Aryan didn't stop running.
The school gate passed behind him in a blur, the guard's voice fading into nothing. His legs burned, lungs screaming for air, but he didn't slow down.
Only one thought echoed in his mind.
I hit him.
The street outside the school was crowded—cycles, bikes, shouting vendors—but Aryan felt completely alone. His fist still throbbed. He opened his hand while running.
It was shaking.
He finally stopped near a narrow lane, bent forward, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
"What did I do…?" he whispered.
The image replayed in his mind again and again—
Raghav's shocked face.
The sound of the punch.
The desk crashing.
Aryan slid down against a wall and sat on the ground.
He wasn't strong.
He knew that.
So how?
By the time he reached home, it was already evening.
His mother was in the kitchen, stirring dal. The smell usually calmed him.
Today, it didn't.
"You're late," she said without turning around.
Aryan removed his shoes quietly.
"Extra class," he replied.
The lie came out too easily.
His mother finally looked at him. Her eyes paused—just for a second—on his clenched right hand.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yes," Aryan said quickly, hiding his hand behind his back.
She didn't push further.
She never did.
Dinner passed in silence. The ceiling fan hummed softly. The TV played some random news channel no one was watching.
Aryan barely touched his food.
That night, he couldn't sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, fear returned.
What if Raghav tells the teachers?
What if he's badly hurt?
What if I get expelled?
And beneath all that fear—
Something worse.
A strange warmth in his chest.
He hated that feeling the most.
The next morning, the school felt different.
Too quiet.
Students whispered as Aryan passed by. Some looked at him with curiosity, others with disbelief.
Raghav's seat was empty.
Aryan sat on his last bench, his heart pounding.
The teacher entered.
"Raghav is on leave," she announced. "Focus on your studies."
Just one sentence.
But it felt heavy.
During lunch, Neha walked past Aryan's bench, then stopped.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
Aryan looked up, surprised.
Neha was one of the few who never laughed. She always noticed things others ignored.
"I'm fine," he replied.
She studied his face for a moment.
"You don't look fine," she said.
Then she walked away.
Aryan stared at his hands.
After school, as Aryan was about to leave, a voice stopped him.
"Aryan Sharma."
His spine stiffened.
He turned.
A man stood near the staff room. He wore a simple grey shirt and carried no books. He didn't look like a regular teacher.
But his eyes were sharp.
Observing.
"Yes?" Aryan asked.
The man smiled faintly.
"You left in a hurry yesterday," he said.
Aryan's blood ran cold.
"I— I don't know what you're talking about."
The man stepped closer.
"You have good control over your fear," he said calmly.
"But terrible control over your strength."
Aryan swallowed.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Sen," the man replied. "Mr. Sen."
He pulled out a small folded paper and placed it in Aryan's hand.
Old Sports Block – 6:30 AM
"Come tomorrow," Mr. Sen said.
"Or don't."
He turned and walked away.
Aryan stood frozen, staring at the paper.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed something strange.
Three other students were watching.
All of them looked… nervous.
That night, Aryan lay awake again.
This time, fear wasn't alone.
Curiosity sat beside it.
And somewhere deep inside—
A quiet question formed.
What if this wasn't an accident?