Loop of Lies

As soon as class ended, Vansh didn't storm to the teacher's cabin. He walked in—calm, composed, and collected. But beneath that, his mind was a battlefield of logic and doubt.

The teacher was already at her desk, flipping through a notebook when he stepped inside. Without a word, Vansh closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate.

Then, he spoke.

"Miss," his voice was unnervingly even, "didn't Aanya arrive yesterday?"

The teacher didn't even glance up. "Hmm? What are you talking about?"

Vansh inhaled sharply. "Aanya," he repeated. "She didn't introduced herself yesterday. She was sitting beside me the entire day. I remember it clearly."

The teacher hummed, tapping her pen against her notebook. "Vansh, "I think you've been spending too much time on that poorly rated comic lately. I told you not to get into it—it's not good. But still, you're hooked on that stuff..."

Vansh's jaw tightened. "No. Listen," he insisted. "She couldn't even speak properly because of her sore throat yesterday, and today, she's fine. And everyone acted like nothing happened. Doesn't that seem... off to you?"

The teacher looked thoughtful for a second. "Hmm… not really. Maybe you're just imagining things?"

Vansh let out a short, humourless laugh. "Imagining?" He took a step forward. "Okay, fine. Maybe I imagined her sitting next to me. Maybe I imagined the entire day. But tell me this—" His voice lowered, eyes sharp. "Why did I find a note in my bag this morning? One that said, 'You're trapped in a loop. Good luck, Vansh.'"

The teacher hummed again. "That is strange."

Vansh nodded, finally feeling some sense of validation. "Exactly! So—"

"But maybe…" she continued, smiling lightly, "you wrote it yourself and forgot about it?"

Vansh's eye twitched.

A deep breath. Stay calm. Stay rational.

"This is scientifically impossible," he stated. "If this were an actual loop, the paradox of causality would've collapsed the timeline. And if we consider an Einstein-Rosen bridge—wait, no, that wouldn't apply because there's no sign of gravitational distortion—but even if we assume a quantum fluctuation, that still wouldn't explain why only I remember it." He ran a hand through his hair. "For a loop to work, there needs to be an external anchor. Either an anomaly in spacetime, an unstable time dilation field, or—"

And then—

A snort.

Vansh paused.

Then, the teacher giggled.

Then chuckled.

And then—

She burst into full-blown laughter.

Vansh stood there, staring as if she had just declared gravity was fake.

"Wait." His voice was flat. "Are you laughing?"

The teacher was barely breathing, clutching her stomach as she wheezed, "Oh, Vansh—your face! Your serious, dramatic face—"

"What—" Vansh's voice cracked. "—is so funny?!"

The teacher wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "Oh, Vansh," she sighed, shaking her head. "It was all me."

He blinked. "...What?"

"The whole thing! The introductions, the students pretending—yep, all me!" She looked rather proud of herself. "Aanya wanted to introduce herself properly, so I simply arranged it. And, well... I thought I'd have a little fun while I was at it."

Vansh just stood there. Processing.

"You—" His breath hitched. His world tilted. "You staged a time loop prank?!"

"Bingo!" She shot him finger guns.

He ran a hand down his face. "Oh my god."

"You have to admit," she went on, still way too pleased, "you were convinced. You even started throwing out time travel theories! That was gold!"

Vansh clenched his fists. "Why would you do this?!"

The teacher simply shrugged, her smile innocent. "Because you, Vansh—" She patted his shoulder. "—are just too fun to mess with."

Vansh wanted to yell. To argue. To flip the entire desk.

Instead, his thoughts suddenly snapped to Aanya.

Was she involved too?

He turned on his heel, ready to confront her. But before he could take a step, the teacher's voice cut in.

"Don't say anything about it," she said smoothly. "She has no idea about my prank."

Vansh stopped.

"She just wanted a proper introduction, that's all," the teacher continued. "Everything else? That was all me."

Vansh let out a slow, controlled breath. Fine. He wouldn't say anything.

But then—

The teacher smirked. "Also…" She tapped her chin playfully. "Wasn't her smile cute?"

Vansh froze.

His heart betrayed him with an unwanted thump-thump.

His mind flashed back to it—the way Aanya had smiled at him. The effortless warmth. The way her eyes had lingered just long enough.

Damn it.

