Aanya?
That was the first name that surfaced in my mind.
I didn't know why—no, I couldn't explain why her name, of all things, came to me the moment I saw her. There was no logical thread, no reason I could pinpoint. Just... Aanya. It slipped into my thoughts as it belonged there.
Still, I was glad Ms Anki took her along with her. Maybe that was better. Maybe she could help her in ways I couldn't.
I pushed the thought aside. Or at least, I tried to.
Dropping onto the wooden bench in the quiet corridor, I set my bag down with a soft thud. A moment passed. I glanced upward toward the sky—still so impossibly clear—and then unzipped my bag to pull out a modestly stuffed bun and a lukewarm coffee. My so-called lunch.
As I munched on the bun, I leaned back slightly, gazing up into that serene sky—pale blue, scattered with fluffy white clouds, and a few crows flying lazily through it like ink strokes on a painted scroll. The wind was soft. The silence between classes gave the whole place a rare kind of peace.
Or so I believed.
Down the stairwell came Ms Anki, leading the way with practised steps, her fingers adjusting her glasses. Behind her, the girl followed quietly, her hands folded behind her back like a student waiting for a verdict.
"Why would you go up there?" the teacher asked, her voice calm but laced with a firm edge.
The girl responded, her tone measured, polite. "I got lost. I thought there might be another classroom or maybe a storage room up there. But I ended up on the rooftop... It was breezy, and I just stood there for a while."
Ms. Anki exhaled, the weight of responsibility evident in the breath.
"Did he say something?" she asked after a pause, suspicion creeping into her tone.
The girl hesitated. That question lingered in the air longer than it should have. Her lips parted slightly, but she only shook her head. "No," she answered softly.
Her eyes met the teacher's for a brief moment, and one image flickered in her mind—his face.
"He didn't say a word. Just... stared at me."
Another sigh came from Ms. Anki, this time heavier. "That guy," she muttered under her breath, not bothering to hide her disapproval.
As the two descended to the first floor—the actual main floor of the building—a sudden voice called out from the corridor.
A girl came rushing toward them, her breath uneven, eyes filled with relief and worry. Without hesitation, she grabbed the hand of the girl who had just been escorted by the teacher.
"Where have you been?! I was looking everywhere for you. Don't go off on your own like that... You scared me."
Her tone carried genuine concern. She, too, wore the same uniform—different from the one the local students wore, clearly marking them as visitors from another institution.
While one girl spoke in flustered worry, the other only offered a small, apologetic smile, trying to calm her friend down with hushed reassurances. It was clear they were both unfamiliar with the layout of the building, and their confusion was understandable.
Ms. Anki, adjusting her glasses once again, stepped in with a brief explanation. "She mistook the staircase and ended up on the rooftop. There was no harm done. You two should return to the administration cabin—your decision process is still incomplete."
The teacher's voice was firm yet composed, guiding them with a practised air.
As the three of them moved down the hallway, further away from the stairwell...
...somewhere in the right south wing of the school...
...a room remained undisturbed.
A room whispered about among students but was rarely entered—a forgotten storage room, cloaked in rumours.
The inside was dim. Heavy curtains blocked any natural light from spilling in, draped tightly around piles of folded cardboard and neglected supplies. The dust had settled long ago, no longer floating in the air, as if the room itself had chosen silence.
But in the farthest corner of that already-quiet room... There was something else.
A partition, hastily constructed from taped-up papers, stacked cardboard walls, and a faded, threadbare cloth hanging like a curtain over a narrow gap—its entrance.
And from beneath that curtain... a soft glow pulsed.
Red light.
A thin, unwavering line of crimson leaked from underneath, trailing from the corner like a secret trying to escape.
Then, without warning—
—A shadow moved.
A foot, faint and slow, stepped quietly into view from within the glow. The room remained silent. Not even the light flickered.
A small, hidden room inside a room already forgotten.
A silence no one dared disturb.
The classroom door creaked open.
