So let’s begin,

BADMINTON COURT-

The echo of shuttlecocks hitting rackets filled the badminton court. Akshu wiped the sweat from her forehead, her eyes sparkling with the competitive fire she always carried. She was mid-serve when one of her classmates, Riya, rushed in, breathless.

Riya (excitedly, almost gossiping):

“Arre Akshu! Tumhe pata hai? Auditorium mein abhi extra debate ho raha hai. Principal sir aur Bela ma’am ne khud bulaya hai. Aur… suno… sab keh rahe hain Bela ma’am Khushi ko favour kar rahi hain Ayushi ke against. Pura school ispe baat kar raha hai.”

Akshu froze mid-motion. The shuttle slipped from her hand, bouncing lifelessly on the court.

Akshu (sharply, eyes widening):

“Kya?!Ma’am Khushi ko favour kar rahi hain? Yeh sab bakwaas hai! Khushi ko to aise hi kaafi pareshaan kar rakha tha un logon ne…”

Her fists clenched, anger flaring in her chest. Without another word, she grabbed her bag.

Akshu (determined, muttering):

“Mujhe auditorium jana hoga… Khushi ko akela nahi chhod sakti.”

ART ROOM -

Meanwhile, in the art room, Vanshu was lost in colors, her brush moving swiftly across the canvas. A group of girls nearby were whispering, throwing glances at her. Finally, one of them spoke aloud.

Girl (mocking tone):

“Vanshu, tumhe pata hai? Auditorium mein Khushi aur Ayushi ke beech debate ho raha hai. Aur obviously Khushi ko chance Bela ma’am ne diya hai. Partiality toh sabke saamne hai.”

The brush slipped from Vanshu’s hand, leaving a streak of paint across the canvas. She turned sharply, her eyes flashing.

Vanshu (angrily):

“Bas! Tum logon ko sirf baatein banani aati hain. Tum ma’am ko ek percent bhi nahi jaante ho. Agar unhone Khushi ko chance diya hai, toh uske peeche wajah hai. Partiality toh tum logon ki soch mai hai, unki nahi.”

Without waiting for an answer, she stormed out, determination fueling her steps.

Corridor Outside Auditorium

Akshu and Vanshu collided outside the auditorium doors, both panting from their rushed steps. They looked at each other, their expressions mirroring the same fire.

Akshu (breathing hard):

“Tumhe bhi pata chala?”

Vanshu (nodding firmly):

“Haan. Aur mujhe khud dekhna hai ki Khushi kaisi hai. Usse yeh sab sun kar kitna bura lag raha hoga.”

For a moment, both sisters stood there, their silence filled with unspoken understanding.

Akshu (clenching her fists):

“Khushi ko akele sabke saamne face karna hoga… mujhse bardasht nahi hoga. Usse lagta hoga sab usse ma’am ki wajah se favour kar rahe hain. Humari behen ko aaj humari zarurat hai.”

Vanshu (soft but firm):

“Haan. Aur ma’am ko bhi. Jab poora school unpe ungli utha raha hai… koi toh hona chahiye jo unke saath khada ho.”

The two exchanged a determined glance.

Akshu (with finality):

“Toh chalein?”

Vanshu (nodding, fierce):

“Chalo. Khushi ke liye. Aur ma’am ke liye.”

With that, the sisters pushed open the heavy auditorium doors, ready to stand as Khushi’s pillars of strength.

Outside the Auditorium, Staircase

The corridor was quiet except for the faint hum of voices leaking from the auditorium. Bela stood on the staircase beside Khushi, her hand resting firmly on the girl’s shoulder. Khushi’s face was still wet with tears, but her breathing had slowed under Bela’s steady presence.

Finally, Bela gave her one last look — her eyes sharp yet protective, a silent message passing between them.

Bela (soft but firm):

“Ab bas, Khushi. The choice is yours.”

With that, Bela rose, straightened her dupatta with her usual grace, and walked away toward the auditorium doors. The click of her heels faded, leaving Khushi alone on the steps.

Just then, hurried footsteps echoed in the corridor. Akshu and Vanshu came running, panting slightly, their eyes darting everywhere until they spotted Khushi.

Akshu (concerned, rushing to her):

“Khushi! Yeh sab achanak? Tum yahan ho… sab keh rahe the andar debate shuru hone wala hai. Tum theek ho na?”

Vanshu (kneeling beside her, searching her face):

“Haan, batao… tumne kya decide kiya? Tum jaogi na? Dekho Khushi, ab sirf tumhara participation nahi, humara bhi depend karta hai tum par. Agar tum peeche hatti, toh hum sab haar jayenge.”

Khushi looked at them both, her lips trembling, her heart heavy. She wanted to speak, but no words came out — only silence, and the echo of Bela’s sharp yet caring voice in her ears:

“If not for yourself, then for me and your sisters you will have to do it.”

Her gaze shifted between Akshu’s fiery determination and Vanshu’s quiet strength. They weren’t asking — they were trusting her. And that trust, that belief, lit something inside her chest.

Akshu (leaning closer, voice strong):

“Khushi, tum humari behen ho. Aur behen haar ke nahi bhaagti… ladte hain. Tum ladogi na?”

Vanshu (softly, squeezing her hand):

“Haan, Khushi. Hum tumhare saath hain. Bas ek step… andar chal.”

Khushi’s breath hitched. She wiped her tears roughly with her sleeve, stood up slowly, and drew in a deep breath — a shaky one, but stronger than before.

Her eyes glistened, but now they carried resolve.

Khushi (quiet, but steady):

“…Haan. Ab mujhe karna hi hoga.”

