The last period dragged on like a tired snail. The fan above spun lazily, pushing warm air down onto the restless class. Amrita stared at the clock, willing the second hand to move faster. Tushar sat behind her, doodling stick figures with swords in his notebook.
When the final bell rang, it was like a cork had popped. Chairs screeched, books slammed shut, and chatter filled the room like a rising tide. But for Class VI-B, it wasn't just the end of school—it was the beginning of war.
"Chalk dust war?" Amrita whispered, turning around.
Tushar grinned. "You read my mind."
Within seconds, they and a few others from their gang had chalk bits crumbled into powder, stuffed into paper cones made from old test sheets. The classroom became their battlefield. Ducking behind desks, they launched clouds of chalk at each other with the precision of seasoned warriors.
"Cover fire!" Tushar shouted, hurling a puff of white toward the enemy camp—a trio of boys near the windows.
Amrita dove behind the teacher's desk, giggling as she smeared chalk across her cheeks for 'war paint.' "Retreat! They're flanking us!"
The class monitor tried to intervene but quickly ducked out after catching a face full of dust.
They laughed until their stomachs hurt. Their white-stained uniforms made them look like tiny ghosts. But then, silence fell.
In the doorway stood Mrs. Pinto.
The laughter died.
Mrs. Pinto walked in, eyes scanning the disaster: chairs overturned, chalk powder coating the desks, and the air still hazy with dust. Her sharp heels clicked against the floor like gunshots.
Tushar and Amrita stood frozen.
"Who started this?" she asked.
No one spoke.
"I'll ask once more. Who. Started. This."
Tushar took a step forward. "It was me, ma'am."
Amrita gasped. "No, it was me."
Mrs. Pinto raised an eyebrow. "Both of you?"
They looked at each other. Tushar gave a small nod. Amrita smiled faintly.
"Then both of you will stay after school and clean the classroom."
They nodded silently.
When everyone else had left, they scrubbed the desks and dusted the windows. The classroom smelled of soap and chalk. As the sun dipped below the trees, casting golden shadows on the floor, Amrita turned to Tushar.
"Why'd you take the blame?"
He shrugged. "Because it was fun. And because I knew you would."
She laughed. "I would have."
They sat on the window sill, legs swinging.
"You know," she said, "even cleaning is kind of fun with you."
He looked at her and grinned. "Chalk dust war again tomorrow?"
"Let's not get caught this time."
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Moral: True friends stand up for each other—not just in play, but when consequences follow. Loyalty in small moments makes friendship unforgettable.