1. THE ONE SHE COULD NEVER FORGET
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:::::ROSEWOOD ELITE SCHOOL::::
By day, their walls reverberate with laughter, happiness, and love, but by night, they echo with screams that go unheard by everyone
The hallway stretched ahead, endless and dark, her only guide the flickering fluorescent lights. Her bare feet slapped against the cold marble, echoing like gunshots in the silence. Blood pounded in her ears—louder than the storm raging outside, louder than the whispers in her head that screamed, Don't stop. Just run.
"HELP-PP"
He was here.
Somewhere.
Behind her?
She didn't dare look.
Her breath hitched when the emergency light above her buzzed, flickered… and died.
Pitch black.
Then—
A hand. Cold. Rough. Silencing.
Pressed tight over her mouth.
Another arm snaked around her waist, yanking her into the shadows between two lockers. She thrashed, tried to scream, but his grip was calculated. Controlled.
His lips brushed her ear.
"Don't scream," he whispered, voice terrifyingly calm."SSHHH....IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE LIKE HER."
Her body stiffened.
"Too late for that, though... isn't it?"
His breath was warm. His heart? Unreadable.
Somewhere down the corridor, a classroom door creaked open on its own.
He didn't flinch.
Because whatever came out next…
He knew it wasn't for him.
It was for her.
THAT NIGHT BECAME TOO CRUEL,A CRUELTY THAT SHE NEVER SAW A 𝘜𝘕𝘞𝘈𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘋 LIVING NIGHTMARE!!
A MERE DARE CHANGE HER EVERYTHING
Two Days Later
"—and the search continues for 17-year-old Revita Birla, a student of the Rosewood elite school, Last seen fleeing through the school premises late Friday night, her sudden disappearance has left the city in a whirlwind of questions and fear."
"A girl had been missing from rosewood!!is our top Highschool security have been weak recently?!! after a numerous sucides now a missing case!! what's happening here!!??" Other reporter was hurriedly saying and cameraman was recording her
Cameras flashed. Reporters jostled for angles. Police barriers held the crowd back. The school gates had become a crime scene, a gossip pit, and a media circus all in one.
Then—
The purr of a sleek black car shattered the tension like a sharp inhale before a scream.
Heads turned.
Reporters paused mid-sentence.
The door opened with the grace of cinematic suspense.
THE YOUNG HEIR OF AGNIHOTRI
Aditya Agnihotri.
Stepping out in a crisp black uniform, blazer slung over one shoulder, the school's suspended student walked with the kind of cold elegance that made people forget what they were doing… and who they were.
For a moment, the missing girl wasn't the headline.
He was.
Female reporters lowered their mics, distracted by the icy beauty and impossible calm on his face. His sharp jawline, unreadable expression, and slow, deliberate steps radiated something dangerous—like he knew things no one else did.
"Aditya! What's your opinion on the missing case?"
"Do you know Revati Birla personally?"
"Were you in contact with her the night she went missing?"
He didn't stop.
Didn't blink.
Just adjusted his cuffs and walked past the cameras like they weren't even there, the school gates opening before him like a secret only he was allowed to enter again.
Two weeks of silence.
Two weeks of suspension.
Two weeks away from everything… thanks to her.
And yet, here he was—returning like nothing happened. Except his eyes weren't empty.
They were watching.
Calculating.
Waiting.
Aditya exhaled sharply the moment he stepped past the main gates. The chatter, the flashing cameras, the suffocating questions—they all melted behind him. His shoulders finally dropped a fraction, the first sign of human relief he'd shown in days.
Peace... finally.
But peace never lasted long in this place.
THUD.
Something hit the back of his head.
Cold. Sticky.
He froze.
A half-empty Coca-Cola can rolled across the marble floor, spinning dramatically before clinking against the wall and settling like a guilty whisper.
Silence.
His jaw clenched, head tilting slowly.
He didn't need to turn.
He already knew.
"HOW BOLD OF YOU PRAKRITI MALHOTRA TO MESS WITH ME AGAIN BUT NOW IT'S MY CHANCE"
His hand slid into his pocket, pulling out his phone with surgical precision. No irritation. No shock. Just a cool, eerie calm that said one thing:
Expected.
He typed a single message.
"You missed. Try harder."
Then another.
"Game on, devil princess."
cola dripped slowly down the back of his collar, sticky and cold—but Aditya didn't move an inch. His fingers gripped the phone with quiet control as the corner of his lip curved ever so slightly.
But now wasn't the time to retaliate.
Not yet.
He opened the school's internal messaging system, his fingers moving with deliberate calm.
To: Principal Ranvijay Malhotra
Subject: Meeting Request
Message:
"I'd like to speak with you. It's urgent. Not regarding the missing case."
Sent.
He locked the screen and tucked the phone into the pocket of his blazer with calculated precision, like sealing away a weapon.
That calm smirk didn't fade.
He adjusted his collar, straightened his cuffs, and kept walking.
The crowd behind him whispered. Someone muttered, "He didn't even react…"
But that was the thing about Aditya Agnihotri.
He didn't react.
He planned.
And whoever threw that can?
They had just given him permission to start playing again.
A smirk ghosted his lips, crooked and dark—like the first move in a game of chess that could end in war.