It was the same guy from earlier—the one who'd casually invited Vansh out for lunch. One hand tucked in his pocket, the other resting lazily on the doorframe, he stepped out with his head slightly bowed, as if lost in thought.
"Where are you going?" someone called out from inside, half curious, half teasing.
He lifted his face slightly, eyes half-lidded, and gave a soft shrug. "Out for a stroll," he replied.
There was a beat of silence, then laughter.
"A stroll?" another voice echoed.
He turned around dramatically, grinning as he repeated, this time with theatrical flair, "For a Stroll!"
Laughter followed him to the door. He waved them off playfully and clicked it shut behind him.
Behind the boys, seated quietly in her chair near the rear of the room, Rina lowered her gaze from the open book resting in her hands. She hadn't turned a page in minutes. Her eyes weren't on the words—they were locked on the boy who had just exited, following him until the door shut.
Outside, he stretched his arms once, cracking his neck with a soft sigh. But just as he began down the corridor, something caught his eye.
A girl—wearing a uniform from another institution—rushed past at full speed. His eyes instinctively tracked her, the way one might follow a bird suddenly cutting across the sky. She darted straight toward a teacher at the other end of the hallway. And there, beside the teacher...
His footsteps faltered.
There was another girl. Standing quietly, slightly behind Ms. Anki. He couldn't see her clearly at first—but the way the light fell on her, the way her form moved, there was something about her...
His eyes narrowed.
"What's this all about...?" he murmured to himself, confusion clouding his gaze.
He took a hesitant step forward, about to approach the teacher.
But then—he saw her face.
The girl behind Ms. Anki.
He stopped mid-step.
His brows furrowed for a moment... then relaxed. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, one that looked oddly submissive—as if acknowledging something he couldn't challenge.
A thread spun.
And twisted.
And turned.
Unseen, unbroken.
He didn't call out. Didn't move forward. Just watched.
The teacher, now sensing movement nearby, slightly turned her head.
Her eyes caught a fleeting figure... or so she thought.
A shadow had slipped behind the hallway wall. She blinked.
"...No, must've imagined it," she whispered to herself, shaking off the moment with a soft sigh. And just like that, the corridor returned to silence.
Lunch break was drawing to a close.
The sounds of chatter and movement had begun to fade. The once lively corridors filled with laughter and clatter slowly began returning to their usual order. The chaos of lunch had burned out like a fire settling into embers.
The threads still spun—woven in a quiet wheel, invisible yet ever-present.
The guy who had stepped out earlier, true to his word, had gone for a stroll. But not just anywhere. He circled the outer hallways for a few minutes, letting the calm breeze brush past him as if to clear his thoughts. His pace was unhurried. His steps had purpose, but not a destination.
Meanwhile, behind him, the back door of his classroom creaked open.
Students began trickling back in. Groups of two and three returned with half-finished snacks, tired laughter, and sleepy yawns. The pulse of the school started to settle again, returning to its usual rhythm.
When he reached the second floor, he paused near the stairwell—the same stairs that led to the rooftop. He glanced up at them, eyes briefly following the steps that twisted toward the sky. The metal railing shimmered faintly under the corridor light, casting narrow shadows onto the wall.
But he didn't climb them.
Instead, after a moment's silence, he headed toward the north wing. A stroll, just as he had said.
He reached the far corner of the corridor, where the sunlight filtered gently through tall, dust-lined windows. The light painted long, golden streaks across the floor, the kind that made even silence feel warmer.
He unlatched one of the windows, pushing it open with a soft creak. A cool breeze slipped in instantly, brushing against his face and rustling his hair. He leaned slightly forward, gazing out.
Below, the school grounds were slowly settling. Some students wandered, chatting in low voices, while others hurried back toward their classrooms. A few teachers strolled past with registers in hand, their steps steady, routine.
But his attention didn't stay on them.
His gaze kept drifting.
Back. Behind.
Roughly five feet behind him, at the edge of his peripheral vision, stood a door.
It hadn't opened. It hadn't moved. And yet—his eyes kept returning to it, again and again, caught in the invisible thread it seemed to pull.
