Nova stood near my desk like she belonged there, not nervous, not confused, just quietly present. Morning light fell on her face and for a second I forgot how to breathe. When she asked if I ever felt like something was watching us, her voice was low, almost careful, as if the walls could hear.
Before I could answer, the tube light above us flickered once and then steadied. A few students started entering the classroom, laughing loudly, dragging chairs, ruining the moment without knowing it. Nova glanced around, then back at me.
"Maybe I'm overthinking," she said with a small smile that didn't fully reach her eyes.
"Maybe we all are," I replied. I didn't know why I said that. It just came out.
She nodded, like that made sense to her, then walked back to her seat. The normal noise of school returned, but something between us stayed suspended, unfinished. I sat down slowly, my heart still racing, replaying her words in my head again and again.
Do you ever feel like something is watching us.
The day moved forward like any other school day, but I felt disconnected, as if my body was present and my mind was somewhere else entirely. During math class, I stared at the board without seeing numbers. During chemistry, I wrote notes I would never read again. Exams were close, farewell was closer, and everyone acted like these last days didn't matter much. But they did. They mattered too much.
During recess, Aarav came and sat on my bench, stealing half my tiffin without asking, like he always did. He talked about college entrances, about freedom, about how school was finally ending. I nodded at the right places, laughed when he laughed, but my eyes kept drifting toward the corner where Nova sat with Anaya.
They were laughing about something. Nova laughed softly, covering her mouth for a second, then shaking her head. That laugh hit me harder than I expected. There was warmth in it. And sadness too, like someone laughing while holding something fragile inside.
"You okay, man?" Aarav asked.
"Yeah," I lied easily. "Just tired."
Everyone was tired. But not in the same way.
The last period was free. Half the class went to the ground, some to the canteen, some just roamed the corridors like they were trying to memorize the walls. I stayed back, sitting on my desk, watching dust float in the sunlight. Nova entered the classroom alone a few minutes later.
She looked surprised to see me there.
"You didn't go out?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Too noisy."
She smiled, understanding that kind of tiredness. She walked toward the window and leaned against the sill, looking outside. For a while, neither of us spoke. It wasn't awkward. It was quiet in a way that felt honest.
"I like this time," she said suddenly. "When the school feels empty."
"Me too," I replied. "Feels like the place is finally telling the truth."
She looked at me then, really looked at me, like she was deciding something. "Sam," she said, hesitating for the first time, "can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"Do you believe people can feel things before they happen?"
I frowned slightly. "Like what?"
"Like loss," she said. "Or change."
I thought about the unknown number, about the dream, about the way lights flickered sometimes when she was near. I thought about the tightness in my chest that never fully went away. "Yeah," I said slowly. "I think some people feel it earlier than others."
She nodded. "I've been feeling it for days."
Before I could ask more, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Teachers. Reality again. Nova straightened up and picked her bag.
"Thanks for listening," she said.
I wanted to say so much. I said nothing.
That afternoon, our class teacher announced farewell preparations. Suddenly everyone was alive. Arguments over songs, dances, speeches. Someone suggested truth or dare during rehearsal days. Someone else talked about writing messages on shirts. Laughter filled the room, louder than before, like everyone was trying to ignore the goodbye hiding underneath.
Nova was chosen for anchoring the farewell. She looked surprised, then quietly accepted. When she walked back to her seat, she glanced at me, almost like she was checking something. I looked away, scared she might see too much.
Over the next few days, school turned lighter and heavier at the same time. Classes barely happened. Teachers smiled more. Rules loosened. We took photos everywhere. In the corridor, on the stairs, near the old banyan tree where juniors weren't allowed.
Nova and I started talking more. Not deep talks, not confessions. Small things. Notes. Homework. Random complaints about the weather. Sometimes we walked together till the gate. Sometimes we didn't.
Once, during rehearsal, the power went out again. The hall fell silent, then noisy. Someone shouted jokes. In that darkness, Nova stood close to me. I could feel her presence without touching her.
"It happens again," she whispered.
"What?"
"The lights."
I swallowed. "Yeah."
She didn't move away.
After that day, strange things increased. My dreams became clearer, sharper. I dreamed of corridors stretching endlessly, of Nova calling my name from places I couldn't reach. Once I woke up with the feeling that someone had been standing near my bed. Nothing was there.
The unknown number messaged again.
You are closer now.
I didn't reply. I didn't tell anyone. Some things sound crazy even when they feel real.
Farewell day arrived too fast. The school was decorated with lights and banners that said GOOD LUCK in uneven letters. Teachers wore smiles that looked practiced. Everyone dressed better than usual, like appearance could soften separation.
Nova wore a light blue dress. Simple. Elegant. When she stepped on stage to anchor, the hall went quiet. Her voice was steady, but I noticed how her hands trembled slightly when she held the mic.
She spoke about memories, about friendships, about how some places stay inside us even after we leave them. People clapped. Some cried. I watched her like she was the only real thing in the room.
During the final song, everyone stood together, arms around shoulders. Someone pushed me forward. I ended up beside Nova. Our shoulders touched. She didn't move away.
"This is it," she said softly.
"Yeah."
"You ever wish time would just pause?"
"All the time," I replied.
She smiled sadly. "I wish it would move faster."
That surprised me. "Why?"
She didn't answer.
After the program, chaos. Photos. Signatures. Promises to stay in touch. I searched for Nova everywhere. She was near the old science lab, alone, writing something on a wall with chalk.
"What are you writing?" I asked.
She turned, startled, then relaxed when she saw me. "Nothing important," she said, quickly wiping it away.
"Nova," I said, my voice shaking despite myself, "after today… will we still talk?"
She looked at me for a long moment. Too long. "Sam," she said quietly, "some connections don't depend on talking."
That hurt more than silence.
She reached into her bag and handed me a folded paper. "Read this later," she said. "Not now."
Before I could say anything else, she walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
That night, I opened the paper with shaking hands.
It was the same poem from the notice board. But this time, a line was added at the bottom, written in her handwriting.
If love stays silent, it still changes everything.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number again.
She feels it too. But feelings are not the real danger.
I stared at the screen, my heart pounding.
Another message followed.
The farewell was not the end. It was the opening.
Outside my window, the streetlight flickered once, then went dark.
And somewhere deep inside, I felt it.
Something was coming.