The worst thing about perfection is that it can never be achieved. It can only be chased.

We work hard for it, burning the midnight oil, or rather, as the twenty first century version states, abstaining from using the wi-fi.

But the moment we move even close to it, our entire definition of perfection changes, to become something even better. Perfection for the seven year old me was to achieve first division in my Kathak dance practical. When I got that, I no longer cared, for my eyes were on the glittering trophy in the Capital Talent Hunt.

Perfection for the fifteen year old me was to achieve good enough marks for getting science. Suffice to say it changed the minute I actually got science, for then I wanted to achieve perfect marks in my chosen stream.

However, now I am stuck. And I wish it was because of a change in definition yet again. But no, it was the result of my incompetance to fulfill my previous definition.

If I failed, at a point which was below the first level of success, what are the odds that I would actually succeed? In life that is.

It was the worst feeling ever. A sense of failure with a tablespoon of low confidence along with two tablespoons of self pity and garnished by a pinch of insecurity. Toss them and mix well and voila! Your miserable morning breakfast is complete.

For good measure, add liberal amounts of the jelly of materialistic horrors to taste. It was a hellish concotion of an acne breakout, oozing oil from every pore, shredding eyebrows and hair so rough it felt like sandpaper.

If the breakfast still wasn't enough, couple it with a handful of disappointed stares from your mother and teacher in the PTM the same morning, and you'll surely feel miserable.

"What does this mean madam?" ma had asked.

"Don't worry, you won't be detained just because of this. The final result is made by taking a forty-sixty ratio of the first and second term results. You have to score more than forty marks in theory next time and you'll be good to go. It's not a surprised that so many students failed, it always happens in class eleventh. But I didn't expect you to be among those Ashiana."

My head was hung. Ma didn't say anything but her silence spoke volumes.

The ride back home was heavily silent, of course. After parking the car, my mother turned to me.

"Don't be like that," her voice was stern.

"What?" I looked up.

She took a deep breath, "It doesn't matter, this report card," she said, waving the cardboard in question. "You would work hard, I know you would and then you'd forget everything about this damn result."

"But I failed."

"Sweetie, everyone fails. Not just in school but generally, in life. I'm sorry to break this to you but this certainly is not going to be your last failure. So, back straight, chin up, I do not want you crying over this piece of paper," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, "besides, your father, like always, is right," she finished, smiling softly.

My thoughts turned back to my papa. He had seen the report card, shrugged, and simply stated that it was just a result, nothing to worry about.

Maybe I was exaggerating.

{[]}

"Okay Ash that was right but you took fifteen minutes in solving the question. Let's try this one."

It was a week later and Vivaan, true to his words, was helping me with Newton's worst, I mean best, gift to mankind __forces.

I am yet to make a free body diagram correctly on my own.

"Can we please take a break?" I yawned, rubbing my eyes.

"No, the bell would ring in twenty minutes, you do realise what I'm sacrificing for this right?" he said, somewhat scoldingly.

That made me feel bad. The poor guy had to give up his already restricted free time to work on my stupid brain. When he could be spending this substitution doing couply things with Radhika. But that didn't stop me from begging.

"Please, Viv, two minutes at max."

"Fine," he grumbled.

I stretched while flexing my fingers, as if I'd been working for more than my actual twenty five minutes.

Vivaan rolled his eyes and turned away from me, scanning the empty classroom.

Out of the blue, he asked, "Do you like Kian?"

"No. Why?"

"He's good looking," he said, looking behind my shoulder, "and he's staring at you with what Radhika would describe as a 'cute frown' on his face."

Like the idiot I was, I whipped around only to confirm what Vivaan had already stated. Kian quickly rearranged his thick brows from a frown to a small smile and turned away, resuming his conversation with Naman.

I turned to come face to face with a smug grin.

"Want to reconsider?"

"Did Radhika put you up to this?" I asked, exhasperated.

He shrugged, "not exactly no, she hinted at it, but it wasn't necessary. You're very obvious, like one of your biology textbooks."

I was trying very hard to act nonchalant, but could already feel a sheen of sweat behind my neck. Obvious?

"Well then, you know the answer, stop pestering me. C'mon, two minutes are up, it's time for physics."

He shook his head, "nice change of topic Ash, very subtle," but opened my notebook nontheless.

{[]}

"What the fuck is wrong with you Ash?"

I didn't open my eyes, not wanting to acknowledge his presence.

At all.

However, like usual, my plan failed when the hottie beside me shook me, clearly thinking that I was actually asleep.

I blinked and was greeted by Kian's eyes. His light clayish-brown irises were about eight centimeters away from my chocolate brown, our mouths were about nine.

It did not help that my right side was completely pressed against his left, in order to accomodate three more students in the three seater bench. The population of India is quite large you know? Not that I was complaining at that instant.

How can he be annoying amd adorable at the same time? My God this guy has skills!

Half torn paper planes and crumpled oily foil balls were flying all around us. Kids ranging from age groups six to seventeen were laughing, shrieking and, in case of a miserable nauseous third grader, even puking.

But like they say, beauty is distracting, ecpecially to a girl who's PMSing.

Really Ash? You're actually blaming hormones?

There was a voice in my brain, or mind, as some people would say. It was chiding me for staring so creepily, as if we were in a Twilight spin off. I wanted to listen to that voice, there was just one thing standing in my way.

Kian was staring back.

After a while, I got bored of his eyes. My gaze drifted to the thick bushes of his eyebrows, thinning considerably as they joined above his nose, so light that it would have been difficult to spot that intersection from an acceptable distance.