His stare lingered.
Longer than he intended.
The world outside faded into a blur. The breeze still touched him, but his senses felt distant now—like something in that door's presence was quietly claiming space in his mind.
Then, without a word...
He lifted his hand…
She lifted her hand and gently took the pamphlet from Ms. Anki.
Her eyes skimmed over the glossy surface—the image of the school building captured in sunlight, surrounded by a list of merits and highlighted achievements. It looked appealing, well-maintained... almost too polished.
From beside her, a hand rested softly on her shoulder.
"Is everything okay? What do you think...?" her friend asked, voice laced with concern.
She nodded lightly, her gaze still on the pamphlet. "I like it," she said, her voice calm, barely above a whisper—but it carried a softness that could soothe even a furious heart.
"I've been unsure for a while now. I visited Kyan for a few days. The academic atmosphere there was really good, strict, and focused. But... it felt like something was missing. They don't offer much beyond studies. No real extracurriculars. Just a straight path to results."
Her fingers curled around the edge of the pamphlet.
"But now that I've seen this place, I finally have options. I haven't given up on Kyan yet... but I need some time."
Ms. Anki listened quietly, arms crossed, brows slightly knit—not in disapproval, but in contemplation.
Then, stepping forward, she gently took the girl's hand.
"Just don't take too long," she said. "After all... this is your second chance."
But even as the words left her lips, her expression shifted. Something in her tone—half-strained, uncertain—made it clear she wasn't satisfied with what she'd said.
The girl gave a small nod, then stood and walked out of the room, leaving a soft silence in her wake.
Ms. Anki turned toward the other girl, still seated nearby. "Harini… do you think she's okay with that?"
The girl looked up and blinked, her tone almost too casual. "It's fine. She took the pamphlet, didn't she? That's all that matters right now."
Then she added, "And don't call me Harini. That's my family name. Just Mika is fine."
The teacher's eyes widened slightly. Mika's composure, her unwavering confidence in her friend's decision—it was unexpected.
But in that moment, Ms. Anki realised something else. Mika wasn't just confident. She was guarding something. And perhaps... carrying a weight of her own.
Some time had passed.
Still no sign of her friend.
Mika rose from her chair with a quiet sigh, her expression unreadable but concerned. She walked to the doorway and glanced around, eyes scanning the corridor outside. Nothing. Just a few students passing by, laughing, chatting, oblivious.
"Not again..." she muttered to herself, frustration lacing her voice.
Inside the room, Ms. Anki noticed Mika stepping out. Without a word, she opened a drawer and pulled out a book, flipping to a bookmarked page. She leaned back in her chair, but her eyes lingered on the door for a moment longer before settling into the lines of text.
Back in the classroom, the chaos had died down. Most students had returned to their seats, notebooks and pens ready. But at the far end, two chairs remained empty.
One of them belonged to her.
Rina.
She quietly closed the book in her hands and placed it neatly on the desk. Her friend, sitting beside her, noticed.
"Where are you going now...? Class is about to start," she asked, her voice somewhere between curiosity and mild irritation.
Rina didn't answer. She only looked forward, then stood up, her fingers brushing the edge of the desk.
"This girl... what's with her?" her friend mumbled, watching Rina leave without a glance back.
Outside, Rina stepped into the corridor. A few boys nearby turned to watch her as she passed. She didn't acknowledge them.
Her gaze drifted ahead.
To the right.
The threads were spinning again—slowly, silently—on an unseen wheel.
In her hand, she still held the pamphlet. But her eyes weren't on it.
They were at the door.
That door.
A double door at the end of the corridor, dark patches staining its wooden frame, as though time itself had tried to erase it. It didn't belong. Not in this school. Not anywhere.
Her footsteps slowed.
She took a step forward, her hand instinctively reaching out—not toward the knob, but toward the space between the doors. As if the air there... was denser.
Her brows furrowed.
"What is this door...? What room is this...? It looks... odd," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the stillness.
