Echoes Beyond the Score

Recap:-

After bouncing back from failure with a betterment score of 415, Krish uses the summer holidays not to rest, but to reinvent himself. While others relax, he channels his pain into purpose — waking up early, maintaining a personal journal, and pouring his emotions into raw sketches and quotes. Every line he draws becomes a reflection of the battles he's survived. The heartbreak, the betrayal, the silent nights — all find a place on paper. His sketchbook becomes his sacred space, his only honest friend. Despite lingering scars, Krish transforms into a more mature, focused version of himself — one that no longer needs validation from anyone.

When college resumes, he walks the same corridors but with a different stride. He sees Maira and Raghav openly sharing moments that once belonged to him, but he neither reacts nor retreats. He avoids them with quiet dignity, not bitterness. His strength is tested when a classmate — pretending to be kind — steals his sketchbook, the very heart of his recovery. But Krish doesn't break. Instead, he whispers,

"Let them take the pages… I still hold the pen."

The chapter closes with Krish standing firm — not untouched by pain, but unshaken by it — silently rising from the ashes of everything they once burned down.

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Let us enter into the present....

The final bell had rung, not just at college, but within Krish too. His journey through pain, betrayal, redemption, and silent strength had brought him to a place he never imagined — peace. Not the kind that came from forgetting the past, but from learning to live above it.

Results Day: A New Chapter Opens

The atmosphere was tense across the campus — students clutched admit cards, stared nervously at notice boards, and phones buzzed with anxious messages. Krish stood silently beside the wall, hands in his pockets, staring at the results board from a distance. He didn't rush forward. He didn't fumble with his phone. He just waited.

And then he saw it.

Krish – 421 marks.

There it was. Plain and real. His name among the top performers of the year.

He closed his eyes for a moment. It wasn't about the number. It was about what it meant — a journey that began with heartbreak, tears, sleepless nights, sketchbooks filled with pain, and silent mornings with books for company. This was not just a result. It was redemption.

At home, the atmosphere was different too. His father looked at the result sheet and gave a simple nod. No long speeches. No sarcasm. Just a nod — but that silence spoke volumes.

His mother, standing by the doorway, had tears in her eyes. She didn't say much either. She just hugged him tightly and said, "I'm proud of you, nanna."

Krish felt something shift inside him. For the first time, he wasn't seeking approval. He had already approved of himself. The pride in their eyes was just a bonus.

That night, they had a quiet dinner. No celebratory cake, no fireworks. But for Krish, it was perfect. It was peace — something he had long craved.

Later that evening, as Krish sat by the window watching the streetlights flicker on, his younger cousin came running with a printed list in hand. "You're on the merit board! Top 5 in the whole college!" he said breathlessly.

Krish smiled faintly. It didn't feel like a victory. It felt like survival.

Maira's Realization

Back on campus, the results buzz floated through the corridors. Students clicked selfies, laughed with friends, or drowned in disappointment.

Maira stood at a corner of the campus board, her eyes scanning the list. Her fingers froze when she saw his name.

For a moment, she couldn't look away.

Krish.

The boy she once loved. The boy she left behind. The boy now rising.

She turned slightly and saw him at a distance — talking to a lecturer, calm, composed, dignified. A small group of juniors had gathered around him, asking questions.

She took a step forward. Just one.

But then stopped.

The memories came rushing — the laughter, the folded letters, the betrayal, the auto stand.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away. Guilt, admiration, confusion — she wasn't sure what it was. But it stayed.

Later that day, she sat alone on a bench, scrolling through old pictures on her phone. One of them — Krish holding a paper heart she had folded. Her fingers hovered over the delete button but never pressed it.

The screen dimmed. Her hand stayed still.

The Shift in Reputation

Everything started to change subtly.

Teachers began to mention "Krish" in examples. "Look at how consistent he became," one lecturer said. "He didn't complain. He just worked."

Juniors began greeting him in the corridors. Some approached him with doubts. Others just wanted to talk — to learn how he bounced back. One girl even said, "Anna, you're my inspiration."

Krish smiled softly. Not out of pride — but out of gratitude.

Raghav, on the other hand, began to notice the shift. His loud jokes during class didn't receive the same laughs. When he teased Krish now, it felt flat. His dominance was fading, and he knew it.

One day, when Krish walked into the library, even the librarian smiled and said, "Welcome back, Krish. You've become the heart of this place again."

In the canteen, a group of students had stuck a handwritten note on the board:

"Success tastes better when it's earned."

Someone had drawn a sketch of Krish beside it.

Whispers started among juniors: "That's the boy who rose after falling hard."

A New Invitation

One afternoon, Krish received an unexpected message from the English department.

"We'd like you to write an article for the college magazine. Something motivational."

Krish hesitated. Writing for himself was one thing. Sharing it publicly? That was something else.

But then he remembered his sketchbook. His journey. The quote he once wrote under the banyan tree: "Let them take the pages. I still hold the pen."

He agreed.

He wrote about silence. About growth. About pain becoming power. About choosing healing over revenge.

When the magazine came out, his article stood at the center page — simple, elegant, and signed with his name.

"Your piece gave me hope," a junior messaged him.

Krish read it three times. Then closed his eyes and smiled.

A few teachers even quoted his words in class discussions. His name was no longer associated with failure or gossip. It was tied to resilience.

The principal, during a morning address, even mentioned:

"We're proud to have students like Krish among us."

The Tree Revisited

One evening, as golden sunlight spilled across the campus, Krish walked past the banyan tree — the same one that had seen his folded letters, heartbreak, and sketches.

This time, someone else was there — a first-year boy, sitting alone, face buried in hands. Krish paused.

He didn't ask questions.

He quietly pulled out a small note, scribbled a quote, and walked over. Without a word, he dropped it beside the boy and walked away.

"Storms don't last forever. But survivors do."

The boy looked up.

But Krish was already gone.

That night, he returned to his rooftop. With a flask of coffee and a breeze brushing his cheeks, he whispered:

"We rise. Even when no one watches."

Thinking Ahead

As the semester wound to a close, Krish found himself more focused on the future.

He began researching entrance exams, bookmarking coaching centers, and making lists. One night, while organizing his books, he found a pamphlet for a competitive exam prep center tucked inside his sketchbook.

He looked at it, then out the window, and whispered:

"Let's see how far we can go."

Because now, the fire wasn't just to prove someone wrong — it was to discover how much he could become.

One evening, while packing away his notes, he came across the old paper heart Maira had folded long ago. He looked at it, smiled, and slipped it between the pages of a fresh notebook — not to forget, but to remember how far he'd come.

And as he zipped up his bag the next morning, ready to step into the final term, he knew:

This wasn't the end.

It was just the beginning of something even greater.

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A Small questions from your Tejaa to my dear readers....

Have you ever felt the need to prove your worth, not to others, but to yourself?

What did that journey look like for you?

Do you believe silent strength speaks louder than loud success?

Is there someone in your life who reflects Krish's quiet resilience?

If you had a chance to say one thing to someone who doubted you, what would it be?

Do you think Maira is beginning to regret her choices, or is it too late for her to feel anything real again?

And if you were in Krish's place, would you forgive or move forward silently?

When you fall, do you rise to prove a point — or to find peace with yourself?

Just like Krish, are you still holding the pen, even after losing a few pages?