Chapter 1 – THE MORNING THAT BETRAYED ME
The morning was deceptively ordinary. The kind of morning that repeats itself so often, you forget to notice it. Sunlight slanted across the curtains, dust motes danced in the air, and the world outside hummed with the small noises of life—vendors calling out, a scooter backfiring, a dog barking somewhere far away.
Ma's voice cut through it all, sharp and affectionate:
"Wake up, jaldi! The bus won't wait for you every day."
I groaned, half-burying my face in the pillow, but the smell of parathas drifted in from the kitchen, dragging me to my feet. I dressed quickly, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, my mind still fogged with sleep. The routine was too familiar to question.
Breakfast was rushed. A glass of milk was shoved into my hands, Ma scolding about my messy hair, my bag slung over one shoulder. Everything was seems normal.
The van horned. I ran, shoes half-tied, waving a quick goodbye before Ma could lecture me again.
Inside the van. My friends filled the space with laughter and chatter. Someone played an old Bollywood song on their phone, tinny through cheap speakers. Another boy argued with the driver about the route. The air was a mix of dust, sweat, and perfume, but it is comforting for me. I leaned against the window, letting the cool glass steady me. Streets blurred past—shops opening their shutters, tea stalls steaming, children in uniforms of other schools, rushing to schools like ours. Life, as it always was.
As we were heading toward school, we saw,
Some men stood at the side of the road.
Masks covered their faces, black fabric that hid everything except their eyes. Each carried a long, heavy case, shaped like a guitar but too stiff, too unnatural.
"Bro, you see that?" my classmate whispered to me.
So I answered him,"Just ignore, they could be musicians, " but their presence was giving so negative vibes. But we all ignored, and this ignoring is our biggest mistake .
Suddenly, the bus turned a corner, and everything moved with lightning speed. And this made me more curious about them, "how they could move so fast?" but again I ignored !
At school, the day moved forward as if nothing was wrong. Assembly was routine—prayers echoing in the courtyard, the anthem sung half-heartedly, teachers watching with tired eyes. The sun beat descending, intense, relentless. And as usual one of the student get dizzy and fell. After the assembly, when we entered the class, the chalkboard already had a lesson written on it. Fans spun lazily overhead, stirring warm air. The teacher droned about equations, her chalk started to irriate me with the squeaking noise. Around me, students whispered, scribbled notes, some fought sleep.
And then—
CRACK!, the door opened very fastly, like someone had hit it after arguments but
The sound shattered the morning like glass.
Every head jerked toward the window. A scream cut horribly. A man entered, removed his guitar bag from his shoulder, and the teacher asked him so many questions because she was irritated with his behaviour, but he ignored her and took something out. At that instant, one of the classmates said, " he is looking ike those we have seen earlier while coming to school "
The teacher froze, chalk breaking in her trembling hand.
Then the footsteps came heavily
After him, a man from his group came inside, carrying Rifles gleaming in his hands, . One raised his weapon and fired into the ceiling. BANG! White dust rained over us, chalkboards rattling. The smell of gunpowder choked me.
"QUIET!" one of them roared, his voice jagged with rage.
Fear silenced us instantly. No one moved, no one breathed. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
They herded us like cattle, shouting, pushing. Somewhere down the hall, children cried. I caught glimpses of other classrooms—doors flung open, terrified faces, teachers pleading.
Two boys were dragged in. Their uniforms were wet, hair dripping—they had been in the washroom. One clutched a water bottle, shaking. The terrorist shoved them forward.
"You think you can hide?" the man snarled.
The smaller boy whimpered. The leader yanked his collar, dragging him toward the corridor microphone system. A gun pressed into his back.
"Speak."
The boy's trembling voice filled the school speakers, echoing in every classroom:
"Th-this is not a drill… they have guns… we are not safe…"
His sob rang through the speakers.
The microphone was snatched. A harsher voice replaced his:
"You are all ours now. Do not resist, or you die."
The entire school froze under those words. The walls themselves seemed to shiver.
We were herded, class by class, into the multipurpose hall. Hundreds of us packed together, pressed shoulder to shoulder, a sea of pale uniforms and wide eyes. Teachers tried to comfort us, but their hands trembled.
The terrorists prowled like wolves, rifles sweeping across the crowd.
One leaned close, his breath hot through the mask.
"Move again, and you'll be the first."
My body locked. My throat closed. I wanted to scream, but no sound came.