The story began with the sharp echo of a scream cutting through the school hallway. A little girl's voice — high, panicked, piercing. Students nearby jerked their heads up, dropping their chatter, and rushed toward the sound. Their shoes squeaked against the polished floor as they crowded around the source of the noise.
Riya stood frozen in front of her locker, her hand trembling. Inside, hanging neatly as though it belonged there, was a necklace made of small, delicate flowers. To anyone else it might have looked sweet, maybe even thoughtful. But Riya's face twisted with disgust. Her lips curled back, and with two fingers she yanked it out and flung it to the ground as if she had touched something rotten.
The whispers began instantly.
"What is that?"
"Who would put that in her locker?"
"Did you see her face? She's furious."
A few bolder students called out for the teacher, their voices ringing down the hall.
The man came storming in, cane in hand, eyes narrowed at the cluster of children. "What is all this noise?" he barked. His gaze snapped to the crumpled necklace on the floor, then to the pale, trembling girl. His expression darkened. "Who did this?"
Silence. Not a single voice dared to answer. The air grew heavier with each second.
The teacher's knuckles whitened on his cane. "Very well. If no one wishes to speak, I'll give every one of you a lesson you won't forget." He lifted the cane slightly, and the younger children shrank back, a few flinching even before the strike.
But then, at the far end of the hall, a figure appeared. A boy with dark hair, uniform slightly disheveled, his steps hesitant but oddly expectant. Merlin.
He was the teacher's nephew — son of his wealthy brother, heir to the family that owned the very school they all stood in. Normally, his presence carried weight, even pride. But today, walking into the circle of tension and hushed whispers, Merlin felt only a wave of cold unease.
The teacher's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me… you did this."
Merlin's stomach dropped. His mouth went dry. The eyes of every student in the hallway stabbed into him, demanding an answer.
"I—I… well, I uhh…" His voice stumbled over itself, weak and unconvincing.
CRACK!
The sound rang out like thunder, stunning the crowd. Merlin staggered, cheek stinging, ears ringing.
But the strike hadn't come from the teacher — he had been ready for that. He had even braced himself, hand subtly prepared to block. No, this slap came from elsewhere, far sharper, far deeper.
It was Riya.
Her palm still hovered in the air, her face a mask of fury. She had struck him with every ounce of betrayal she felt.
The crowd gasped.
Merlin's heart plummeted. Confusion tangled with shame, embarrassment, humiliation, and something far heavier than all of them — heartbreak. He stared at her, eyes wide, searching for any sign of hesitation, any glimmer of kindness that might undo the sting. But there was nothing.
And before he could even gather himself, her arm drew back again, another slap loading like a plane coming in to land at its port.
The teacher intervened, catching her wrist before it could fall. His voice boomed, not at her but at the boy she struck. "That's enough."
Without another word, he seized Merlin by the shoulder and dragged him toward his office, the crowd parting silently to make way.
Merlin walked in a daze, the sting on his cheek nothin
g compared to the ache hollowing out his chest.