Her eyes widened.
"Dikshita?"
A bright smile spread across Dikshita's face as she climbed off the scooter.
"Surprised?"
Ashi hurried towards her, astonishment still evident on her face.
"What are you doing here? You never come to my school."
Dikshita laughed softly.
"Your guards are on leave today. Uncle called Dad this morning and asked him to pick you up. Since I was free, I insisted on coming along."
Beside the scooter, her father greeted Ashi with a warm nod.
"Come on, girls. It's getting late."
The two of them settled onto the scooter, Dikshita sitting between her father and Ashi.
The vehicle had barely covered a few streets when Dikshita glanced back.
The excitement she had expected to see on Ashi's face was nowhere to be found.
Instead, there was only silence.
"You've been unusually quiet," she observed. "Why do you look so pale? Did something happen at school?"
Ashi lowered her gaze.
After a brief hesitation, she spoke in a subdued voice.
"Before you came... Shadow Hunk appeared."
"What?"
The word escaped Dikshita far louder than she had intended.
Her father instinctively glanced at them through the rear-view mirror.
"Who appeared? What are you two talking about?"
The girls exchanged a fleeting glance.
"Nothing, Uncle."
"Nothing at all."
Though unconvinced, he merely shook his head and returned his attention to the road.
Only after the silence settled once more did Ashi recount everything—from his sudden appearance in the deserted corridor to the warning he had left behind.
Dikshita listened without interrupting, the smile gradually fading from her face.
When Ashi finished, neither of them spoke for several moments.
Finally, Dikshita exhaled.
"If he's the one who said it..."
"...then you should take it seriously."
She turned slightly towards Ashi.
"For the next few days, be extremely careful."
Ashi nodded faintly.
Dikshita continued, her voice thoughtful.
"Try to remember something."
"What?"
"Have you unknowingly done anything connected to him? Anything at all that might have involved you in whatever he's planning?"
Ashi fell silent.
She searched through every recent memory, replaying countless moments in her mind.
Minutes slipped away.
At last, she sighed.
"No."
"I can't remember anything."
Dikshita rested her chin on her hand, lost in thought.
"...I think I have an idea."
Ashi looked at her.
"What idea?"
"We should stop waiting for him."
Ashi frowned.
"I don't understand."
"We will make him come to us."
Her confusion only deepened.
Dikshita smiled faintly.
"Not literally."
She continued,
"Think about it. Whenever something dangerous happens in this city... somehow, he's always there."
She paused before adding,
"And never too early."
"Never too late."
"He always arrives at the exact moment he's needed."
Realization slowly dawned upon Ashi.
Dikshita nodded.
"So, the next time an incident occurs, we'll reach the location before he does."
"And when he appears..."
"...we'll make sure he doesn't disappear without answering our questions."
Ashi considered the plan carefully.
"It sounds reasonable."
"But how can we be certain he'll come?"
Dikshita's expression was unwavering.
"I don't know."
"But if there's one thing everyone knows about Shadow Hunk..."
"...it's that he never ignores danger."
A gentle smile finally returned to Ashi's face.
"Alright."
"We'll do exactly that."
By then, the scooter had already entered her neighborhood.
It slowed to a halt before the familiar gate of her house.
Ashi climbed down and smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, Uncle."
"My pleasure."
She turned towards Dikshita.
"Bye. And... thanks."
Dikshita returned the smile.
"Take care."
With a final wave, Ashi walked through the gate, while the scooter disappeared into the evening traffic.
Neither of them realized...
that somewhere beyond the ordinary rhythm of the city...
events had already begun to unfold exactly as Shadow Hunk had feared.
Bus Stop- Afternoon
The final bell released the students into the afternoon.
Within minutes, the road outside the school dissolved into its usual chaos, made worse by the local festival. Vendors lined the pavement with colorful stalls, buses struggled through the traffic, and the air carried a mixture of laughter, honking horns, and the irresistible aroma of roasted corn and fried snacks.
Groups of students lingered near the bus stop.
Keshav stood with a circle of boys, passionately defending his favorite football club.
"I'm telling you; they've got the best midfield in the league."
"That's because you don't watch real football."
"Oh, here we go again..."
A short distance away, Ayaan remained untouched by the debate.
He stood beneath the shade of a rain tree, a book resting comfortably in his hands. The noise around him faded into the background as his eyes moved steadily across the page.
Then a sudden gust swept across the street.
A cry escaped an elderly balloon seller as the wind tore a cluster of balloons from his grasp. Bright splashes of red, blue, yellow, and green scattered in every direction, bobbing above the traffic like wayward birds.
Children squealed and darted after them.
Drivers braked abruptly, horns erupting in protest.
For a brief moment, everyone became a spectator.
Others merely watched.
Ayaan closed his book.
He slipped it beneath his arm and crossed the road at an unhurried pace.
One drifting string brushed past him. He caught it.
Another balloon floated toward the curb. He reached for that as well.
A little boy suddenly broke away from his mother, chasing a bright red balloon rolling toward the road.
Before the child could step into traffic, Ayaan moved into his path.
The boy bumped lightly into him instead.
Tiny hands clutched at his shirt in surprise.
"It's alright," Ayaan said quietly, steadying him before guiding him back toward his anxious mother.
By then, the old man had gathered the last of the balloons. Bent with age and breathing hard, he accepted the strings from Ayaan with grateful hands.
"Thank you, beta."
Ayaan inclined his head.
"They mattered more to you."
The old man blinked before a smile spread across his weathered face.
"How did you know?"
Ayaan looked at the balloons swaying gently overhead.
"You ran after them before you asked anyone for help."
The old man's laughter was soft and genuine.
