Shams let out a deep breath and laid down on the bed. His soaked body now dry, but his mind still drenched in storm.
> "I want to rest… my head's spinning today."
He stared at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. The rain outside hadn't stopped—it drummed softly on the windows like a lullaby of chaos.
A few moments passed. Then, with a quiet voice, he asked:
> "Hey, Johir... Shahin... What do you guys think about this Battle for Growth thing?"
Both boys turned toward him, surprised at the question.
Johir scratched his head.
> "Honestly? We don't know if it's real or fake… but if it is real—it's a massive opportunity for Bangladesh."
Shahin added with a serious tone,
> "Yeah... but it's also terrifying. After what happened today... so many died. If we end up last or near the bottom, the consequences might be worse than anything we can imagine."
Shams nodded slowly.
> "True... it's a dangerous gamble."
Then his voice lowered again, but it carried a spark of intensity.
> "But what if... someone gave you the chance to play? To join the battle... for Bangladesh?"
Johir and Shahin paused.
They looked at each other—serious this time. No jokes, no smiles. Only unspoken emotions between brothers.
Then Johir said,
> "Is that even a question? If we can fight for Bangladesh… of course, we'll join."
Shahin echoed him,
> "Yeah. Without a second thought."
Shams grinned.
> "That's what I love about you guys."
But then Johir scratched his head again.
> "Still... how? The government already said we're not joining."
Shams slowly closed his eyes, a mysterious smile spreading across his face.
> "Heh... just wait and watch."
The room went quiet. Only the sound of rain filled the air… and an unspoken feeling that something was about to change.
The rain continued to fall throughout the day. Sometimes it paused for twenty or thirty minutes, only to start pouring again soon after. The sky remained grey, and the streets outside stayed soaked and silent.
Because of the weather, neither Shams nor Johir and Shahin went outside. The three of them stayed in all day, sharing stories, laughing, and enjoying each other's company. It felt like a break from everything—like time had slowed down just for them.
Normally, on a day like this, Shams would've spent the entire time studying. He was the serious type, always focused, always chasing knowledge. But today was different.
Today, Shams let himself pause.
And for once, laughter filled the room louder than the rain.
Next Morning…
The rain had finally stopped. Sunlight streamed through the window like a divine spotlight, landing directly on Shahin's face.
> "Ughhh…"
He squinted, groaned, then suddenly sat up like he was shot.
> "Oye! Oye! Get up! It's morning! SHAMS! JOHIR!"
BAM! A slipper flew and hit Johir right in the face.
> "Maaaaa!! Earthquake?! Bomb?!"
Shams slowly cracked open one eye… looked at the clock on the wall.
> "9:20 AM…"
Everyone froze.
> "9:20?!?!?! CLASS STARTS AT 10!!"
Chaos began.
Shahin dashed to the bathroom first, but Johir did a pro parkour vault over the bed and blocked the door with a slipper in one hand and a toothbrush in his mouth.
> Shahin: "You demon! Let me in first!" Johir: "Survival of the fastest, baby!"
Inside the kitchen, Shams had toast in one hand, boiled eggs in the other, and was literally dancing while trying to wear his pants.
> "Who put salt in the sugar jar again!?"
Shahin was brushing his teeth with his left hand while trying to eat a banana with the right.
> "Don't judge me—I'm multitasking!"
Suddenly the bathroom door opens, steam comes out like a dramatic movie scene, and Johir walks out shirtless, wiping his hair with a towel, smiling like a shampoo commercial model.
> "Gentlemen... I feel rebo—"
WHACK! Shams threw a slipper at him.
> "STOP POSING! GET DRESSED!"
Now all three are running in circles trying to find clean clothes.
> Shams: "Where's my ID card?!"
> Johir: "Who stole my socks?!"
> Shahin: "Bro! You're wearing my pants!"
Insert montage music.
They somehow manage to get dressed—half-wet hair, mismatched socks, toast still in mouths—and rush outside.
