It was science period, but our science teacher was absent today. Instead, the PT sir had come in as a substitute. That meant no textbooks, no note dictation, and definitely no surprise tests. The class was filled with cheerful chatter, bursts of laughter, and a sense of relaxed freedom that only came during unexpected free periods.
I had brought along the assignment sheets I decorated yesterday and decided to make good use of the time. I settled into my seat, smoothing the edges of the papers and getting into the rhythm of writing. The borders I'd drawn using rulers and stencils—geometrical shapes and symmetrical lines—made the pages look vibrant and polished. In Indian schools, especially in assignments, presentation is everything. Even if you wrote the right answers, how neatly you arranged your words and how aesthetically the borders looked could impact the marks you received.
Around me, the other girls had started pulling out their own assignment papers. It had become a kind of unspoken competition—who could decorate their assignments most creatively. Mahathi leaned over and took one of my decorated sheets.
"Hey, I just want to get ideas, okay?" she said with a mischievous smile.
"Sure," I said. "But don't copy it completely."
She winked. "If you used triangles, I'll use circles. That's original enough, right?"
I laughed and let it go. Honestly, I couldn't blame them. If their version ended up looking beautiful too, what was the harm?
Just as I was back to writing the second paragraph of the assignment, I noticed Nishanth standing near the PT sir, engaged in a conversation. After a few minutes, Nishanth turned and pointed in my direction. PT sir looked up and nodded.
Uh-oh. Was I in trouble for not being involved in some group activity?
Soon, they waved at me to come over. I gathered my sheets and walked up to them, curious and cautious.
"Hello, sir," I greeted politely.
"Hi, Nila," PT sir responded with a smile. "Nishanth just explained about your new initiative—the Student Voice magazine. That's an impressive idea. I'm glad students are coming up with things like this."
"Thank you, sir," I said, a little surprised but genuinely happy. "We're still figuring things out, but we're working hard on the structure and content."
"I heard from Nishanth that you plan to include a sports column?"
"Yes, sir," I nodded. "We're planning to highlight school events, house competitions, achievements of student athletes, and maybe even a scoreboard to track house points."
"That's great," he said. "We've had many talented students win district and zonal events over the years, but not everyone knows about them. It would be good if they got some visibility."
"That's exactly what we're trying to fix," I said. "We've already spoken to a couple of students who've volunteered to gather sports updates. I just wanted to check with you if we could coordinate with you or any of the sports captains regularly for information."
PT sir nodded immediately. "You don't have to wait for me to come to class. Come to the ground any time after 4 pm. I'll introduce you to the team captains. I can also share some details that are already recorded."
"Thank you so much, sir!" I smiled, genuinely grateful. "If you ever have suggestions or if you think something should be featured in the magazine, please tell us."
"You students are already putting a lot of thought into this," he said. "Just be consistent, and I'll support whatever you need. Let me know if you require space for interviews or photos too."
Nishanth, standing beside me, looked as relieved as I felt.
"We'll try to finalize the first sports column by the end of the week," I added.
"Sounds good," PT sir said, before nodding and walking to the back of the class to monitor some boys who were starting to get too playful.
I turned to Nishanth and whispered, "This is going better than we imagined."
He smiled. "That's because you keep preparing ten steps ahead."
I returned to my seat and glanced around. Mahathi was still redrawing the border she 'borrowed' from me, only with clumsy circles instead of neat triangles. Others were flipping through colored pens and sketch pens to start their own decorative work.
Maybe today was a free period, but it didn't feel like time wasted.
In computer class, for once, we weren't working on Student Voice. Today's lesson was all about learning to make PowerPoint presentations. The teacher walked us through the basics—how to insert slides, change background colors, add transitions. For most of the class, it was new and exciting. But for me, it felt like rewinding a tape to a part I already knew by heart.
I finished the assigned task quickly—my presentation had five slides, decent formatting, and a simple animation. I even threw in a few SmartArt graphics just to make it look like I'd tried harder than I did. Once I submitted it, I quietly opened a new tab and began writing an email to Appa.
Subject: Student Voice – My First Big Step
In the body of the mail, I wrote about how I had launched a student magazine in school. That I had a team. That the principal and vice-principal had approved it. I kept the tone cheerful and formal, knowing Appa always appreciated clarity and detail.
Before hitting send, I attached two files—one was the PowerPoint presentation we'd shown the principal, the other was the draft version of the digital magazine cover and layout. They weren't final, but I wanted to show him what I had done. What I had created from scratch.
I sat there for a moment after clicking send. A weird warmth spread inside me. This was something I had never done in my last life. Not at this age. Not with this confidence.
Then I opened my own inbox and began browsing through the mails I had sent to myself earlier. Mostly PDFs and Word docs—worksheets for Chinese and French. I wasn't taking both languages in this life, but I had decided to collect the material anyway. Who knows when it would come in handy? I saved them all to a folder neatly named "Language Worksheets" so I could print them later when I got access to the lab printer.
Once that was done, I allowed myself a few minutes of mindless browsing. I opened a couple of safe news sites and clicked through stories half-heartedly. Something about elections. Something else about a new phone release. Nothing really interesting.
My mind drifted.
I missed the future.
I missed the internet that was coming. Not this 2013 version, where websites took longer to load, videos buffered halfway through, and every download felt like a battle against time and signal strength. I missed free platforms where you could take certified courses in everything from astrophysics to animation. I missed being able to learn coding with live simulators, missed the kind of tutorials that spoke to you like a friend instead of a boring instructor in a badly filmed video.
I missed the efficiency of tools like ChatGPT.
How many times had I used it in my past life to brainstorm articles, polish essays, write polite emails, or simply talk when I didn't know how to phrase something?
Now, I had to plan everything manually. Craft every sentence from scratch. Find templates. Format titles. Pick fonts like a medieval scribe.
Even this PowerPoint we'd used for the magazine presentation had taken us two hours to prepare,if it were me. In my past life, I could've done it in fifteen minutes with the help of AI and design tools. But here? PowerPoint didn't even have the designer feature. Every element—box, shape, alignment—had to be manually adjusted. Making it look pretty took effort. Human effort.
It wasn't just about convenience. It was about time. Energy. Creativity.
In the future, I could focus more on the what because the tools handled the how.
But now, in this time, in this body, everything was done the old way. The hard way.
And yet, somehow, that made it feel more real. Like I was crafting something with my own hands, brick by brick.
Maybe this was what I needed. A slower process. Something that demanded commitment.
I shook the thoughts out of my head and looked around. Most of the other students were still busy working on their slides. A few were asking doubts. Some were adding glittery transitions that made the teacher sigh.
I minimized the browser and opened a new Word document.
There was still so much to do for Student Voice. Columns to assign. Timelines to fix. Teams to form. I began typing out a draft structure for the magazine issue. Even though we hadn't officially announced it to the whole school yet, it had already begun to take form in our hands.
This time, I wasn't just writing for marks, or to pass time, or to impress someone.
I was writing to leave a mark.
And the tools may be slower, older, and clumsier than what I was used to… but I was here now. And I would build with what I had.
One line. One article. One issue at a time.