She looked at Akshu and Vanshu, her voice trembling yet filled with newfound determination.

Khushi (in her heart, whispering):

“Main apne liye nahi… Ma’am ke liye. Akshu, Vanshu ke liye. Unki wajah se main peeche nahi hatt sakti.”

The three girls exchanged a silent glance — no more words needed. And with that, Khushi squared her shoulders, inhaled deeply, and turned toward the heavy auditorium doors.

Her steps were slow, but they carried purpose now. The tears had dried. The fear was still there, but it no longer controlled her. She was ready to face Ayushi. She was ready to fight.

---

Inside the Auditorium

The heavy wooden doors of the auditorium creaked open. The chatter inside dimmed instantly as every head turned toward the entrance.

There she was.

Khushi — her eyes still red from crying, but her back straight, her chin lifted. On either side of her stood Akshu and Vanshu, their hands gently brushing against hers in silent support.

Ayushi’s smirk froze on her face. Just a moment ago, she had been whispering with her friends, certain Khushi had run away. But now… there she was, walking in like a warrior rising from her ashes.

Student 1 (whispering):

“Arre… yeh Khushi? I thought she left crying…”

Student 2 (murmuring):

“Lagta hai Bela ma’am ne wapas bheja hai… dekhte hain ab kya hota hai.”

On the stage, Principal Sir raised his brows in surprise. Bela, however, stood at the corner — her arms folded, face unreadable, but her eyes locked on Khushi, burning with a proud intensity only Khushi could recognize.

Khushi’s steps echoed as she made her way down the aisle. Her palms were clammy, her heart still racing, but Akshu’s hand squeezed her shoulder once and Vanshu gave her a tiny nod. That was enough.

When she reached the stage, Ayushi immediately stepped forward, venom dripping from her voice.

Ayushi (mocking):

“Wah, Khushi. Mujhe toh laga tha tum bhaag jaogi aur sab tumhe bichari samajh kar sympathy denge. Lekin ab wapas aa gayi ho? Acha hai. Par yeh samajh lo… ab yahan sabke saamne tumhari aur zyada insult hone wali hai.”

A few gasps rippled across the students.

Khushi’s fists tightened by her side, but instead of breaking, her eyes lifted — meeting Ayushi’s glare head-on. For the first time, she didn’t look away.

Khushi (steady, calm):

“Insult ya jeet… yeh ab competition decide karega. Main bhaagi thi… par ab wapas aayi hoon. Aur ab tumhe bhi bhaagne ka mauka nahi milega, Ayushi.”

The silence that followed was thick — some students exchanged shocked looks, others began whispering excitedly.

Principal Sir cleared his throat, his expression half stern, half intrigued.

Principal Sir (firmly):

“Bas. Enough arguments. If Khushi has decided to compete, toh dono candidates ko abhi aur isi stage par prove karna hoga. Debate shuru kiya jaaye.”

He gestured to the panel of Teachers waiting in the front row. The murmurs in the auditorium rose, anticipation filling the air.

Ayushi glared at Khushi one last time, fury flashing in her eyes. Bela, from the corner, allowed herself the faintest of smiles — not of relief, but of pride.

Khushi drew in a deep breath, her voice inside whispering like an oath:

“For Akshu. For Vanshu. For Bela ma’am. And this time… for myself too.”

And as she stepped forward to take her position on the stage, the real battle finally began.

Moments later - Debate Round Begins

The stage lights brightened. Khushi and Ayushi stood on opposite podiums, the air between them crackling with tension. The audience leaned forward in their seats, eager for the showdown.

Principal Sir (announcing):

“Topic for the debate: ‘Is success defined by talent or hard work?’

Both candidates will get a chance to present their opening statements, followed by counterarguments.”

Bela nodded. A faint murmur rippled through the students.

Principal Sir:

“Candidate one: Ayushi.”

Ayushi smirked, tossing her hair back confidently. She gripped the podium, her voice sharp and commanding.

Ayushi (confident, forceful):

“Success is only the result of hard work. Talent may give you a head start, but without relentless effort, it is meaningless. I’ve seen countless people who were ‘talented,’ yet failed because they relied only on that talent. On the other hand, even the weakest person, with determination and consistent hard work, can achieve greatness. And let’s be honest — in today’s world, talent is overrated. People who succeed are the ones who don’t waste time on excuses.”

Her words were crisp, loud, And delivered with the confidence of someone who had rehearsed for days. The students clapped lightly; some even nodded in agreement.

Principal Sir:

“Candidate two: Khushi.”

Khushi’s heartbeat quickened. She gripped the sides of the podium, her palms still slightly damp. For a second, her throat felt dry — but then her eyes flickered to the corner where Bela stood, still and steady, her gaze firm as if silently saying “speak.” Akshu and Vanshu sitting in the front seats silently cheering.

Khushi inhaled deeply, steadied herself, and began.

Khushi (calm, clear voice):

“Talent and hard work… they are not enemies. They are partners. Success isn’t defined by only one. Talent is like a seed — without it, there is nothing to grow. But without hard work, that seed will never become a tree. Hard work gives shape to talent, and talent gives direction to hard work. If you remove either, success loses its balance.”

The hall fell silent. Khushi’s voice wasn’t as loud as Ayushi’s, but it carried something heavier — conviction.

Ayushi quickly leaned in, pouncing on the opening.

Ayushi (mocking tone):

“Easy to say, Khushi. But tell us — what use is talent if the person doesn’t even show up for practice? You talk about balance, but when it came to your own participation, you didn’t even bother to prepare. Isn’t that proof that talent without work is nothing but wasted potential?”

