Everything was fine—normal, peaceful, even a little boring—until life decided to hit me with the kind of twist I only thought existed in the stories I secretly read.
Let me start at the beginning.
My name is Tshegyal Ongmo. I'm 18, and honestly, my two favourite things in the world are eating and sleeping. I love to read, especially romance. Dark, twisted ones with bad boys and even darker ones. But shhh... don't tell my parents. I also write occasionally. I've even uploaded some of my stories on social media, not that anyone at home knows. Even though I'm lazy, I do pretty well in school. My parents run a bakery, simple but loved, and the smell of bread and cakes has always been my comfort zone.
After finishing Class Ten—the biggest turning point for every Bhutanese student—I did well in my exams. Maybe it was faith, maybe fate, but I got an offer from ACE Academy, the most elite and prestigious high school in the country. A place only the top students—or the richest families—could dream of. When the acceptance letter came, my parents were overjoyed. They told me, "It was once in a lifetime, Tshegyal. Do not let it pass ." And in an instant, I found myself preparing to pack my belongings for boarding school.
When I arrived at ACE Academy... I swear my jaw dropped and didn't close for a full ten minutes. The place looked less like a high school and more like a luxury university campus. The buildings gleamed with glass walls, marble floors, and modern architecture. And the students? They walked around as they stepped straight out of a fashion magazine, confident, polished, dripping in designer labels.
The dorms? Don't even get me started.
There were three types of rooms.
The basic one: assigned to scholarship students like me.
The paid dorm: more expensive than some people's entire rent. Think comfy hotel bed, a geyser in the bathroom, and your own toilet.
And then the ultimate bungalow, reserved only for the children of investors. Yep—actual bungalows. Inside a high school campus.
At first, I couldn't believe such a place existed in Bhutan. But soon, I found out ACE was funded by international investors—from the USA, UK, Australia, Japan, South Korea, and Thailand. Suddenly, it made sense. This school wasn't just elite; it was global.
Still, I was happy with my room. Small, but cozy. I had my own wardrobe, a study desk, and a shared bathroom—with a geyser. And the best part? We were allowed to bring electronics. Unlike other boarding schools, I could keep my phone and laptop, which meant I could continue writing my stories, even if only secretly.
Even better, I met two amazing roommates—who became my best friends.
Tshering Choden, tall and beautiful, got into ACE on a sports scholarship. She's a basketball star, and her dad is the Gup of her village.
Karma Dema, thoughtful and kind, is here through an academic scholarship. Her parents moved to Australia, so she stays here full-time.
We were the perfect trio. We laughed, studied, helped each other sneak snacks past lights-out, and kept our heads low. Why? Because there was one unspoken rule to surviving ACE:
Never cross the "Ace Students."
They were legends. Or maybe nightmares.
The school's crown jewels. They'd been here since kindergarten, and now, in our final year, they ruled the school like royalty.
First, there was Dradul Lhagyel—tall, disgustingly handsome, and rich beyond imagination. The kind of boy you'd see in K-dramas, except in real life, he wasn't the swoon-worthy love interest. He was the villain with no horns but all the danger. Rumor was that once a boy spilled juice on him, and the next day, that student was gone. Vanished. Just like that.
Second, Joshuo Namgyel Dorji. Pale, elegant, and silent. With his light brown hair and cold demeanor, he looked like he walked out of a vampire novel. His mother is British. His father? A former two-time Prime Minister of Bhutan and now the founder of "Your Glory," a multinational company. Joshuo rarely spoke, but when he did—people listened. He is the Silent Killer.
Third, Yangkhil Dema Gyeltshen—a real-life model. Slim, tall, with a perfect bob haircut and fierce confidence. Her mother is Dorji Yangkhil, the most famous actress in Bhutan, who made it big in Bollywood and even Hollywood. Her father comes from royalty. The girl once snipped off someone's hair because she just copied her style. I didn't want to believe it, but people had pictorial evidence.
They were called TRIO ACE, it's cringe, for me, but no one—not even teachers—messed with them.
So, naturally, I kept my distance. We all did. It was fine for one year.
But everything changed today.
The first day of my final year. I was late, of course—running across the corridor with my winter project clutched in my hands, I was lost in the library, which was bigger than my house. If I didn't submit it today, I'd get a zero. And that would mean no college. No future. Nothing.
I ran faster, heart thudding, breathing sharp. And just as I reached the steps, it happened.
I didn't see a wet floor sign. The ground slipped from under me.
And in those few terrifying seconds, my life flashed before my eyes.
I haven't even finished the Harry Potter series! I haven't even lived half of my life! I can't die now—God, please!
And just like that... I didn't hit the ground.
Instead, I landed on something—someone—that felt suspiciously like a hard mattress.
"Dradul, are you okay?" said a soft, concerned voice.
My soul nearly left my body.
Oh no.
No. No. No. Please, God, not him.
I blinked up, horrified.
And there he was.
Dradul Lhagyel, glaring down at me like I was the dirt beneath his designer shoes.
My heart pounded—not with love, but pure, soul-shattering fear. I pointed at his face in shock.
He touched his nose.
Blood.
"Oh. My. God."
He was bleeding. I made the devil bleed.
He stared at me as I'd just declared war against him. And right then, I knew...
This is how my nightmare begins.
You'd think it would play out like one of those slow-motion romance dramas. You know, where the clumsy girl falls into the arms of the cold-hearted prince, and their eyes meet, and it's magical?
No. This wasn't that.
I was frozen—literally numb—like my soul had left my body, and I was just... sitting there, staring. My body had landed on his like a sack of rice. I know I am heavy. I didn't move. I couldn't.
Joshuo stepped forward, clearly fed up with my statue-like behavior. With a quick, annoyed push, he nudged me aside and handed a white, crisp handkerchief to Dradul.
"Ahh—!"
Dradul let out a sharp cry of pain. The sound sliced through the air like a knife, and I felt my entire body flinch.
I was still sitting on the cold floor, looking up at the boy everyone feared—the boy I had just crushed with my full body weight. My heart was hammering. My legs felt like jelly. But somehow, my survival instincts kicked in, and I scrambled to my feet.
"I—I'm so sorry... Are you okay?" I asked, stumbling toward him, panic rising in my throat like bile.
That was my next mistake.
My old school shoes, the ones I hadn't bothered to change this morning? Yeah, the soles were worn flat. Slippery as ice.
And fate, that cruel little devil, decided that wasn't enough.
As I stepped forward, my foot slid—again. My arms flailed, and before I could even gasp, I fell forward.
Right onto Dradul. Again.
But this time...
My knee—God, no—my knee landed directly where it shouldn't, onto his precious thing down there.
Dradul let out a low, choked sound and crumpled, his body folding as he crouched to the ground. His face twisted in a mixture of pain, rage, and embarrassment. Blood from his nose still dripped, and now this?
His eyes met mine. Red. Burning. Deadly.
"You—!" he growled through clenched teeth.
I stumbled back, horrified. My lips parted, but no words came out.
Joshuo, ever the calm one, immediately called for the medical team. I didn't even know our school had a health team respond that fast within minutes, they were there, rushing in with urgency.
They carefully lifted Dradul, who was still glaring at me as I had personally ended his bloodline. But just as they were about to carry him off...
He turned his head, locking eyes with mine.
And with a voice low, cold, and terrifyingly calm, he said:
"Count your days."