A Peaceful Sunday
On Sunday,
I was in the art room, working on my artwork by myself.
The teacher was in the staff room, busy with submissions and arranging artworks for the competition. The art room was unusually quiet—no chatter, no footsteps—just the faint sound of brush against canvas.
I was completely engrossed in my work when Rahul texted the group chat, saying that he would be late due to personal reasons but would definitely come.
I got up from my seat and took a step back, examining my artwork from a distance. From afar, the overall composition looked fine, but the details bothered me—especially the books. They needed more depth, more life.
I picked up a small brush and began working carefully.
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Rahul's POV
Earlier that morning, my mom had said, "Eat breakfast and then go outside, okay?"
I replied, "Hey, Mom, you know you don't have to work on weekends. Recently, I won a chess competition, and the prize was substantial. I'm also working part-time, and they pay well enough, so you don't have to work so hard."
She smiled gently and said, "Okay, okay, but I can't cancel my work today. I'll tell them that I'm not coming in on weekends for work anymore."
I nodded and replied, "Okay, don't push yourself too hard, okay? Take care. Bye!"
"Bye, and eat breakfast on time," she said before walking out the door.
I quickly finished my breakfast and sent a message on our group chat on the Telegram app.
A reply came almost immediately, saying that the parcel had been placed on the spot and that I should check.
I muttered under my breath,
"Good."
Another message followed soon after, asking what we were going to do and whether we should handle it ourselves or inform the police. I replied,
"We're not local gangsters, so don't talk like that. The entire affair will be handled by the division captain and leader, so don't worry about it."I then sent another message,
"Sorry, sir, I just can't keep myself down after discovering this kind of thing. I'm really sorry for my behavior." A response came reminding then to be careful and not make mistakes, especially since we operated in an illegal manner.
After reading it, I sent a final message, cleared the entire chat, and deleted the group.
Yes.
I run a secret club.
What does that club do?
You'll find out in the future.
I changed into casual clothes, put on a mask and a cap, and went outside to get some Xeroxes.
Every college has two or three Xerox shops. Their success usually depends on two things: distance from the college and price.
Our club runs a Xerox shop near the college.
It's cheap—but far.
I boarded a bus and sent a message to Harsh:
"I need to meet you. It's urgent."
I followed it with a missed call.
When the bus reached the college stop, I got down and walked toward the Xerox center named "Good Morning."
Since it was Sunday, the shop was closed.
I approached the shutter and wrote a Morse code message on a cheat sheet, sliding it through a small hole. A moment later, a hand appeared from inside and passed me a Coke bottle.
I didn't know who it was.
They didn't know who I was.
That's how it works.
I took the bottle and walked away.
Everyone has a designated time to meet at the Xerox shop to exchange information. This way, no one overlaps. No identities are exposed.
I headed back toward the bus stand, scanning my surroundings to make sure no one was watching.
I drank the Coke slowly, carefully checking the bottle for any markings. When I finally noticed the initials written with a black marker, I drank the rest of it in one breath.
On the bottle were an email ID and password, along with a message:
"Login, you got your parcel."
I took out my phone and logged in using the credentials. There was a single file uploaded, named "parcel."
I downloaded it.
Then I deleted the file from the cloud.
Deleted the email account.
No traces left behind.
I slid the cap back inside the bottle, scratched out the message with a marker, and threw it into a dustbin.
After that, I turned toward the college entrance.
Shruti was waiting.
I walked faster.
There was still artwork to finish.