Chapter 2: The Weight of Lies

The principal's office reeked of stale coffee and yellowed paper, a cramped cage tucked behind the school's admin block. Aadi stood in the doorway, the summons—"Aadi Sharma, report immediately"—still buzzing in his ears, the hum in his head throbbing like a second heartbeat. Mr. Gupta, the principal, peered over wire-rimmed glasses, his bald head catching the flicker of a dying tube light. A single photo sat on the desk, grainy and damning—a figure in a faded jacket near the girls' washroom, timestamped last Tuesday, 4:13 p.m. 

"Sit," Gupta barked, voice sharp as a blade. Aadi sank into the chair, its creak echoing in the stillness. Gupta tapped the photo, his finger a judge's gavel. "Explain this." 

Aadi's throat closed up. "It's not me. I wasn't there." 

Gupta leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Not you? This jacket says otherwise. Timestamp says 4:13 p.m., witnesses saw someone lurking near the washroom. You're a good kid, Aadi—I didn't expect this from you. Harassment? Sneaking around? What's gotten into you?" 

"I didn't do it," Aadi said, fists balling in his lap. The hum surged, clawing at his skull. "Someone's lying." 

Gupta snorted, adjusting his glasses. "Lying? You think someone faked this? Planted your jacket in a photo? Come on, boy, that's a stretch. I've seen your record—quiet, keeps to himself, decent grades. Why throw it all away for something this stupid?" 

"It's not mine," Aadi insisted, voice rising. "I don't even go near the washroom—why would I? Check the time—I was at cricket practice then!" 

"Cricket practice," Gupta repeated, skeptical. He flipped through a file, pages rustling. "Coach didn't mention you sticking around late. And this photo—it's clear enough. You're telling me someone framed you? Who? Give me a name, Aadi, because right now, you're the one in the frame." 

"I don't know!" Aadi snapped, the hum drowning his thoughts. "Someone who hates me, maybe. I'm not a creep—I wouldn't do this!" 

Gupta sighed, leaning back, his chair groaning. "You're a good kid—or you were. I want to believe you, but evidence doesn't care about feelings. Confess, it's a suspension—two weeks, maybe less if you show remorse. Deny it, and we're talking expulsion. Your parents will be crushed. Is that what you want?" 

"They'll know I'm telling the truth," Aadi said, though doubt gnawed at him—Rakesh's long stares, Meera's soft worry. "I didn't do it. That's all I've got." 

Gupta scribbled on a pad, his pen scratching like a death knell. "Fine. We'll dig deeper—talk to witnesses, check alibis. But this isn't over. Get out." 

The courtyard was a battlefield of stares as Aadi stepped out, whispers slicing through the air like shrapnel. He slumped against a pillar, the weight of unseen eyes pressing into him. Two girls drifted over—familiar shadows in the chaos. One was slight, glasses slipping down her nose, hands twisting her sweater hem. The other stood taller, track uniform scuffed, braid swinging as she sauntered up with a grin. 

"You okay?" the smaller one murmured, barely audible. Neha—always hiding in books, dodging her parents' demands. 

"No," Aadi said, sharper than intended. "Someone's screwing with me." 

The taller girl—Manisha—cackled, leaning against the pillar like she owned it. "You look like someone just ran over your dog with a rickshaw. What's the old buzzard Gupta got on you now?" 

Aadi exhaled, rubbing his temple. "A photo. Me—or my jacket—near the girls' washroom. Timestamped last Tuesday, 4:13. He's calling it harassment, says I'm done if I don't confess." 

Neha's eyes widened behind her glasses. "The washroom? That's… creepy. What's it even look like? Could it really be you?" 

"It's blurry," Aadi said, voice tight. "Grainy as hell—just a shadow in my jacket. Could be anyone, but Gupta's got it stuck in his head it's me." 

Manisha snorted, twirling her braid like a weapon. "Sounds like a ghost story gone wrong. What, you haunting the washroom now? Maybe it's your evil twin sneaking around!" She waggled her eyebrows, then sobered. "Seriously, though—who'd pull that off?" 

"I don't know," Aadi muttered, the hum pulsing. "Someone with a grudge? Gupta kept pushing for a name, but I've got nothing." 

Neha bit her lip, glancing around. "It's weird, right? Like… someone had to get that jacket—or fake it. What if it's someone we see every day, just smiling while they twist the knife?" 

"Poetic," Manisha said, smirking. "I'd bet on Nikhil—he's got those sneaky paws and a grin that screams 'I'm up to no good.' Or maybe it's that quiet girl, Alia—watching from the corners like a ninja." 

Aadi frowned. "Nikhil's not that slick. And Alia barely talks. I was thinking… maybe Ria." 

"Ria?" Neha's voice dropped to a whisper. "She's been staring at you—like, a lot. I saw her yesterday, just standing there, watching you with Nikhil. Gave me chills." 