A few students chuckled under their breath. Ayushi folded her arms, victorious.

Khushi’s chest tightened — Ayushi’s words cut deep. But then Akshu’s voice echoed faintly from the audience:

Akshu (whispering loudly enough):

“Khushi… remember what Bela ma’am said. Don’t run. Fight.”

Vanshu clasped her hands together, eyes shining with trust.

Khushi straightened her shoulders. She looked directly at Ayushi — not with anger, but with quiet strength.

Khushi (firm, composed):

“You’re right, Ayushi. I couldn’t attend practice. But that wasn’t because I didn’t care… it was because circumstances didn’t allow me. Still, does that erase the fact that I was chosen first? No. It only means my struggle was different. Hard work doesn’t always mean hours of practice in one room — sometimes it means fighting battles no one else sees, and still showing up when it matters the most. Like today.”

The students present there exchanged thoughtful glances. A hush spread across the auditorium.

Bela’s lips curved ever so slightly — pride flickering in her eyes.

Ayushi’s face stiffened, her confidence shaken for the first time.

Ayushi (snapping back):

“Pretty words, Khushi. But debates aren’t about emotions, they’re about logic. Talent is just luck — and luck runs out. Hard work doesn’t.”

Khushi took a breath, her voice gaining unexpected strength as if something inside her had finally unlocked.

Khushi (steady, powerful):

“Then answer this, Ayushi — why do we respect people who inspire us? Not just because they worked hard, but because they had a gift… a talent… that they nurtured with that hard work. Sachin Tendulkar had talent and hard work. A.R. Rahman had talent and hard work. Success is not a war between the two — it is the harmony of both. And anyone who ignores one will always remain incomplete.”

The audience erupted in claps this time. Even some who had sided with Ayushi before were nodding at Khushi’s words.

Ayushi’s jaw tightened. She tried to mask her frustration, but her knuckles were white against the podium.

Principal Sir leaned back in his chair, visibly impressed.

Principal Sir (quietly to Bela):

“You were right, Bela ma’am… this girl has fire.”

Bela didn’t reply, but her eyes never left Khushi — steady, proud, unblinking.

Ayushi’s nails scraped against the podium edge. She could feel the audience shifting toward Khushi, and it burned. Her eyes narrowed, venom dripping in her tone.

Ayushi (mocking, sharp):

“Sabko sunane mein badi expert ho gayi ho, Khushi. Lekin sach yeh hai — tum khud apne life mein kuch decide bhi nahi kar paati. Tum Akshu aur Vanshu ke peeche chipti rehti ho, aur Bela ma’am ke sahare chalti ho. Tumhari apni koi pehchaan hi nahi hai. Aaj bhi yaha khadi ho kyunki Bela ma’am tumhe kheench laayi. Yeh talent hai? Yeh self-confidence hai? Yeh toh sirf… bechari hai.”

A loud murmur rippled through the auditorium. Students exchanged looks, some whispering.

Khushi’s throat tightened. The words stabbed exactly where she was most vulnerable. For a moment, silence. Her chest rose and fell rapidly — but then, she remembered Bela’s firm voice from earlier: “If not for yourself, then for your sisters… for me… you have to do this.”

She inhaled deeply. Her trembling stilled. When she looked up, her eyes no longer held fear — they held fire.

Khushi (clear, unwavering):

“Yes, Ayushi… I do lean on Akshu, Vanshu, and Bela ma’am. I do draw strength from them. And I am not ashamed of it. Because strength doesn’t mean walking alone — it means knowing when to hold someone’s hand and when to stand on your own. Today, I’m not here because someone dragged me. I’m here because despite being broken, I chose to stand up again.”

A hush fell over the hall. Even the faintest whispers died.

Khushi’s voice grew steadier, her words cutting through the silence like glass.

Khushi (firm, intense):

“You call that weakness, Ayushi? I call it courage. Courage to accept that we all need support sometimes, but also courage to face the world when everyone doubts us. And if that makes me ‘bechari’ in your eyes, then I’ll wear that label proudly. Because even a ‘bechari’ can stand here today… and fight you.”

The students gasped. Applause broke out from one corner, spreading quickly until the entire auditorium echoed with claps and cheers.

Ayushi froze, her mouth slightly open, unable to form a comeback. Her own words had been turned against her.

Bela’s eyes softened for just a fraction of a second, pride swelling in her chest.

Principal Sir (rising slightly, voice impressed):

“Enough. I think the result is clear.”

He gestured toward the audience.

“Who do you believe deserves to represent our school?”

The students erupted in one voice:

“Khushi! Khushi! Khushi!”

The sound reverberated across the hall.

Khushi blinked rapidly, overwhelmed, her eyes glistening. She quickly looked down, clutching the podium, trying to steady herself.

From the side, Akshu and Vanshu jumped to their feet, clapping the loudest, their faces glowing with pride.

And in the corner, Bela finally allowed herself a small smile — firm, restrained, but full of warmth.

The chants of “Khushi! Khushi!” thundered through the auditorium. Principal Sir raised his hand to calm the hall, though even he struggled to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.

Principal Sir (clearing his throat):

“Quiet, students… quiet.” (pauses, then looks directly at Khushi)

“The decision is unanimous. The student who will represent our school in the upcoming debate competition… is Khushi.”

The auditorium erupted again in cheers and applause.

Khushi’s eyes widened, her chest tightening. For a moment, she just stood there, unable to believe what she had heard. Her knees threatened to buckle — but then she saw Akshu and Vanshu at the back, clapping and whistling proudly, and she straightened.

Principal Sir (turning toward Bela):

“Bela ma’am… it seems your trust in your student was not misplaced.”