The double doors had narrow glass panels—two small windows meant to let someone peek inside. But they were useless now. Coated in dust, partially covered by paper from the inside. Nothing could be seen through them.
As her fingers inched closer to the door, a sudden gust of wind roared through the corridor.
"Ah—!"
Her hair whipped across her face, and the pamphlet slipped from her hands, fluttering down the hallway behind her.
She shielded her eyes, blinking rapidly. Her gaze snapped to the right.
A window—wide open.
Someone must have left it like that earlier. She turned back to the door, now hesitating.
"There's no one else here. What is this corridor even used for...? Maybe... I should just go up to the rooftop again."
She didn't move.
Then—a sound.
A dull metallic clang from behind the door. Her breath caught in her throat.
It wasn't loud. But it was sharp. As if something had been knocked over—a can, or a box—scraping the floor before settling.
Her body froze.
"What was that?"
She stared at the door, uncertain.
Curiosity. Fear. Fate.
They were all tangled in the same thread.
She stepped forward, forcing courage into her shaky breath.
"Is someone in there?" she muttered, barely audible even to herself. The fear still clung to her, making her words light and uncertain. The air surrounding the door felt heavy, thick with something she couldn't name. Still, she stood her ground, hesitant yet drawn in by a strange pull.
"Hello? Can I come in? Is someone in here?" she called again, slightly louder this time.
Realising the oddity of the situation, she clenched her fist and took another step forward. Her hand reached out and lightly touched the edge of the door. Her fingertips brushed the cold, wooden frame, and for a moment, she stood still.
Then it happened.
A shadow moved behind the dust-coated glass. It was faint at first, unclear, like the suggestion of motion just behind a fogged window. Her eyes instinctively lifted to it, and then—a hand slammed against the glass with a loud bang.
She gasped and stumbled back, her heart skipping. The sudden impact sent a jolt through her chest. Her eyes widened at the sight. The palm pressed against the glass glowed faintly with a red illumination, unnatural and pulsing.
Without thinking, she turned and ran. She didn't look back. Her shoes slapped the floor in a flurry of rushed steps as panic surged through her chest. She sprinted down the corridor, past old noticeboards and shuttered classroom doors.
Just as she rounded a corner, another sharp sound rang out from the hallway behind her. It wasn't as loud as before, but enough to make her pause. Something metallic—like a can being knocked over.
She stopped mid-run, panting. Her head turned slightly, as if unsure whether to go back or keep moving. But the fear was too much. She spun back around and resumed her dash toward the stairwell at the end of the hall.
As she neared the staircase, her pace slowed slightly. Someone was approaching from the opposite side.
From the north wing corridor, the boy from earlier—the one who had gone out "for a stroll"—was walking casually toward her. His hands were in his pockets, expression calm but mildly puzzled as he noticed someone rushing toward him.
His steps quickened when he recognised her. "Wait... her?" he thought to himself. "The girl from before. What's she doing here?"
A soft thud echoed from a hallway to his left, drawing his attention briefly. He glanced toward the sound, brows furrowed, then turned his focus back to the girl.
They were both heading toward the staircase—she from the south, he from the north.
But they weren't the only ones.
From the upper stairway, Vansh descended slowly, one hand lightly brushing the railing, eyes distant in thought.
From below, Rina made her way upward, quiet and steady, her usual book now missing from her hands.
And then, just like that, they all met.
The boy from the north.
The girl from the south.
Vansh from above.
Rina from below.
Four directions, four lives, four threads—drawn to the same point in time.
The staircase stood between them, not just as a crossing of floors, but of fate.
And in that moment, all the threads spun together—tightened into one.
Rina blinked in disbelief, halting mid-step as her eyes narrowed on the boy ahead. "Srujan…?" she whispered, almost as if testing her memory.
Srujan, caught off guard, turned to the voice. His brows lifted slightly, then he shifted his gaze beyond her. His eyes landed on a figure slowly descending the stairs. "Vansh…?" he muttered.
Vansh, half-lost in thought, heard his name and looked up. That's when his eyes met hers—the girl standing just behind Rina. His pace slowed, and the world dulled at the edges.