Manisha laughed, loud enough to turn heads. "Oh, please! Ria's too busy being Miss Perfect—probably just plotting her next hair flip. But yeah, she's got that creepy vibe sometimes. What's her deal—jealous you've got better friends than her?" 

"Maybe," Aadi said, uncertain. "She said something at lunch—'They don't care about the truth.' Felt off." 

Neha shivered. "That's cryptic. What if she's… I don't know, testing you? Or it's someone else entirely—like a teacher? Gupta himself?" 

"Gupta framing me?" Aadi raised an eyebrow. "He's too busy polishing his bald head to play mastermind." 

Manisha grinned. "True! But this photo thing's got legs—someone's stirring the pot, and we're just guessing at shadows. Where's Ria at, anyway?" 

"Old shed," Aadi said, nodding toward the school's rear. "Saw her heading there after class." 

Neha's eyes darted nervously. "That place with the generator and fuel cans? Why there?" 

"Who knows?" Manisha said, shrugging dramatically. "Maybe she's brewing potions or summoning demons. Let's crash her party!" 

Aadi straightened, the hum urging him on. "I'll go. You two stay close, but let me handle it." 

The shed crouched behind the gym, a rotting husk of wood and rust, stuffed with electric supplies—coils of wire, cracked circuit boxes, an old generator wheezing in the corner. Fuel cans littered the floor, some half full, some empty, their rusted rims leaking the sour stink of gasoline. Aadi waved Neha and Manisha back, the door sagging as he pushed it open. Dust hung thick, the hum syncing with the generator's drone. Ria stood near the machine, her back to him, phone glowing in her hand. 

"Ria," he said, voice a low growl. She turned, her smile flickering like a dying flame. 

"Took you long enough," she said, stepping closer, her dark hair catching the dim light. "Thought you'd hide from this little storm." 

"What's your game?" he demanded. "That photo's fake. You know it." 

Her laugh was a blade, soft and lethal. "Does it matter? They believe it. You're isolated now—perfectly mine. You're mine and mine alone." She tilted her head, eyes glinting with something feral. "I've watched you, Aadi. Always drifting, untouchable. I hated it—everyone else wanting you, pulling you away. That photo? It's a leash. You need me to survive this, and I'll make sure no one else gets close." 

The hum roared, drowning his thoughts. "You're insane," he spat, stepping back. "I don't belong to anyone." 

Her face twisted—jealousy, rage, a hunger he hadn't seen before. "You don't get to choose," she hissed. "I've spent months on this—spreading whispers, tweaking that picture. You were slipping away—Nikhil, Neha, even that track girl. I won't lose you." 

He turned to leave, disgust churning in his chest. Her hand clamped onto his arm, nails biting flesh. "You're not going anywhere," she snarled, shoving him toward the generator. His foot caught a fuel can, toppling it—gasoline splashed across the floor, pooling near sparking wires. Time fractured as a stray arc leapt, igniting the spill. Ria's eyes widened, but she didn't let go, her grip tightening as flames erupted. 

"No one else gets you," she whispered, a manic edge to her voice, dragging him into the blaze. 

The shed exploded in a roar of heat and light, pain swallowing him whole—skin searing, lungs choking on smoke. He couldn't scream, couldn't fight, as the fire claimed them both.

Darkness.***

He jolted awake, gasping, sprawled on his mattress. Sweat plastered his shirt to his skin, his heart slamming against his ribs. The clock blinked 6:00 a.m., the window rattling with a morning breeze. His room was unchanged—desk, pencils, the crack in the wall—but his hands shook, the ghost of flames licking his nerves. 

A nightmare? No. Too vivid. The shed, Ria's shove, her words—You're mine and mine alone—the fire. He'd died. He knew it. 

The walk to school was a fog, his mind trapped in the blaze. The courtyard hummed with life, but the whispers were gone. No stares. Nikhil jogged over, grinning. "Oi, Aadi! You coming today?" 

Aadi stiffened. That line—he'd said Maybe tomorrow yesterday. "What day is it?" 

"Tuesday," Nikhil said, frowning. "You good, man?" 

Tuesday. The photo's day. But that was yesterday—he'd faced Gupta, confronted Ria, burned. Now he was here, back at the start. The hum pulsed, a whisper threading through: Sindhu… 

At lunch, Ria leaned against the railing, her smile unchanged. "Rough day, huh?" 

He stared, the memory of her grip scorching his arm. "You have no idea," he said, voice ice. 

Her eyes flickered—confusion, maybe?—before she laughed. "You'll see soon enough." 

The principal's voice crackled over the intercom, summoning him again. As he walked away, the hum swelled, and the air shimmered, a ripple like water over stone. Ria's words echoed: You're mine and mine alone. She'd killed him to keep him—her jealousy a fuse, her obsession the spark. 

But why was he back?