Bela inclined her head slightly, her face calm, but her eyes spoke volumes — satisfaction, pride, and something deeper that only Khushi could read.

Ayushi’s nails dug into her palms. Her face burned red as the applause surrounded her like a slap. She stepped forward, voice trembling with suppressed fury.

Ayushi (to Principal, bitterly):

“This isn’t fair… this was never fair. Ma’am always had her favorites, and now everyone can see it. Maybe today I lost — but don’t think I’ll forget this humiliation. Not you, not Khushi, not Bela ma’am.”

Her glare lingered on Khushi, sharp as a knife, before she turned and stormed out of the auditorium. The heavy slam of the door echoed behind her.

The students exchanged whispers, but the joy of the moment quickly drowned out Ayushi’s bitterness.

The announcement of Khushi’s name still echoed in the auditorium. Students clapped and cheered, but none louder than Akshu and Vanshu.

They jumped onto their chairs, whistling so loud it made everyone turn their heads.

Akshu (shouting at the top of her lungs):

“Yessss! That’s our Khushi! Kya scene banaya h Yaar time pe maza aa gaya us Ayushi ki dhaniya uda di ekdum.. Bolne layak nhi bachi thi.. ”

Vanshu (cupping her hands like a megaphone):

“Khushi rocks, Ayushi shocks!”

The hall burst into laughter at their antics. Akshu even started doing a little victory dance on the chair, while Vanshu whistled again, fingers in her mouth.

Khushi, red-faced, hid her face in her palms, unable to stop smiling through her embarrassment.

But then—

Bela (clearing her throat, loud and sharp):

“Ahem.”

The sound cut through the chaos like a knife.

Akshu and Vanshu froze mid-celebration. Slowly, guiltily, they climbed down from the chairs and zipped their mouths tight, standing ramrod straight.

Bela’s sharp gaze swept over them — the kind of look that made even the bravest student think twice.

Bela (sternly):

“Drama khatam ho gaya? Good. Now listen carefully — the inter-school competition is just two days away. This was only a test. Celebration baad mein kar lena. Right now, you three need to be sharper than ever.”

Khushi blinked, her smile fading into seriousness.

Bela (turning to all three):

“I will personally guide you now. Badminton, art, debate — sab ka final performance school ki izzat se juda hai. And I will not tolerate overconfidence or negligence. Samjhe tum log?”

Akshu (sheepishly, scratching her head):

“Yes, ma’am…”

Vanshu (pouting):

“Par ma’am… thoda toh celebrate karne dijiye…”

Bela (raising one eyebrow):

“Celebrate karna hai? Win the trophy first. Then celebrate all you want. Abhi ke liye—practice.”

All three exchanged a glance — a mix of mock disappointment and suppressed laughter — before nodding vigorously.

Khushi (determined, softly):

“Ji, ma’am. We’ll give our best.”

Bela’s lips twitched for half a second, almost as if she wanted to smile — but she quickly schooled her face back into seriousness.

Bela:

“Good. I’ll see you all on the ground tomorrow morning. No excuses.”

She walked away briskly, her dupatta flying behind her like a flag of authority.

The moment she was gone, Akshu nudged Vanshu and whispered dramatically:

Akshu (grinning):

“Bas… ab toh military training shuru ho gayi.”

Vanshu (snickering):

“Army Bela ma’am ke under hum teen fauji!”

Khushi laughed, shaking her head — but deep down, she felt that strange surge of pride again. Bela’s tough words weren’t scolding. They were responsibility. Trust.

And this time, she was ready to carry it.

---

NEXT MORNING – The Training Begins

The next morning, the school ground buzzed with usual activity. But for three girls — Akshu, Vanshu, and Khushi — it was no ordinary day.

Bela stood in the center like a commander, stopwatch in hand, eyes sharper than ever.

Bela (firmly):

“From this moment till competition day, you three are not just my students — you are my responsibility. And I don’t take responsibility lightly. So be ready… because I won’t go easy on you.”

The three nodded, exchanging nervous but excited glances.

Badminton Practice – Akshu

On the court, Akshu twirled her racket confidently.

Akshu (grinning):

“Ma’am, don’t worry. Badminton toh mera left-hand game hai.”

The match began. Her smashes were strong, but within minutes, she started panting. Her footwork slowed, and a return shot slipped past her.

Bela (sharply):

“Overconfidence! Akshu, stop smiling and focus. Power isn’t enough — stamina decides champions. Again!”

Akshu swallowed, tightened her grip, and went back into position. Every missed shuttle came with Bela’s stern correction — “Lower your body!” — “Anticipate!” — “Run for it, don’t wait for the shuttle!”

By the end, Akshu collapsed on the bench, drenched in sweat, gasping.

Akshu (panting):

“Ma’am… main… bas… thoda rest—”

Bela (coldly, cutting her off):

“No rest. Champions don’t ask for breaks. Pick up the racket. Again.”

Akshu’s eyes widened. She groaned — but stood up. Somewhere inside, the fire lit stronger.

Art Practice – Vanshu

In the art room, Vanshu sketched furiously, brushes flying across the canvas. Her strokes were bold, creative — but messy.

Bela (watching silently, then):

“Stop.”

Vanshu froze, brush mid-air.

Bela (calm, but piercing):

“Art is not only about passion. It is discipline. Control. Right now, your strokes are wild — they speak of your energy, yes, but they lack precision. You want to impress judges? Give them something clean. Something that speaks not only of heart but of mastery.”

Vanshu bit her lip, frustrated.

