Chapter -7 A tangle of tread

Chapter -7 A tangle of treads

The student council room bustled with quiet energy. Eight council members filled the long mahogany table, their chatter and the rustle of papers mixing with the faint hum of the overhead fans. In front of each seat were files, tablets, and coffee cups war prep for the madness of Eastwood College's Annual Fest.

At the head of the table sat Anya, composed as always. Her purple pen tapped rhythmically against her binder, a calming ritual in the chaos. She had already color-coded the schedules, printed the volunteer lists, and made contingency plans for things that hadn't even gone wrong yet.

Control the process, control the outcome, she reminded herself. You don't get do-overs in this life.

Ryan sat beside her, casually flipping through a sponsorship deck. His fingers drummed on the table, but his gaze kept wandering toward her.

She noticed. She always noticed. She just didn't react anymore.

Across from her sat Sinnea, cultural head, resplendent in her navy blue kurta and silver hoops. She smiled confidently at the room, leaning back like a queen surveying her domain. There was no malice in her just certainty. The kind that said I know I'm good. And I expect you to know it too.

"Alright," Anya began, voice sharp and steady, "We have nine days till the Annual Fest. Two days after that, the National Dance Semi-finals. Four of us Ryan, Sinnea, Vivesh, Ethan are participating."

Ethan let out a mock groan. "Don't remind me."

Vivesh chuckled. "We haven't even locked the medley yet."

Anya glanced at her planner. "That's why we're finalizing all core duties today. The rest of us will absorb what we can to give you dancers time to rehearse."

Meera nodded. "I'll handle decor and guest registration."

"Stage tech's mine," Ritika added.

"I'll optimize the app schedule," Aman said.

Anya's pen glided smoothly across the page. "Thanks. I'll take sponsorships, inter-college invites, logistics overview, and backup security."

Ryan frowned. "That's a lot. You'll burn out."

"I'm fine," she replied automatically.

Sinnea tilted her head, a touch amused. "She thrives on pressure. Honestly, I couldn't handle half her spreadsheet addiction."

There was a chuckle around the table.

"But," Sinnea added, voice still light, "I do think we should delegate smarter. I can take over curation and stage hosting. My team's already prepped a working plan."

Anya met her gaze, surprised. Not at the offer—but at the sincerity behind it.

"Thanks, Sinnea. That would really help."

Sinnea smiled with a flick of her hair. "Obviously. The cultural head should do something cultural."

Anya smirked faintly. So capable. So confident. She knows she's good, and honestly ,she is.

They went over the event ideas next battle of bands, open mic, silent auction, theatre night. Sinnea's suggestions were imaginative but grounded. Every idea had a vision, a strategy, a budget line.

Ryan leaned forward. "You know, the theme for the final day should be something that unifies the vibe like 'Elysium' or 'Midnight Bloom.'"

Sinnea perked up. "Oooh, I like 'Midnight Bloom.' It sounds mysterious. I'll design a concept deck."

Anya looked between the two of them, pencil paused.

Funny. A year ago, I would've felt a twist of jealousy watching them click. Now, it's just... background noise.

By the time they wrapped up, most tasks had been assigned, a rough timeline had been agreed upon, and everyone was halfway buried in emails and notes already.

Ryan lingered.

"You're not rehearsing with us tonight?" he asked.

Anya didn't glance up. "No time."

He hesitated. "You used to watch every rehearsal."

"I used to believe in a lot of things."

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

There was a beat of silence.

Damn it. That was too honest.

She stood, gathering her files. "Good luck with practice."

She walked out, leaving him behind with unreadable eyes.

---

The college courtyard was buzzing with fest energy. Bright posters littered the walls. Students moved like charged particles, discussing events and deadlines and drama. Near the arts block, Alisha sat with her friends, sipping iced coffee, looking effortlessly styled in a lilac blouse and white jeans.

"Our Alisha should play a piano solo," one friend gushed.

"Or maybe a duet with Ryan," another chimed in.

"You'd look perfect together," a third giggled. "Like the real power couple."

Alisha smiled demurely. "Don't say that. Ryan's dating Anya."

One of them scoffed. "Please. Everyone knows they're on the verge of breaking up."

As if summoned by fate, Ryan and Anya walked past the garden path.

Alisha stood. "Anya!"

Anya turned, expression neutral.

"We were going to the canteen," Alisha said sweetly. "You want to join?"

"I'm good," Anya replied with a polite smile.

"You've been avoiding me lately," Alisha pouted. "Did I upset you somehow?"

Fake. Every word. Anya's instincts buzzed like an alarm.

One of the girls murmured, "Maybe she's too busy chasing positions."

"Or scared someone better might replace her," another whispered.

Ryan's eyes sharpened. The temperature around him dropped a few degrees.

Alisha gasped. "Guys, that's enough! Let's not make this ugly." She turned back to Anya. " I am sorry anya they are just saying nonsense, hope you don't mind?"

"I do mind ," Anya said coolly. Alisha didn't know what to say .

Another girl grinned while changing the topic to help alisha. "Ryan, are you performing for the fest?"

"Yeah."

"You should duet with Alisha," one suggested. "You two would be electric!"

Ryan glanced at Anya. "What do you think?"

Anya paused. Her voice, when it came, was like a blade. "You don't need my opinion. You're perfectly capable of deciding."

She turned and walked away.

Ryan didn't hesitate. He followed.

Behind them, Alisha's hand curled into a tight fist.

"

---

An hour later, Anya was walking near the outer campus wall when she heard it—scuffling, a low groan, a harsh voice.

She stopped. Heart pounding.

You could ignore it.

But she turned.

Down a narrow alley behind the labs, three boys were cornering someone, fists raised. One kick landed. Another. The boy on the ground didn't fight back.

Without thinking, she blasted her phone's siren alarm. The sudden screech startled the attackers they scattered.

She ran forward.

"Are you okay?"

The boy looked up, blood on his lip, cracked glasses. Sharp brown eyes. Quiet rage. Recognition hit her like a punch.

Rudra.

In her last life, In her past life, he'd gone from an orphan to one of the richest men in Asia before he was killed in a so-called "accident." A boy no one noticed until it was too late.

"You… helped me?" he muttered.

"You need a doctor."

"I'll be okay. Just bruises."

She didn't argue. She flagged a taxi and helped him in.

"Where to?"

"Student housing."

Before shutting the door, he looked up. "Why would you help someone you barely know?"

Anya hesitated. Then softly said, "Because I know how it feels… to be alone."

She closed the door and watched the taxi pull away.

---

The last light of the day bled across the sky as Anya unlocked the gate of her childhood home.

The place was quiet. Too quiet.

Dust covered the marble floor. The chandelier still hung crooked. A faint scent of jasmine clung to the drapes her mother's favorite.

She walked up to the second-floor balcony.

The place where her mother had jumped.

Her hands gripped the railing, cold and rusted.

Was it really suicide?

She stared into the distance.

"I'll find out the truth," she whispered.

"I promise you."