha laughed, breathless. The narrow-lane girl had done it again — not by pretending to fit in, but by growing into the space as herself.

That night, she opened her diary again.

Day Ten:

I didn't ask for the spotlight.

But I didn't run from it either.

Today, I was chosen.

Not by luck.

Not by accident.

But because something inside me has stopped shrinking.

It's learning how to lead.

She closed the diary and looked out the window.

St. Helina's no longer felt like a new world.

It was her world now — and she was ready to carry the torch.