88. Student voice -III

When I woke up, I was already grinning. Today, I was going to brag—and not just in front of a few friends, but in front of the entire school. I had earned it. I wasn't just a student anymore. I had made something—something real. And I was finally going to share it.

I was way too excited to do yoga like usual. My body felt like it needed to move differently today—not slow and focused, but wild and celebratory. If I had been in a dance studio with good beats blaring from speakers, I would've broken into Zumba right then and there. That's the kind of mood I was in. I didn't care about calories or flexibility. I just wanted to move—to let the joy dance out of my system.

Later, in the shower, I stayed under the hot water until the entire geyser ran out. The water felt especially soothing today. Maybe because I knew this weekend, I'd be going home too. The thought of Amma and Appa reading the magazine made me feel strangely proud, like I was ten again and bringing home a star sticker in my diary.

I took my time getting ready—far more than usual. Technically, we all wear uniforms, and Fridays meant white kurti sets with our house-colored coats on top. But today, I made sure mine was spotless and wrinkle-free. I even ironed out the little folds that nobody usually cared about.

Our hair had to be in two braids with ribbons—strict school rule. But I styled it into French braids before tying them, adding a bit of flair within the rules. We weren't allowed to wear makeup, but I applied moisturizer, a slightly stronger perfume than my usual light florals, and even took the time to put kajal on my waterline. Just that tiny bit of eyeliner made my eyes look sharper. I topped it off with a small bindi and a light dab of sandal paste. I don't know why—it just felt like the right finishing touch.

The hostel girls started to notice.

Jai Harini looked at me with wide eyes. "What's the big occasion today?"

I grinned. "I'm going to brag about myself in front of everyone."

Sastika laughed, "Baby, what's wrong with you this morning?"

"I'm serious!" I declared, brushing my braids back. "Today, I'm going to announce 'Student Voice' in the school assembly. And—" I paused for effect, "I've already completed the first edition of the digital magazine."

That caught everyone's attention.

Shivanie di turned from her mirror and asked, "You mean it's done? Fully done?"

"Not the physical print yet," I clarified. "But the digital version and the website are up and running. We launched it yesterday."

That got the room buzzing.

Girls came up to congratulate me. Even Pavani, Amritha, and Sree Lekha, who had been keeping a bit of distance from me lately, came forward with soft smiles. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe respect. Or maybe they realized I wasn't just being bossy or 'too serious'—I was building something.

Then, unexpectedly, Prerna spoke. "Can we get the link?"

I didn't expect that. But I nodded without hesitation.

"Of course," I said. "I'll be coming to every class today and writing the website and PDF link on the blackboard. You can check it anytime."

I turned to Shivanie di, who was a 10th grader and one of the most reliable hostel seniors. "Di, would you mind passing the links and posters to the tenth-grade blocks? I'll hand them to you during the break."

She gave me a half-hug. "Sure, champ. I'll take care of that for you."

The word 'champ' made me beam. I felt like one today.

This was what I wanted from this second chance at life. Not just to fix the past, but to build something better in the present. Not just to hide behind textbooks, but to stand up and lead. I wasn't trying to make everyone like me. I was trying to make a difference.

When the girls left my cabin to get ready, I stepped out with Shivanie di to collect milk and begin the day. The early morning air felt unusually fresh today—or maybe I was just a little too happy for my own good. We sipped the warm milk slowly, and I could feel the butterflies start in my stomach. Today was the day.

After getting back to my room, I stood in front of the tiny mirror mounted inside my cupboard door. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and began practicing my speech. "Good morning to all the students and teachers present here..." I whispered to my reflection. My voice trembled a little at first, but I kept going. Practicing it over and over helped me get into character. Confident. Warm. Clear.

By the time it was time to leave for school, I was almost glowing. I reached the classroom and, as usual, found that Nishanth had also arrived early. We smiled at each other. This had quietly become our little ritual—our morning meet-up before the others filled the room.

"So," he said, stretching his arms, "are you ready for your big performance?"

I made a face. "Do I really need to follow the script? Can't I just talk freely?"

He smirked. "Talking on the spot is exactly what you're good at."

"Exactly! So let's do a quick trial."

We stood near the window and began to practice—not rigidly reading from a script, but bouncing lines back and forth like a couple of award-show anchors. Somehow, we just clicked. The lines flowed. We both laughed, filled in each other's pauses, and added spontaneous jokes.

"You're going to steal the show," he said with a grin.

"I'll settle for surviving it."

As other students started trickling into the classroom, we stopped rehearsing and quickly returned to our seats, looking completely innocent—as if we hadn't just been acting like we were hosting the Oscars.

When it was time for assembly, we lined up with our class and walked down to the assembly ground. Meditation. Prayer song. Then, as the school news was being read, Nishanth and I quietly stepped out of line and made our way to the stage.

I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.

We climbed the stage and turned to face the sea of students—hundreds of eyes, waiting, half-drowsy, half-curious.

I took the mic first. "Hello everyone," I began, and just like that, my nerves melted.

"Good morning to all the students and teachers present here," Nishanth added.

I continued, "We have a very large number of students in this school. And only a few teachers to guide us."

"But among the students," Nishanth said, "there are so many hidden talents."

I nodded. "Writers. Poets. Artists. Web developers. And some of you even have impressive detective skills."

That got a few laughs from the crowd.

"We need you," Nishanth said. "Not just the detectives—everyone. We want to give you a space where your talent matters."

"A space where your work is not only seen," I added, "but also remembered. Something that lets you preserve your voice. Your creativity."

Nishanth made a face. "Okay now you sound like a nostalgic grandma."

Everyone laughed again—including me.

"Sorry," I said with a grin. "I get a little emotional."

He turned serious again. "So we proudly present a platform to all of you."

"Welcome to Student Voice," I said, slowly and clearly.

Nishanth added, "The first digital edition and website have been launched as of yesterday."

"And the printed version will be out soon," I said. "Copies will be available in the library and the teachers' cabins."

"If we get enough support, we might print more copies in the future too," Nishanth added.

"So we request everyone to support this student-led initiative," I said. "Join us, contribute, and make something you'll be proud of."

We both looked at the audience. "Thank you," we said in unison, then bowed slightly and stepped down.

And to my utter shock, the assembly ground roared with applause.

A real, loud, genuine round of applause. Not polite. Not bored. Real.

As we walked down the steps, our Principal caught up with us. "We saw the website," she said warmly. "It looks great. Well done."

I felt like I could fly.

Nishanth and I exchanged a glance as we walked back to our class lines. We didn't speak. We didn't have to. This was more than just a good moment—it was our moment.