I don't know how time flew, but by the time I looked up from the last page of my homework, the final bell had already rung. Students were packing up, rushing out like they were escaping from a prison. But for me, the day wasn't over yet.
Me, Nishanth, and Ishaant—the newly appointed boys' sports rep—walked together to the school ground. We were heading to meet PT sir. The sun was still out, golden and warm, painting long shadows on the field. A light breeze rustled through the trees around the ground, and I felt a small rush of excitement.
PT sir was already waiting for us. With him stood the house captains—Abhimanyu, Bheeshma, and Karna. All three in their respective house T-shirts, standing tall with a kind of practiced confidence that only regular sports players seemed to have.
As we approached, PT sir gestured for us to come closer. "These are the captains," he said. "And this is Nila, the student who initiated the school magazine. Beside her is Nishanth—digital content and photography—and Ishaant, who'll be handling the boys' sports updates."
I smiled politely and gave a small nod. "Hello! It's nice to meet you all."
Abhimanyu, the captain of the blue house, extended his hand first. "Hi! We've heard about this magazine thing. Sounds cool."
Bheeshma, the green house captain, chimed in, "So we'll be in the magazine too?"
"Yes!" I said, trying to keep my excitement under control. "The idea is to feature updates on school-level tournaments, student achievements, house points, and any events under each house. We also want to do mini-profiles on students who've shown dedication in less popular sports like shot put or javelin, not just cricket and football."
Karna, the red house captain, raised an eyebrow. "You're going that detailed?"
"That's the plan," I replied. "It's not just a hobby project. We want Student Voice to actually speak for every student—whether you're winning trophies or just showing up and trying."
Ishaant nodded beside me. "I'll stay in contact with you guys regularly, get updates, scores, anything worth mentioning. Even if it's just a house-level friendly match."
Nishanth added, "We'll be doing both a printed version and a digital one. The idea is to make it visually engaging, with photos and highlights, not just paragraphs of text."
The captains exchanged glances, visibly impressed. I could see it—the little spark of interest lighting up in their expressions.
PT sir seemed pleased. "Looks like you kids are serious. I'll help coordinate on my end. Just make sure you stay consistent. Sports updates can't be done last-minute."
"Of course, sir," I said. "We're also working on a fixed template for the sports column, so it'll be easy to just update it every month."
Abhimanyu looked at Karna and said, "Hey, maybe we can actually get a little competitive this year. If our house scores are out in public, it'll push everyone."
"That's the idea," I smiled. "Friendly competition. Motivation. Recognition."
PT sir gave a small nod of approval. "I'll speak with the girls' house captains and sports staff too. You'll need to assign a girls' rep like I mentioned. Let me know when that's done."
"Already spoke with Anika," I said. "She's from 9-D and agreed to help collect data for the girls' side."
"Perfect," PT sir said, clapping his hands once. "I'll inform her PE instructor. You kids take care of the coordination."
We all stood there for a second, a little circle of students and one encouraging adult, laying down the foundation of something new. Something that hadn't existed until we imagined it.
As we started walking back toward the school building, I felt light. I have completed most of the work. now only announcement, making a formal team, which can wait, and publishing the 1st edition is pending.
After reaching the hostel, I changed into my sportswear and headed straight to the basketball court. It had been more than a week since I last played. I didn't realise how much I missed it until I saw the court again—the painted lines, the familiar bounce of the ball, the echo of laughter and sneakers scraping against the ground.
As I walked in, a few seniors were already warming up. Shivanie di noticed me first. Being my cabin partner, she already knew about the "Student Voice" magazine. Apparently, she had passed the word around to other seniors too. To my relief, they didn't seem annoyed about my absence at all.
"Look who's back!" Priya di called out with a grin, spinning the ball on one finger.
I smiled and jogged towards them.
"Missed a whole week," Shivanie di said, handing me the ball. "But we forgive you, Editor-in-Chief."
I laughed nervously. "Only if I still remember how to play."
"Don't worry," Priya di said, draping an arm around my shoulder. "We heard about the magazine. It's a great initiative. If you need help with anything—writing, planning, even spreading the word—just ask."
That genuine support hit differently. Not everyone understood what it felt like to start something new and big, especially in a place where most people just follow the routine. I thanked her and promised to come for help if needed.
Soon, the practice began, and we were split into teams for a trial match. I was worried I might've forgotten some of the moves, but once I held the ball and started dribbling, my muscle memory kicked in. It was like riding a bicycle. The court, the game, the rhythm—it all came back.
We played hard, sweating and laughing at the same time. My chest felt light, like all the pressure of the last few days was melting away with each pass and sprint. It reminded me why I loved playing sports in the first place. It wasn't about being the best—it was about feeling alive, present, and part of something.
Just when the match ended and we were catching our breath, PT ma'am walked over, her arms crossed and her usual strict expression in place.
She had been watching.
"Nila," she said, calling my name.
I stood up straighter, unsure what she was about to say.
"You didn't lose your focus," she said with a small smile. "Good thing you didn't let the magazine work distract you while playing. Keep this up, and I might actually consider you for the team."
"Thank you, ma'am!" I beamed. That single sentence felt like a trophy.
Study time flew by before I even realised. Maybe it was because I finally sat down to focus properly on my academics. I had been so caught up in the magazine work that I hadn't paid close attention to how much I was falling in sync with the classwork again. I was still keeping up with the pace, but last week, I was actually ahead. That slight shift made me pause.
I really need to work on my time management. Maybe once we get the first print of Student Voice done, I'll get a clear picture of how much time I need to dedicate for magazine work each week. Once the core team is set and roles are distributed properly, I can slowly shift into more of a hands-off manager role. Not entirely hands-off, of course, but just enough to let others lead their parts while I guide from behind. I don't want to burn out before the project has even properly started.
Later, in the dining hall, while I was tearing off a piece of chapathi and dipping it into the creamy paneer gravy, I had this strange feeling. Like I was sitting in the middle of a soft buzz. It felt like half the dining hall was whispering about Student Voice.
And oddly, it felt good.
I had worried that after all the late-night planning, article-writing, photo-editing, and bold meetings, the whole thing might just end up going unnoticed by the very people it was meant for. But now, hearing that soft murmur of curiosity, seeing a few students glance in my direction—it felt like a quiet success.
"It's just been a day," Prerna said, sliding into the seat next to me, "but it already feels like everyone knows about it."
Sastika nodded, grinning. "Even those FITJEE coaching students—you know the ones who usually ignore everything except test schedules and marks—were talking about it during break."
Pavani leaned forward. "Wow, Nila. You're getting famous."
I shook my head with a small laugh. "I don't want me to be famous. I want Student Voice to get famous."
That's the truth. I'm not doing this to be recognised or praised. I'm doing this because I want our stories, our efforts, our experiences to be seen and heard. Student Voice is not about me—it's about us.
And just like that, while chewing the last bite of paneer, I felt a tiny sense of calm. Maybe things are falling into place.