Vanshu (muttering):

“Ma’am… agar main apni masti aur wildness hata dungi, toh meri art meri hogi hi nahi…”

Bela (leaning closer, eyes steady):

“Your art will always be yours. But greatness comes when you balance freedom with control. Dil aur dimaag dono ka sangam hona chahiye. Try again.”

Vanshu stared at her blank canvas, fists tight. Then, slowly, she began again — this time slower, more deliberate, mixing her free spirit with careful strokes.

Debate Practice – Khushi

In the empty auditorium, Khushi stood on stage, mic trembling in her hands.

Bela (from below, stern):

“Start.”

Khushi opened her mouth, but her voice cracked.

Khushi (softly):

“R – Respected Teachers… today I—”

She froze, eyes darting to the empty seats. Her palms grew sweaty. Ayushi’s taunts echoed in her mind — “Selfish… cheater… you’re nothing without support.”

Her throat locked.

Bela (voice sharp, rising):

“Khushi! Loud. Clear. Debate is not a whisper. It is a war of words. Again!”

Khushi (stammering):

“Madam and j…judges… t-today…”

Her knees wobbled.

Suddenly, Bela’s voice thundered through the hall.

Bela (cutting in, intense):

“Khushi! Look at me!”

Khushi’s wide, teary eyes met Bela’s.

Bela (steady, fierce):

“You think you’re weak? Then every word Ayushi said was right. And you’ll prove her right. But if you are my student… if you truly trust me… then stand tall, lift your chin, and speak like the world has no choice but to listen!”

The words hit Khushi like fire. Her trembling lessened. She inhaled, tightened her fists, and this time—

Khushi (loud, clear):

“Respected Teachers and Judges! Today, I stand not only to speak, but to prove… that truth can never be overshadowed!”

Her voice rang across the auditorium. Bela’s eyes glinted with quiet pride — though her face remained stern.

Bela (nodding slightly):

“Better. Again.”

By the end of the day, all three were exhausted — Akshu with aching legs, Vanshu with ink-stained fingers, and Khushi with a hoarse throat.

But as they sat together on the bench, gasping for air, one thing was clear: Bela wasn’t just training them. She was forging them.

---

Sehgal House, Dining Table (Night)

The clock struck nine. The usual laughter-filled dining table of the Sehgal house was silent tonight. Only the faint clinking of spoons and the hum of the ceiling fan filled the space.

Team Unstoppable — sat slumped on their chairs, shoulders drooping, eyes half open. The exhaustion on their faces told a story words didn’t need to.

Akshu sat with her elbows on the table, her chin propped on her palm. Her eyelids kept fluttering shut, every muscle in her body screaming for rest. The standing punishment, followed by the nonstop badminton drills under Bela, had left her legs feeling like lead.

Akshu (muttering under her breath):

“Mujhe lagta hai… agar ma’am ne kal aur ek round kara diya na… toh main court ke beech gir jaungi.”

Beside her, Vanshu was hunched over her plate, holding her right wrist with her left hand. Her fingers had gone stiff after hours of sketching and re-sketching under Bela’s piercing gaze. Even lifting the spoon seemed like a battle.

Vanshu (in a faint, dramatic whisper):

“Pencil pakadte hi kal mujhe cramp aa jaayega… aur ma’am bolengi — ‘control your lines, Vanshu’. Control toh mera haath hi chhod gaya hai.”

Khushi stared at her plate blankly. Her throat felt like it was on fire — dry, sore, overused. Even swallowing water hurt. Her temples throbbed from thinking and overstressing during practice.

Khushi (hoarse voice, barely audible):

“Bolne ki practice thi… par ab toh awaaz hi nahi nikal rahi…”

Across the table, Mahir looked at them, concern flickering behind his usual calm expression. He adjusted his glasses, studying the trio’s drained faces.

Mahir (softly):

“Bela… kuch zyada hi tough training nahi ho gayi aaj?”

Bela, who was serving dal into everyone’s plates, didn’t look up. Her tone was steady — the kind that left no room for argument.

Bela:

“Competition ek din baad hi hai, Mahir ji. Agar aaj thak ke gir bhi jaayein, toh kal uthke aur mazboot banenge. Mujhe weak performers nahi chahiye — winners chahiye.”

Her words made all three girls exchange tired glances.

Akshu (muttering to Vanshu):

“Ma’am ke liye hum student nahi, army recruits hain.”

Vanshu (whispering back):

“Bela ma’am — General Sehgal. Reporting for duty, sir!”

Both tried not to laugh, but ended up groaning from the pain instead.

Just then, a giggle came from the end of the table.

Team Aashvi —sat on their booster chairs, watching their “didi-log” curiously.

Aashi (innocently):

“Mumma… didi log thak gaye kya?”

Bela (smiling faintly, still serious):

“Haan, Aashi. Thoda thak gaye hain… lekin strong banne ke liye thoda pain toh hota hi hai.”

Kiku (nodding like an adult):

“Strong banna mushkil hota hai.”

Mahir chuckled quietly, patting Kiku’s head.

Mahir (teasing):

“Tumhari mumma ne toh sabko ‘strong banana’ apna mission bana liya hai.”

Bela shot him a sideways glare.

Bela:

“Aapko mujhe thank you bolna chahiye, Mahir ji. Aapke ghar mein winners paal rahi hoon main.”

Mahir raised his hands in mock surrender, smiling.

Meanwhile, Khushi tried to take a bite of her roti but stopped midway — her hand trembling slightly. Akshu noticed and nudged her.

Akshu (concerned):

“Khushi, tu kha le na… kal ma’am ko mat bolna bhook lagi thi.”