"You've got sharp eyes."
Ayaan offered nothing more than a small smile before returning to the bus stop, opening his book as though only a few ordinary moments had passed.
Keshav had watched the entire exchange.
He nudged the boy standing beside him.
"You saw that?"
"Saw what?"
"He notices things everyone else misses."
His friend glanced toward Ayaan, who was already reading again.
"So?"
Keshav looked at him for another moment before shaking his head.
"Nothing."
Just then, movement across the road caught Ayaan's attention.
A figure in a black hoodie emerged from the sea of festival-goers.
The glimpse lasted only a heartbeat.
The hood remained low, concealing the face, before the stranger disappeared into the moving crowd as quietly as they had appeared.
Ayaan's gaze lingered on the place where the figure had vanished.
He made no attempt to follow.
When his bus pulled up to the curb, he climbed aboard without another look, and the crowd swallowed the moment as though it had never happened.
Vritika's House- Night
The doorbell rang through the mansion just as the grandfather clock announced four.
A guard answered the door to find a courier standing on the front steps, a long parcel balanced carefully in his arms.
"Delivery for Sir."
After signing for it, the guard turned towards the study.
"You may hand it to me."
The calm voice halted him before he had taken more than a few steps.
Vritika's stepmother descended the staircase with effortless grace, her expression as composed as ever.
"Sir is occupied with an important meeting," she said softly, extending a hand. "I'll make sure he receives it."
Without hesitation, the guard surrendered the parcel.
"As you wish, Madam."
She acknowledged him with a faint nod and walked away.
Towards her room.
The door closed with a quiet click.
She placed the parcel upon the table and regarded it for a brief moment before carefully loosening the twine. The wrapping slipped away with deliberate precision, revealing a collection of property documents preserved inside protective sleeves.
At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about them.
A single folded sheet slid free from the stack.
Unlike the crisp legal papers surrounding it, this page bore the unmistakable weight of years. The paper had yellowed with time, its faded ink lingering like the remnants of a forgotten confession.
It was a fleeting interruption, scarcely visible, yet it marked the first crack in the serenity that rarely abandoned her.
She unfolded the page just enough to read.
Whatever was written there drained the warmth from her gaze for the briefest of moments before her expression settled once again into perfect composure.
She slipped the aged sheet aside and restored the remaining documents to their parcel.
Carrying the folded page with her, she crossed to an ornate wardrobe. Behind a row of books concealed within its polished interior lay a narrow compartment known only to her. She placed the paper inside before closing the hidden panel, erasing every sign that it had ever existed.
Then she lifted the parcel, smoothed its weathered wrapping with absent care, and left the room.
The familiar smile had already returned.
In the hallway, she encountered a servant.
" Place this in Sir's study."
"Certainly, Madam."
The servant accepted the parcel.
She watched him leave before turning away, her footsteps measured, her bearing as graceful and untroubled as ever.
But behind the concealed panel within her wardrobe, a single forgotten sheet lay undisturbed.
Classroom- Morning Time
The classroom settled the instant the teacher entered.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as students sat straighter, textbooks opened, and notebooks appeared on desks with remarkable speed.
He walked to the front of the room, placed the attendance register on the desk, and adjusted his spectacles.
"Page forty-three."
He had barely begun explaining the first paragraph when a cheerful voice burst through the room.
"Pick up your phone! Pick up your phone! Someone actually likes you enough to call!"
The ringtone was impossibly loud.
The entire class froze.
Every pair of eyes drifted toward the teacher.
Without the slightest change in expression, he reached into his pocket, silenced the phone, returned it to his coat, and looked back at the class.
"...Continue reading."
His voice remained as calm and stern as ever.
The lesson carried on as though nothing had happened.
The moment the final bell rang, the teacher collected his books and left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
For exactly three seconds, the room remained silent.
Then the classroom exploded.
Laughter bounced off the walls.
Some students collapsed onto their desks, pounding the wood with their fists. Others were laughing so hard they struggled to breathe.
"I can't believe that was his ringtone!"
"And he acted like nothing happened!"
"I nearly got caught laughing!"
Cut-
By the following morning, the story had spread in almost half of the other classes.
As the teacher entered the classroom, an uneasy silence settled over the students.
He placed his books on the desk.
"Open your—"
From somewhere near the back came a faint whisper.
"...Someone actually likes you enough to call."
Someone quickly buried their face in a notebook.
The teacher stopped speaking.
Slowly, he looked up.
His eyes swept across the room.
"Who said that?"
Silence.
The students stared ahead with expressions so innocent they deserved awards.
"I asked a question."
He narrowed his eyes.
"If I hear another unnecessary comment during my class, the entire row responsible will remain after school."
"Yes, sir," the class answered in perfect unison.
For a while, peace returned.
Then, just as he began writing the next equation...
"...Pick up your phone..."
The whisper was barely audible.
"...Someone actually likes you enough to call..."
A muffled snort escaped from somewhere near the windows.
The teacher's chalk stopped halfway across the board.
His shoulders stiffened.
He took a slow breath before turning around.
"I fail to understand what is so amusing."
Several students stared at their desks with heroic determination.
One boy looked so intensely at his textbook that he appeared to be memorizing every letter on the page.
The teacher folded his arms.
"I trust you've all finished enjoying yesterday's... incident."
A faint warmth rose to his ears despite every effort to remain composed.
A few students noticed.
That only made suppressing their laughter even harder.
He cleared his throat.
"If any of you have this much energy, I suggest you direct it toward your studies."
Another silence settled over the room.
The teacher sighed inwardly, picked up the chalk once more, and resumed the lesson with as much dignity as he could salvage.