"…Aanya…?"
The name slipped from his lips before he could even stop it. As though it had been waiting at the tip of his tongue for far too long.
The girl flinched. Her expression shifted—not from fear, but from recognition. As if something stirred inside her. Something buried. Her breath hitched, eyes widening just enough to betray the silent shiver running through her. Her gaze met his, and for a moment, time forgot how to move.
Cherry blossoms. That was what came to his mind. Not because there were any around—but because of the way her expression softened in that moment. Something was fleeting in her eyes, something beautiful yet distant. He couldn't explain it. As if a garden bloomed around them that only the two of them could see.
But the silence didn't last long.
A distant noise snapped all of them out of that fragile moment. A low, dragging thump from down the corridor echoed softly, drawing their attention to an old, sealed door. The unused auditorium.
All four of them turned at once. It was hard to ignore. The door loomed at the end like a forgotten relic—heavy, solid, sealed by years of silence. Dust curled around the floor beneath it.
Without saying a word, Vansh began to walk toward it.
"Vansh, wait! Where are you going…?" Srujan called after him, confused but following. Vansh didn't respond. His legs moved without hesitation, his mind caught in a haze of instinct and curiosity.
Srujan muttered to himself, "What's up with this guy…?"
Vansh turned slightly but said nothing, simply gesturing toward the door.
From behind, Rina's voice called out. "That place's been locked for years. It's probably just a rat. Seriously, don't—"
But Vansh had already placed his hand on the handle.
The others reached him just as he slowly pulled the door open. A drawn-out creak filled the space, as if the hinges protested being disturbed after so long. The room beyond was dark, layered in thick stillness. A single chair had fallen over near the wall. Nothing else. No figures. No strange lights. Just the stale scent of abandonment.
"Maybe you're right," Vansh murmured to Rina.
He closed the door with a soft click, and the four turned to leave. They descended the staircase side by side, none of them speaking, as if the silence itself was something they were meant to carry.
Up ahead, a group of students passed by. Rina and Srujan naturally stepped forward to make space, while Vansh and the girl remained behind, walking in slow rhythm.
Then, from the left—movement. A student dashed around the corner, clearly late, backpack swinging wildly on his shoulders. He wasn't looking. He was about to slam into someone.
Vansh's body moved before his mind caught up. He reached out, grabbed the girl's wrist, and pulled her back against him.
"Aanya!" he called, without even thinking.
The rushing student brushed past without collision, oblivious to the tension he left behind.
Vansh glanced down. Her hand was still in his.
His eyes widened, and he immediately let go, stepping away.
"I… I'm sorry," he said awkwardly. "For that."
She looked up at him, blinking. Her voice was calm, unbothered. "No, it's fine. Is your name…?"
But before she could finish, Vansh shook his head and cut her off. "Sorry… for calling you Aanya, too. I don't even know why I said it. I don't know why I keep thinking… that's your name."
From ahead, Rina and Srujan turned, watching them curiously. The air between the two of them, Vansh and the girl, was charged now—strange, uncertain, soft.
And then—another voice broke the moment like a wave.
"Aanya!"
The girl's friend, Mika, rushed up from the other side of the stairs. Her eyes locked onto the two, narrowing slightly as she saw Vansh. She didn't waste time. She grabbed the girl's hand and pulled her toward the lower steps, saying nothing. Vansh's and her hands were parted.
Vansh stepped forward, arm half-raised. "Wait—! Hello—!"
But they were already gone.
Just like that.
Srujan came over and placed a hand on Vansh's shoulder, speaking gently, "Come on. Let's just go back to class, man."
But Vansh didn't move.
His eyes stayed fixed on the stairwell where they had vanished. In the blur of that moment, he hadn't even realized what had just happened.
And yet—she looked back.
Even as Mika pulled her away, the girl turned for just a second. Her hair brushed aside, her eyes met his one last time. No fear. No hesitation.
Only one name in her mind.
"Vansh"