Khushi (forcing a smile):

“Mujhe… bhook nahi hai… Aur tu kaunsa kha rahi h.. Tabse sirf ghoor rahi h khane ko.”

Vanshu (half asleep):

“Mujhe bhi nahi… bas neend chahiye.”

For the first time that day, Bela’s stern gaze softened. She looked at the three girls — their tired faces, sore bodies, and silent determination. The exhaustion was visible, but beneath it, she saw something else: resilience.

She set down the serving spoon and spoke in a quieter tone.

Bela (gently, yet firm):

“Thak gaye ho… theek hai. Par yaad rakhna — yehi dard tumhe jeet tak le jaayega. Winners sirf practice se nahi bante, wo apne dard ko bhi apni strength bana lete hain.”

Her words hung in the air — not loud, not commanding, but powerful enough to reach straight to their hearts.

All three girls looked up at her — tired, yes, but now with a faint spark in their eyes.

Akshu (smiling weakly):

“Ma’am… aap bhi na…”

Bela (arching a brow):

“Kya ma’am bhi na?”

Akshu (grinning faintly):

“Thoda soft ho jaayiye kabhi kabhi… hum bacche hain, robots nahi.”

For the first time, Bela almost smiled — a rare, fleeting one — before masking it behind her usual composure.

Bela:

“Robots nahi, lekin unstoppable ho tum. Ab khana khao, aur seedha so jao. Kal se practice aur intense hogi.”

The trio groaned In unison.

Vanshu (murmuring):

“Kal se aur intense? Bhagwan bacha lijiye ab…”

Mahir chuckled again, shaking his head.

Mahir:

“Bela… tumhara naam ek din, ‘Bela the Drill Sergeant’ likha jaayega.”

Bela rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at her lips.

The night went on — quiet, heavy with fatigue — but under the roof of Sehgal House, something strong was taking shape.

Not just a team… but a bond built on trust, grit, and unspoken strength.

---

Sehgal House, Early Morning (Next Day)

The clock on the wall blinked 5:15 a.m. The world outside was still dark — the air heavy with mist and the faint smell of wet earth from last night’s drizzle. Inside the Sehgal house, the silence broke with a sharp clap.

Bela (loud, commanding):

“Utho sab! It’s time!”

Three groans erupted almost in unison from the girls’ room.

Akshu (half-asleep, muffled under her blanket):

“Please ma’am… subah bhi torture?”

Vanshu (grumbling from her bed):

“Ma’am… aaj toh… thoda insaaniyat dikhaiye na…”

Khushi (voice faint, sleepy):

“Ma’am, abhi toh neend aayi thi…”

Bela, dressed in a tracksuit, arms crossed, stood by the door like a commander surveying her sleepy battalion.

Bela (dryly):

“Neend unhe aati hai jo kal jeet chuke hote hain. Tumhe toh abhi ladna hai. So… out of the bed, five minutes!”

Akshu (whispering, exasperated):

“Yeh woman human hai bhi ke nahi?!”

Vanshu:

“Alien. Definitely alien.”

But Bela’s voice didn’t believe in mercy.

Bela (snapping):

“Five minutes matlab five minutes! Jo late hua, terrace ke chakkar double!”

The panic was instant. Within minutes, the trio stumbled up to the terrace — hair messy, faces sleepy, but wide awake now. The early morning air was cold enough to sting their cheeks.

Bela stood in the center of the terrace, dressed in a navy-blue tracksuit, whistle around her neck, stopwatch in hand — the picture of authority.

Bela (coolly):

“Good morning, Team Unstoppable.”

Akshu (grumbling):

“Good morning… ya mourning?”

Bela (dryly):

“Depends on how much effort you put in. Now, warm-up. Stretching — start!”

The trio sighed but obeyed, beginning their stretches as Bela supervised like a hawk — counting their moves, correcting postures, even pulling Akshu’s arm up properly when she slacked.

Bela:

“Straighten your back, Akshika! Vanshika, not lazy circles — full rotation. Khushi, chin up!”

Akshu (muttering under her breath):

“Yeh toh martial arts master lag rahi hai…”

Bela (without missing a beat):

“I heard that. Ten push-ups for the commentary.”

Akshu groaned but dropped down instantly, while Vanshu giggled quietly and Khushi tried not to smile.

As soon as stretching was done, Bela blew her whistle sharply.

Bela:

“Now — ten rounds of the terrace. Non-stop. Go!”

The three groaned in unison but began jogging around the terrace perimeter. The rhythmic sound of shoes against cement filled the morning air.

Vanshu (panting):

“Ma’am… hum school jaane wale students hain, marathon runners nahi…”

Bela (calling out):

“Then move faster, Vanshika! The world won’t slow down for you!”

Khushi (half-laughing, breathless):

“Ma’am motivational quotes se stamina nahi badhta!”

Bela (smirking):

“Try running faster — shayad miracle ho jaaye.”

By the time the tenth round ended, the three collapsed on the ground, gasping, their cheeks flushed, sweat glistening under the early sun.

Akshu (lying flat on the floor):

“Ma’am… hum insaan hain… thodi toh daya kariye…”

Bela (checking her stopwatch):

“Exactly. That’s why you need training — to go beyond your limits.”

After a short water break, Bela clapped her hands once.

Bela:

“Break khatam. Now — back to work.”

She pointed to each of them with precision.

Bela:

“Akshika — badminton court, now. Warm-up drills, I’ll join you in five minutes.

Vanshika — new sketch theme for today: “Victory after struggle.” I want emotion, not perfection.

Khushi — laptop and notebook. Search for new debate topics — focus on ‘Ethics in Modern Youth’ and ‘Technology vs Humanity’. Jot down as much unique arguments you can.”