His forehead was covered in faint pimple scars, but there were no boils on it, thanks to the significamt reduction in heat since the onset of October. His nose was long and pointed, and there was a hint of stubble above his lips and all over his chin.

We kept staring like freaks for what felt like hours before he rasped, "Aryan is__"

"Ignore Aryan," I squeeked, disgusted by the sound of my voice.

"If you say so."

Unfortunately (or fortunately, I don't know), the weird mushy-gushy spell was broken when the person in question yelled, "I am talking to you."

He didn't sound as if it was his first attempt in grabbing my attention.

Lazily, and rather reluctantly, I faced Aryan. He was leaning over us, kneeled on the seat in front of me, gripping the backsupport of his seat tightly to protect himself from the jerking movements of the bus.

Was he here this entire time?"

Arranging my features in an angry scowl, I snapped at him, "bark off then."

He didn't seem fazed by my words though, and again said, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You already said that."

"Well answer it then!" he yelled, I don't if it was because of the noise level around us or because he was genuinly frustrated.

"On this divine earth, no creature is perfect. Sadly, this also includes humans. As a humble human myself, I know for a fact that there are a lot of wrongs in me. So, my fellow mortal, which wrong are you referring to exactly?"

By the time I was finished, both the boys were red, Kian with supressed mirth and Aryan with bursting anger.

Oh how I love to rile people up!

"Mr. Poop told me that you haven't signed up for APSNMUN this year. Why? It's our home MUN!"

"Yeah that's right," I sheepishly mumbled.

"Care to explain why?"

"I've stopped doing MUNs, I said, shrugging, "it doesn't make sense at all to be honest, hence I am not going to participate this year, and the next.

He sighed, "that's bad. I really wanted to double del with you this year."

"Sorry sweetie, but I am not going to change my mind," I apologised, before adding, "you can ask Alia though." I wiggled my eyebrows.

"Yeah, fine. Whatever."

A long pause later, Kian asked, "who is Mr. Poop?"

Despite his sour mood, Aryan chuckled while I cracked a guilty smile.

"Daksh Bansal, or as Asiana here so aptly named him, Mr. Poop, used to shit his pants everyday in first grade. The poor guy made the mistake of offering his tiffin to her one time and like the rude girl she was, is, she bluntly stated, 'I don't talk to poopers. You're a potty boy Mr. Poop." He laughed.

Kian was wide eyed by the time Aryan finished speaking, turning to me he said, "you're a mean, mean girl."

{[]}

The rest of October passed in a blur of school, assignment submissions and exhausting coaching. In between extra study sessions of physics and never ending homework, my social life became non existant.

If this is what it's like in school, then I am starting to have second thoughts about college.

But it was not entirely worthless, I had completed the entire part one of physics with a little help by Vivaan, Kian and Radhika. Safe to say that I was proud of myself.

On the first of November, Alia and I were busy hanging blood red streamers and baloons for my sister's sixth birthday party.

Ma always ensured that I enjoyed my saturdays to the fullest.

I was in the process of hanging the dart target with Peat's face on it for entertaining the violent streak of all the brats invited, when Alia mentioned the last person I expected her to.

"Have you invited Aryan?"

Surprised, I turned to her, "I begged him to come since I can't handle a bunch of overexcited kids myself but I am not sure he'll listen. But why the sudden interest in him?" I asked, not really trying hard to hide my prying curiosity.

"Because in the past week he has sent me a friend request on facebook, followed me on instagram and snapchat, sent me ten emails just saying 'hi' and even added me in his circle in freaking google plus."

"Oh"

Not paying attention to my bad response, she continued, "I don't know whether to be scared or flattered."

I felt the need to defend my friend, and so I did, even when he was being completely stalker- like in his approach.

"I won't ask you to accept his requests or talk to him, but I can assure you that he's harmless. Believe me, I know the guy since the past twelve years."

"So he doesn't like me?" She sounded disappointed for some reason.

"Oh he likes you alright. He is just a pathetic flirt."

"I hope he comes to the party," she said.

'I don't' I silently added.

I was not in the mood of losing a hundred rupees today. And by the looks of it, Aryan was so going to win the bet.

Three hours later, Alia, Aryan, Kian and I were surrounded by twenty hyper six year olds. I had forgotten what my subconscious sounded like, the voice in my head had gone completely mute.

My parents had taken off half hour into the party, apparantly, my father's company get-together just couldn't wait another day. They trusted me enough to not make a mess and had asked Kian's mother to help us when needed.

She was yet to greet the party with her face.

Another thing adding on to my irritation was the fact that Alia was completely charmed by Aryan the moment he stepped into the house, casually dressed in a blue t-shirt and black jeans.

I mean, girl, have some pride!

Well, that was quite hypocrytic on my behalf since I hadn't once stopped ogling Kian in the past two hours.

"ALRIGHT EVERYONE IT IS THE TIME FOR GAMES," I yelled, above the sound of twenty high pitched shrieks.

The answering chorus yell could have shook the continent, but nevertheless it was decided that we'd first play paper dance.

Alia volunteered to play and pause the music while Aryan agreed to be the judge. I was getting ready to sit and cheer for my sister when Kian approached me.

"You're not playing?" he asked.

"No. You?"

"I would like to but I need a partener. You up for it?"

The prospect of dancing on a newspaper with him and then folding it sounded seriously tempting. My eyes found Alia, who winked cheekily, before they looked back at the boy standing in front of me.

I grinned.

Maybe this party won't be so bad after all.

{[]}

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