Navran Public School had a rhythm of its own. A blend of hurried footsteps, scattered chatter, and the occasional loudspeaker announcement that nobody paid attention to. The building stood tall and grey, trying its best to look modern, but the cracks in its walls whispered tales of generations gone by.
Inside, the classroom was no different.
Aarav slouched into his seat at the back, dropping his bag onto the desk with a thud. Anaya had already claimed her usual front-row position, notebook open, pen poised, as if the day's lessons were a battle she was eager to win.
"Good morning, class," announced Mr. Prakash, their Chemistry teacher, as he strolled in, balancing a stack of papers.
"Good morning, Sir," the class echoed, though the enthusiasm varied.
"Before we start, a round of applause for Anaya Rathore," Mr. Prakash said, beaming. "Top marks in the mock exams. Once again."
The class clapped. Aarav gave a slow, sarcastic golf clap from the back. Anaya, as always, accepted the praise with a nod, not a smile.
Mr. Prakash's gaze shifted towards Aarav. "And Aarav Sen, who continues to challenge us all with his... creative approach to academics."
A few chuckles floated around the room. Aarav smiled lazily, resting his chin on his hand.
"I try my best, Sir. Someone's got to keep expectations low."
Mr. Prakash sighed, though a smile tugged at his lips. "One day, Sen, that tongue of yours will land you in trouble."
"Today doesn't seem like that day," Aarav replied, stretching back in his chair.
The lesson began, equations and chemical reactions filling the board. Anaya's pen danced across her notebook, flawless and precise. Aarav, meanwhile, was busy doodling a stick-figure battle between a test tube and a beaker.
"Sen," Mr. Prakash called out, "perhaps you can enlighten us. What happens when we combine sodium bicarbonate with acetic acid?"
Aarav didn't lift his head. "Depends, Sir. Are we in a lab, or trying to win a school science fair?"
Laughter erupted. Mr. Prakash shook his head, but before he could respond, Aarav added, "It creates carbon dioxide, water, and sodium acetate. Bubbles up nicely. Kids love it."
Anaya's pen paused mid-sentence. Her head turned, eyes narrowing.
Mr. Prakash raised an eyebrow. "Correct. Though I doubt the kids in this room would appreciate your casual tone."
Aarav flashed a grin. But in the back of his mind, a flicker of confusion stirred. Wait... how did I even know that? He hadn't read the chapter. He barely remembered last week's lesson. Yet the answer had rolled off his tongue as if it had always been there.
He brushed the thought aside. Lucky guess, maybe. Or buried somewhere from a day he accidentally paid attention. Either way, he wasn't going to overthink it.
Minutes dragged on, but for Aarav, something else was happening.
The scratch of chalk against the board felt amplified. He could hear it, layered, like multiple boards being scratched at once. He heard the faint hum of the tube lights above. The flipping of pages from three rows ahead sounded as clear as if it were beside him.
And then it got worse.
Voices. Whispers. Faint, fragmented.
"...did you hear about..."
"...assignment's due next week..."
Aarav's eyes darted to the windows, but the voices weren't from outside. They came from within the building. Classrooms away.
He rubbed his temples, trying to muffle the sound, but it only made the sharpness clearer.
"Sen," Mr. Prakash called again, "what would be the pH level of a solution with an equal mix of hydrochloric acid and sodium hydroxide?"
Aarav didn't lift his head. "Neutral, Sir. That's called balance."
Another correct answer. Another round of chuckles.
Anaya turned her head slowly this time, her eyes filled with a mix of irritation and disbelief.
"What?" Aarav mouthed at her.
She looked away.
But Aarav's mind wasn't on their rivalry now. The sounds were still there. The rustle of a plastic wrapper from the hallway. The creak of a window hinge in a classroom two floors above. The soundscape was alive, overwhelming.
He pressed his fingers against his temples, massaging in slow circles. His body felt wired, but not in a way he could understand.
He wasn't sick. He wasn't anxious. But something inside was shifting, tuning him into frequencies he shouldn't be hearing.
Mr. Prakash continued the lecture, but his voice became background noise for Aarav. He heard more whispers from beyond the classroom walls.
"...He thinks he's smart..."
"...Always acting like he doesn't care..."
The words weren't directed at him, but they might as well have been.
He looked around. No one else seemed to notice anything unusual.
Only him.
He tapped his pen against the desk, the rhythmic beat anchoring him. One-two-three. One-two-three.
Anaya turned back again, now visibly annoyed. "If you're done composing music, perhaps you can join the lesson?"
"Oh, I am the lesson, Rathore."
Mr. Prakash, oblivious to their private war, handed out worksheets. Aarav took his copy, barely glancing at the content. His ears were still scanning the air.
For a fleeting moment, he thought he heard his father's voice. A soft murmur.
"...Tomorrow... it begins..."
He shook his head violently, earning a curious glance from a few classmates.
"Everything alright, Aarav?" Mr. Prakash asked.
"All good, Sir. Just wrestling with the complexities of life."
The class laughed, but Anaya didn't. She was watching him now, not with mockery, but with something close to suspicion.
The worksheet lay untouched on his desk, but Aarav's fingers traced the margins, sketching aimless spirals.
The sounds persisted, but he refused to show discomfort. If there was one thing Aarav Sen excelled at, it was pretending everything was fine.
But inside, he knew it wasn't.
The bell rang, a shrill tone that felt like a stab to his skull. Aarav flinched, his hands immediately going to his ears. The class stood up, gathering their things, moving in a collective wave.
Anaya lingered, her gaze locked onto him.
"You look pale, Sen."
"And you look concerned, Rathore. What's the world coming to?"
She didn't respond, but the corners of her lips tightened.
Aarav pushed himself up from the chair, slinging his bag with exaggerated laziness.
"Don't worry, Rathore. I'll be back to annoy you after lunch."
As he walked past her, his hearing caught another distant sound. A whisper. A pulse.
It wasn't normal.
And somewhere deep inside, a part of him knew.
The clock was ticking.