Khushi (still tired):

“Ma’am… abhi?”

Bela (with a small smile):

“Victory doesn’t wait for anyone, Khushi. Start.”

The terrace turned into a zone of quiet discipline.

Vanshu sat cross-legged with her sketchpad, pencil scratching softly as she tried to capture raw emotion in every line.

Khushi sat under the shade, typing on her tablet, muttering under her breath as she formed new points.

And Akshu stood on the far side — holding her racket, waiting.

Bela finally joined her, tying her hair back neatly.

Bela (picking up a racket):

“Ready?”

Akshu (grinning weakly):

“Mentally, no. Physically, still recovering. But okay…”

Bela (coolly):

“Excuses don’t win matches. Let’s see how strong your smashes are.”

The next few minutes were filled with the sharp thwack-thwack of shuttlecocks cutting through the air. Akshu struggled to keep up — every swing testing her aching muscles — but Bela’s precision never faltered.

Bela (commanding between plays):

“Footwork, Akshu! Move your body, not just your racket! Faster — don’t wait for the shuttle, attack it!”

Akshu (gritting her teeth):

“Ma’am, yeh badminton hai… war nahi…”

Bela (smirking, hitting another shot):

“Then fight like a warrior. That’s how champions are made.”

---

Across the terrace, Khushi’s voice broke the silence.

Khushi (calling out):

“Ma’am! I’ve noted down six new points — one on social responsibility and one on emotional intelligence too!”

Bela (without turning, hitting another shot):

“Good. We’ll test your arguments after breakfast. And Vanshika — five minutes left, I’ll review your sketch.”

Vanshu (focused):

“Almost done, ma’am… trying to make the tears look like hope.”

Bela’s eyes softened slightly at that answer.

---

After an hour, the sun had risen high enough to warm the terrace tiles. The girls were drenched in sweat, exhausted but visibly more focused.

Bela (checking her watch):

“Perfect. That’s what I wanted — dedication before sunrise.”

She looked at the three of them, her tone gentler now.

Bela:

“Remember this feeling — tired, breathless, sore. Because when you win, this is the feeling that’ll make it worth it.”

The trio smiled faintly through their exhaustion — proud, united, and silently grateful for their relentless mentor.

And as Bela walked toward the stairs, her whistle swinging in her hand, Mahir peeked from the doorway holding three glasses of juice.

Mahir (amused):

“Lagta hai terrace pe army training chal rahi hai.”

Bela (smiling faintly, wiping sweat from her forehead):

“Nahi. Bas winners ready ho rahe hain.”

Dining Table (Morning, after practice)

The dining table at the Sehgal house was buzzing with morning warmth — the smell of fresh parathas, Mahir’s laughter, and the constant chatter of Team Aashvi.

Bela moved gracefully between the counter and the table, serving breakfast like a commander who ran both the kitchen and her army with precision.

But on the other end of the table sat a very different army — Team Unstoppable — slumped, quiet, and practically lifeless.

Akshu’s head rested on her hand, Vanshu stared blankly at her glass of milk, and Khushi just poked at her food like it might get up and eat itself.

Mahir (raising a brow, amused):

“Yeh kya haal bana rakha hai tum tino ne? Lagta hai terrace par Olympic tryouts chal rahe the!”

Akshu (groaning):

“Tryouts nahi, torture sessions, Sir.”

Bela (without looking up, calmly serving parathas):

“Discipline sessions, Akshita. Not torture.”

Vanshu (half-asleep):

“Ma’am, discipline se zyada toh humare bones disciplined ho gayi hain… ek ek jagah se crack ki awaaz aa rahi hai.”

Khushi (softly, with a tired laugh,voice hoarse):

“Mujhe toh lagta hai hum kal se bench pe baith ke hi practice karein…Meri aawaz chali jayegi usse pehle”

Bela (shooting them a look):

“Bench pe baithne ke liye nahi, stage pe khade hone ke liye practice kara rahi hoon main. Don’t forget that.”

The trio exchanged helpless looks — they knew arguing was pointless.

Meanwhile, Team Aashvi was wide awake and chirpy now — sitting around Mahir, who was pretending to interview them like a TV host.

Mahir (holding an invisible mic):

“Good morning, Team Aashvi! Tell me, who’s your favorite in Team Unstoppable?”

Aashi (grinning, pointing at Akshu):

“Akshu didi! She runs fast and wo bohot accha khelti h ekdum hero ko tarah!”

Vanu (shaking her head):

“Nahi, Vanshu didi! Unki drawing mujhe bohot pasand h!”

Kiku (tiny voice, proudly):

“Khushi didi! She sings!”

All three tired girls turned to look at the kids — and despite their exhaustion, couldn’t help smiling.

Akshu (softly, touched):

“Aww… dekha ma’am, fans bhi hain humare!”

Bela (dryly, sipping her tea):

“Fans nahi, distractions.”

Mahir (teasing):

“Distractions? Arre Bela, ab bacche bhi competition ban gaye kya?”

Bela gave him the look, and Mahir raised both hands in surrender, chuckling.

Mahir (to the trio, smiling kindly):

“Jokes apart — proud of you three. Seriously. Bela ne bataya aaj subah ka session kaafi mushkil tha. But tumne kiya. That’s what matters.”

The words made the girls glance up, surprised. Compliments from Bela were rare — but from Mahir, they felt comforting, fatherly.

Khushi (with a small, shy smile):

“Thank you, sir…”

Bela turned slightly, her tone softer than usual but still firm.

