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  Part-1

  Sixteen-year-old James Khan pressed his forehead against the cool gss of the window. Rain shed against the pane, blurring the se below into a watercolor of greys and browns. Yet, even through the distortion, James could make out the tableau unfolding in the schoolyard.

  A knot of senior boys, their faces etched with a practiced sneer, had ered a smaller figure huddled against the wall. The smaller boy, probably a nervous junior cssmen, was clutg his bag protectively. Even from this distance, James could see the tremor in his shoulders.

  The ringleader, a hulking boy with a shaved head and a cruel glint in his eye, leaned menagly close. His lips curled into a sneer, revealing a chipped tooth. The words James couldn't hear were a script he knew by heart, a script he'd memorized through tless unwilling viewings. It began with a curt demand, a question punctuated by a raised eyebrow and a tightened fist. The answer, etched on the victim's face, was always the same – a flicker of fear, a desperate hope that this time, maybe this time, it would be enough.

  The smaller boy reached tremblingly into his bag, pulling out a crumpled wad of bills. He stuffed them into the outstretched hand of the ringleader, who snatched them with a sneer. But the sneer quickly morphed into a scowl. "That all?" he barked, his voice hoarse. The smaller boy shook his head, his eyes pleading. James saw a flicker of something in those eyes – desperation, maybe even a flicker of defiance.

  But defiance was a luxury he couldn't afford. The ringleader shoved the smaller boy against the wall, a snarl twisting his features. A siing crack echoed through the rain, a fist eg with flesh. The smaller boy crumpled to the ground, a whimper esg his lips.

  James felt a familiar knot of awist in his gut. He smmed his fist against the windowpane, a silent scream trapped in his throat. This wasn't the first time he'd withese acts of schoolyard tyranny. He'd seen it happen tless times before, always turning a blind eye, choosing the safety of his own anonymity. But today, something shifted within him. The raiing against the window seemed to mirror the storm brewing inside him. This time, he wouldn't just watch. The question was, what would he do?

  James slumped ba his chair, the anger slowly curdling into a familiar stew of self-doubt. He wasly built for heroics. At five-eight with an average build, he looked more like a beahan a potential savior. His face, while not unattractive, cked the rugged handsomeness some of the students possessed. He was a ninth-grader at Banani High, a good student but perpetually stu the "almost" category, never quite reag the coveted top spot. This, coupled with his studious nature, earned him the unfortule of "nerd" – a bel that felt like a sed skin, a stant reminder of his perceived weakness.

  The image of the smaller boy fling uhe blows hammered at James' sce. He khe sting of being ostracized, the feeling of being powerless. But what could he, a self-procimed nerd, possibly do against those hulking figures? The thought of interveni a tremor through him. What if they turned on him? The bullies seemed to operate under a code of silence – no one snitched, no oervened. Stepping i risking his own p the school's precarious social hierarchy.

  Yet, the image of the rain-slicked courtyard, the whimpers eg through the storm, refused to fade. A spark, faint but undeniable, ignited within him. James wasn't known for his bravery, but her was he known for letting others suffer in silence. Perhaps, he thought, bravery wasn't about being the biggest or the stro. Maybe it was about finding the ce to do what you knew was right, even when every fiber of your being screamed otherwise.

  He gnced around the . Most of his cssmates seemed oblivious, their heads buried deep ibooks. Were they truly unaware, or were they choosing to ig like he always had?