He swallowed down whatever that feeling was and schooled his expression back to serious mode. "I don't care," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The teacher chuckled. "Sure, sure."

Vansh turned away, heading for the door—his face unreadable, his emotions completely in check.

…Or so he thought.

Because as he stepped out, the teacher caught something—something small, but unmistakable.

Vansh hadn't closed the door fully. From her desk, she had a clear view of the hallway outside.

And what she saw made her pause.

It was Vansh.

Not the serious, unreadable Vansh from a moment ago.

But a different Vansh. A white silhouette of him—like a ghostly memory standing there, bathed in the soft light of the corridor.

He wasn't alone in that vision.

There were friends beside him—children laughing, nudging him playfully. He was smiling, carefree, happy.

A stark contrast to the boy now—standing alone, his hands in his pockets, his face unreadable.

The teacher exhaled, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips.

"Looks like you do care," she murmured to herself.

Then, with a knowing smile, she closed the notebook in front of her and got back to work.

Vansh walked back into the classroom, his silence a shield. As he stepped inside, a few heads turned, eyes filled with either irritation or mild disdain. Some exchanged glances, their expressions laced with an odd mix of anger and cringe, but ultimately, they all chose to ignore him.

He made his way to his seat, scanning for her—the girl. But he didn't let his gaze linger. Instead, he settled down and flipped open his comic book, feigning disinterest.

Around him, a few guys seemed eager to approach her, their eyes darting in his direction with unspoken resentment. They weren't interested in him. No, their focus was on Aanya. And yet, they viewed him as an obstacle, a barrier between them and the girl they wanted to talk to.

Jealousy flickered in their expressions, their thoughts no doubt clouded with the question—why was he the one sitting beside her? Their imaginations twisted the scenario into something more sinister, their minds breeding silent malice.

Vansh, aware of the brewing hostility, felt a wave of discomfort settle over him. If he stayed here any longer, would it affect her? Would people start judging Aanya because of him? Would it harm her reputation? Her popularity? The thought gnawed at him, pushing him to a decision. Without another second of hesitation, he stood up, ready to leave.

Just as he rose from his seat, his eyes caught something—a black mark on the bench. His breath hitched.

A memory resurfaced. A different bench. One defaced with cruel words, ugly drawings—mocking, degrading, meant to tear him down. A reminder of what had once been done to him. The voices of the past whispered again.

"Always interfering in others' matters because of your hyperactiveness… Stay out of it, you black guy!"

The words pierced through time, clawing at his chest. He clenched his fists.

Then, a voice.

"Vansh."

Soft, yet cracked. He snapped back to the present. Aanya was looking at him, her gaze filled with something unreadable.

"Are you going somewhere?" she asked.

He didn't answer. His throat felt tight, trapped between wanting to respond and wanting to disappear. He took a step toward the door.

"Hey—" Her voice was barely above a whisper, strained and unclear. She coughed violently, and Vansh felt something tighten inside him. He couldn't bear to watch.

The moment she started coughing, the guys who had been hesitating to approach her suddenly shifted in place. A bottle slipped through the air, landing near her hands. She looked at it.

The bottle was in Vansh's hands.

But he wasn't looking at her.

The other guys, who had been ready to offer their own help, hesitated once more. Some turned their heads, pretending not to see as she coughed into her hand, her throat sore. Aanya hesitated, glancing at the bottle in Vansh's hand. Would taking it from him be safe after she had just coughed? Would it cause a scene? Would it bring him more unwanted attention?

But she took it anyway.

For a moment, she was slightly happy.

As Vansh placed it in her hands, he turned away, drifting out of the classroom. The moment he stepped into the hall, he let out a breath, his heart pounding like an engine. He questioned himself.

Why does this feel familiar?

As he made his way down the corridor, something stopped him. A tug on his sleeve.

He turned back.

It was Aanya.

He stood there, speechless. She stared into his eyes, an expression unreadable yet overwhelming. Behind her, the world seemed distant—muted, as if the very air around her played an invisible melody only he could hear. The keynotes of that silent tune curled around him, wrapping around his wrists and ankles like unseen ribbons, lifting him from the gravity of his own thoughts, pulling him into something he couldn't quite define.

"Vansh?" Her voice was gentle yet firm. "Will you go out with me?"