Bela:

“Mahir ji sahi keh rahe hain. Aaj ka session ache se hua. But don’t get comfortable. Tomorrow is the D-day.”

The trio groaned in unison.

Akshu (dramatically):

“Ma’am! Thoda motivation toh rehne dijiye!”

Bela (raising an eyebrow):

“Motivation mil gaya. Breakfast kha lo — warna aur ten rounds lagwa dungi.”

That worked like magic. In seconds, the trio picked up their plates and started eating obediently while Mahir tried hard not to laugh.

Mahir (leaning toward Bela, whispering teasingly):

“Tumhe pata hai na, inke liye tum ‘Bela ma’am’ ho… aur mere liye toh ‘General Bela Sehgal’.”

Bela shot him a sideways glare, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

Bela (quietly, with pride):

“General ho ya teacher… yeh team mujhe kabhi disappoint nahi karti.”

Across the table, the trio finally smiled through their exhaustion — because behind that strict tone, they heard what truly mattered.

She was proud of them.

Sehgal House, Night

The clock ticked softly in the quiet room. The usual chatter, laughter, and teasing that echoed through Team Unstoppable’s room had vanished tonight. The three girls sat in their corners, their exhaustion mixed with silent anticipation for tomorrow.

Akshu sat cross-legged on the bed, her laptop perched in front of her, eyes fixed on a YouTube badminton match that Bela had recommended. Her brows were furrowed, her focus intense — noting footwork, precision, angles — but her bouncing leg betrayed the anxiety brewing inside.

On the other side, Vanshu sat near the window, sketchpad open, but her pencil hadn’t moved in a while. Pinterest was open on her phone, filled with art ideas Bela had suggested for the upcoming exhibit. Yet, all she had drawn so far was a single uneven line. Her fingers itched to create, but her mind felt like a tangled mess.

Khushi sat by the study table, surrounded by handwritten notes, debate articles, and her phone lighting up with pages of Google searches. Her throat still felt a little sore from the hours of speech practice, but it wasn’t the physical pain that bothered her — it was the weight of tomorrow.

A faint sigh escaped her lips.

The silence between the three spoke louder than any words.

Akshu (quietly, breaking the silence):

“Yaar… ab tak toh sab chill tha. Ab pata nahi kyun dar lag raha hai. Itni mehnat ki hai humne, kal sab sahi hoga na?”

Khushi didn’t look up from her notes, but her voice carried that familiar nervous honesty.

Khushi:

“Hona toh chahiye… bas mujhe us Ayushi ka thoda darr lag raha hai. Mujhe lagta hai wo kuch na kuch unfair karne ki koshish karegi.”

Vanshu (groaning, pressing her temples):

“Mere dimaag mein toh ab khichdi pak gayi hai. Sketches, colours, ideas… sab ghoom rahe hain. Bas kal haath chal jaaye aur kuch gadbad na ho jaaye bas…”

A long pause followed.

The only sound was the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the crickets outside the balcony.

Then the door creaked open.

Bela stepped in — not as the strict coach or the firm teacher, but as their Bela ma’am, the quiet guardian who somehow knew when they needed her the most.

In her hands was a tray with three glasses of haldi doodh, the steam curling up like tiny golden clouds.

All three looked up, startled.

Without a word, Bela moved to each one, handing them their glass — first to Akshu, then Vanshu, then Khushi.

Akshu (trying to sound casual):

“Ma’am… aapko kaise pata chala hum abhi bhi jaag rahe hain?”

Bela (deadpan, with a faint smirk):

“Tum teenon aur tumhara drama — kaise nahi pata chalega mujhe?”

A faint laugh escaped all three. But Bela didn’t miss the tension still visible on their faces — the tired eyes, the bitten lips, the restless hands.

She placed the tray aside and leaned against the study table, crossing her arms.

Bela (calmly):

“Dar lag raha hai na?”

The three looked at her, surprised — as if she had read their minds.

Khushi (hesitant, voice low):

“Thoda sa… matlab… kaafi zyada.”

Akshu (sighing):

“Ma’am, kal koi galti ho gayi toh? Itna mehnat ki hai humne… ”

Bela (interrupting, firm yet gentle):

“Kal galti bhi hui na, toh bhi koi haar nahi hogi. Samjhi tum? Yeh mehnat, yeh process — isi mein jeet hai. Even if you fail, remember you have given your best!”

Her words hung in the air — steady, grounding.

Vanshu (smiling weakly):

“Par ma’am, aap itna confident kaise rehti ho hum par? Kabhi doubt nahi hota?”

Bela looked at her — that rare softness flickering in her eyes.

Bela:

“Doubt tab hota hai jab dil se kaam na ho. Tum teenon toh dil se mehnat kar rahe ho. Main apne students pe nahi, unke jazbe pe bharosa karti hoon. And I know very well wo tum teeno mai h.”

There was silence again — but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was comforting.

Khushi (murmuring, holding her glass tightly):

“Ma’am… kal sab theek hoga na?”

Bela (simply, but with conviction):

“Hoga. Tumhare jaise students ke saath kuch galat ho hi nahi sakta.”

The three exchanged glances — nervous but smiling now, their hearts a little lighter.

Akshu (grinning tiredly):

“Ab lagta hai haldi doodh bhi energy drink ban gaya.”

Bela (mock sternly):

“Good. Ab jaldi se pi lo aur so jao. Kal ka din tough hai — aur mujhe excuses nahi chahiye.”

As Bela left, the trio watched her go, their earlier fear replaced by something steadier — faith.

And for the first time that night, Team Unstoppable smiled together, the weight on their shoulders suddenly a little easier to bear.

---

To be continued..