Chapter 2: The Staffroom Whispers

Just then, the chief invigilator appeared, his presence commanding. He adjusted his watch, the gold strap glinting in the tube light, as if measuring not just time but my fate. Spotting me and the teacher, he strode over and demanded, 'What’s going on? Is there a problem with this student?'

The chief invigilator, with his salt-and-pepper hair and stern face, wore his authority like a badge. He stopped mid-stride, thick eyebrows knitted together, silently demanding an explanation.

'Sir, you came at the right time. This student says he found an answer sheet in his drawer,' the invigilator reported, handing the answer sheet to the chief as though it were a live bomb, hands trembling slightly. A couple of teachers passing by slowed down, curiosity piqued.

The chief invigilator frowned, examined the answer sheet closely, and his frown deepened into near panic. He adjusted his glasses, peered at the sheet, lips pursed, his face shifting from confusion to alarm as if he’d just been told there was a snake in the staffroom.

He pointed at the answer sheet and asked me sternly, 'Where did you get this from?'

His voice boomed down the corridor, making a junior peon jump in his slippers. Some students from other classes peeked from their rooms, drawn by the drama.

Seeing how intimidating he looked, I pressed my lips together, swallowing the urge to protest. I straightened my back and replied steadily, 'It's not mine. It appeared out of thin air. If you don't believe me, you can check the CCTV footage.' My school bag hung awkwardly from my shoulder, as if it too awaited a verdict.

'Check it! We must check!' the chief invigilator shouted, startling both the invigilator and me. His voice echoed through the school, sending a flock of pigeons fluttering outside and making juniors on the playground look up, whispering, 'Kya ho gaya, bhai?'

The invigilator quickly pulled the chief aside, whispering urgently to calm him. Their backs were to me, but their hurried, worried voices carried. The aroma of strong filter coffee drifted from the staffroom, mixing with the sharp scent of new exam papers.

Although they tried to keep their voices low, I overheard snatches of their conversation. Teachers always forget how thin school walls are—and how students have a sixth sense for adult gossip.

'Sir, is this really necessary?' The invigilator’s tone was pleading, as if dreading extra trouble at the end of a long exam season.

'Not necessary? Just look at this answer sheet—it has all the correct answers to the test!' The chief’s words were sharp, laced with worry. He tapped the paper for emphasis, as if afraid it might vanish if he blinked.

'No way! Does that mean the exam questions were leaked?' This was the kind of thing that could make headlines—'Exam paper leak in local school!' Even the watchman, sipping tea nearby, looked up in alarm.

'I'm telling you, we have to take this seriously. Today is the last paper of the board exams. We can't afford any mishaps. If we don't handle this properly, neither of us will keep our jobs!'

The fear of a scandal hung heavy in the air. In Indian schools, nothing scares teachers more than the word 'scandal'—a word that can summon the wrath of the board, angry parents, and even the local MLA.