_________________________________________
The atmosphere was different In music club—quieter, warmer. Sunlight poured through the open windows of the music room, dust particles dancing mid-air like tiny stage lights.
And in the center of it all stood Ishika Malhotra stood in the center of the semi-lit music room, her presence soft yet effortlessly captivating.
She wore her school uniform, but even within that strict code, she carried a certain grace that made her stand out.
A neatly ironed white shirt tucked into her navy-blue pleated skirt, her school emblem stitched perfectly on the pocket. The striped tie—blue and silver—hung slightly loose, like she had tugged it down moments before stepping up to the mic. It wasn't rebellion—it was comfort.
Her long black hair was loosely tied into a low ponytail, a few strands falling over her cheeks, catching the gentle light from the window as she moved slightly with the rhythm. A thin silver bracelet jingled on her wrist every time she raised her hand to adjust the mic or hold the melody.
Her black ballerina shoes tapped quietly against the wooden floor, not in nerves—but in sync with the beat.
There was no makeup—just a touch of lip balm, and a faint natural blush that came from her voice flowing through emotions too strong to hold back.
She wasn't performing to impress.
She was expressing.
And as she played with the mic cord, her fingers gently curling it around her index finger, her gaze never once rose to the crowd forming outside.
Eyes closed, lips brushing the mic gently
"इतनी मोहब्बत करो ना, मैं डूब ना जाऊँ कहीं
वापस किनारे पे आना मैं भूलना जाऊँ कहीं देखा जब से है चेहरा तेरा, मैं तो हफ़्तों से सोया नहीं
बोल दो ना ज़रा दिल में जो है छिपा
मैं किसी से कहूँगी नहीं
बोल दो ना ज़रा दिल में जो है छिपा
मैं किसी से कहूँगी नहीं
मैं किसी से कहूँगी नहीं..."
(Love me so much, lest I drown Lest I forget to come back to the shore Ever since I saw your face, I have not slept for weeks
Please tell me what is hidden in my heart
I will not tell anyone
Please tell me what is hidden in my heart
I will not tell anyone
I will not tell anyone)
Her voice carried like velvet—fragile, emotional, piercing straight into every soul within earshot. Students had gathered without realizing it, drawn by the pull of her song like moths to a flame.
Even the chaos of a missing student, even the shadows of fear creeping through Rosewood… paused for her.
As Ishika hit the final note of "Bol Do Na Zara", a small hush followed, like the walls themselves needed a second to process her voice.
Then came the soft claps—from behind the upright piano.
Ms. Juliet, the music teacher, stepped forward with a proud smile tugging at her lips. She was never one to exaggerate praise, which made her words hit differently.
"Ishika," she said warmly, "that was... heartfelt. You've grown. I want you to perform this at next month's school concert."
Ishika's eyes widened for a moment—but she shook her head politely, fingers still nervously fidgeting with the mic cord.
"Ma'am, I really appreciate it," she said with a small, guilty smile, "but I'll have to pass. Mock tests are starting in two weeks, and I—"
Before she could even finish, a group of girls burst into the music room like a storm—led, of course, by Avyaana, wearing her usual oversized cardigan and dramatic flair.
"Oh. My. God. Ishikaaaa," Avyaana squealed, dramatically clutching her chest like she'd just heard Lata Mangeshkar reincarnated. "I felt my soul leaving my body—do you realize what you did to us?!"
"I literally got goosebumps," said Ritika, waving her arm like proof.
"You don't need tests, girl, you need a record deal," Chavi added, flopping onto the bench beside her.
Ishika blushed, laughing softly as she tried to shush them. "Guys, stop, seriously. You're being too much."
Avyaana, of course, didn't stop.
"Too much? Babe, if this was Student of the Year, you'd already be holding the golden trophy, bouquet, and giving a teary-eyed speech thanking your mic stand."
As the girls continued their dramatic teasing—Avyaana mimicking a Bollywood award speech using the mic stand as her co-star—Ishika laughed, holding her sides. For a brief moment, everything felt light. Normal.
But something shifted.
Something… cold.
Like when the temperature suddenly drops even though the sun's still shining.
Ishika's smile faltered for half a second.
Her eyes wandered—past her giggling friends, past the open doorway of the music room, and down the corridor that led to the east wing of the school.
And that's when she saw it.
A shadow, just at the edge of the hallway. Half-hidden behind a pillar. The figure wasn't moving—just watching.
The shadow. It was shifting. Slowly, deliberately, stepping out from the dimly lit hallway into the faint glow of the music room. It was barely noticeable, but enough to send a cold shiver down her spine.
Her eyes locked onto it. Him. The figure she knew all too well. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach.
The shadow took another step forward, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His face barely caught in the light, his presence as chilling as ever.
Her heart thudded. She couldn't look away.
"I'm… I'm so sorry, guys," she stammered, her voice suddenly shaky, the smile fading from her lips. "I need to step out for a second."
Without waiting for their response, she hurriedly excused herself from her friends, the laughter and teasing from Avyaana and Ritika fading as she stepped away, her feet moving almost on instinct toward the hallway.
But when she reached the door, the shadow was gone.
All that remained was the silence. And the feeling of his gaze still on her, lingering like a storm that hadn't yet passed.