They hop on a rickshaw.
> Rickshaw-puller: "Where to?" All three: "UNIVERSITY! FAST! FLY IF YOU CAN!!"
As they zoom down the road, Shams' toast flies off, Johir's shirt button pops open, and Shahin yells at a CNG for no reason.
They finally reach the university gate…
> Panting, sweating, out of breath.
Then Johir says...
> "Did anyone bring the assignment?"
Silence.
Shams faints dramatically on the spot.
After the chaotic morning rush, the boys finally reached their university. The moment they stepped through the gates of Dhaka University, they were once again reminded of its grandeur. Towering trees lined the wide pathways, their leaves still wet from last night's storm. The majestic, colonial-style buildings stood with pride—weathered by time yet filled with history. Students buzzed around, the hum of campus life alive and energetic. From the scent of old books in the central library to the distant chants near the TSC, everything screamed legacy.
Shams, Johir, and Shahin moved quickly, weaving through the crowd, climbing stairs two steps at a time.
By the time they reached their classroom, the door was already half-closed.
They exchanged a glance.
"Ten minutes late," whispered Shahin, panting slightly.
Trying not to draw attention, they slipped inside as quietly as possible. But just as they took their seats at the back—
"Mr. Shams... Mr. Johir... Mr. Shahin..."
A deep, unimpressed voice echoed through the room.
It was Professor Anisur Rahman, their course advisor—a man in his late 50s with sharp eyes and a reputation for never missing a thing.
The entire class turned to look at them.
With an awkward smile, Shams stood up slowly. "Sir… actually—"
"No need for stories," Professor Anis said, adjusting his glasses. "You're not special agents returning from a secret mission. You're students. And students should be on time."
The class chuckled softly.
Then the professor gave a small sigh and continued, "Sit down. But next time, try to race the clock, not your rickshaw."
The boys sank into their chairs, half embarrassed, half relieved.
The boys sank into their chairs, half embarrassed, half relieved.
Professor Anisur paused for a moment, then looked directly at Shams.
"Shams…" he said, his voice lower, more personal now. "I knew Johir and Shahin were like this—late, messy, always in a rush... But you? I never expected this from you."
The room went quiet again.
Shams lowered his head slightly, the weight of those words hitting harder than any scolding.
Meanwhile, on the far side of the classroom, a figure adjusted his glasses with a slight smirk.
It was Tahsin—calm, collected, and always observing. He had been watching the whole scene unfold, and now a faint, knowing smile curved on his lips as he stared at Shams.
Something about that smile wasn't friendly. It was quiet. Calculated. And oddly satisfied.
The lecture resumed, but the air in the room had shifted—if only just a little.
Professor Anisur's sharp tone broke the uneasy silence.
"So, students… hand in your assignments."
One by one, the students lined up and placed their assignments on the desk. Pages rustled. Footsteps shuffled. The usual routine.
But in the back of the room, Shams, Johir, and Shahin sat frozen in their seats.
Professor Anisur's eyes scanned the classroom again… then locked on them.
He narrowed his gaze.
"Shams," he said, his voice colder now, "what's the problem with you lately?"
Shams hesitated, stood halfway, and tried to respond, "Umm… sir, I—"
But the professor cut him off, voice rising with frustration.
"I don't want excuses! I don't know what's gotten into you, but this isn't the Shams I know."
He slammed the assignment stack down.
"Get out."
Shams blinked, stunned. "S-Sir…"
"I said get out of my class!"
The room went silent again—every eye on Shams.
Without another word, he picked up his bag and walked toward the door, head lowered. No anger, no protest. Just quiet.
As he stepped out, Johir and Shahin immediately stood up too.
The professor barked, "I didn't tell you two to leave!"
Johir smirked a little. "You didn't have to."
Shahin added calmly, "If Shams leaves, we leave too."
The three walked out together, footsteps echoing in the corridor—three friends against the world, slowly fading into the hallway silence.