The wind was rather strong today. It pulled my hair back with such force, it felt like someone was grabbing them—like the sky itself didn't want to let me go.
From where I stood, I could see everything. The ground below. The primary wing of the school. Kids playing basketball during recess. Cars on the road, rushing past like they had somewhere important to be. Like they had purpose.
I was on the terrace.
It was my third time here. Normally, no one's allowed up—only the cleaning staff. But I'd found a way through the auditorium staircase. A forgotten side door. It felt like fate. I was looking for a place to do it… and then this secret spot revealed itself, almost like a sign. Maybe from God. Maybe it was just a coincidence.
I started coming here just before lunch break. Sat in the corner and waited out the whole period until the bell rang. Not doing much. Just sitting. Watching. Thinking.
I had made up my mind a while ago. I was only waiting for the right day.
It made my mind earlier this month—the day I was slapped across the face. That moment should have broken me, but oddly, it made me hold on tighter to life. I thought maybe I could still survive this. Maybe I could still breathe through it.
But not today. Today, something inside me broke for good. I was humiliated again, and this time, it shattered what little hope I had left.
So I came here. I wasn't planning to wait for the bell today. Today, I was going to do it.
I looked across the terrace, slowly walking around, trying to take in everything—for one last time.
My eyes fell on the Banyan tree on the ground, the shade under which I used to have lunch with my friends when we were younger. We didn't hang out much anymore. Different streams, different classes, new friend groups. But I remembered how we used to laugh until our stomachs hurt, watching boys trip over themselves while chasing each other for the most ridiculous reasons. It was stupid, silly… and warm.
I let myself sink into the few sweet memories I had.
The time I got a golden star for scoring highest in class.
The time I helped an old lady carry her bags, and she gave me a candy as thanks—I still had it, tucked in my little "special things" box.
The times I whispered jokes during classes, gossiped with my girls, passed folded notes filled with hearts and terrible doodles.
They weren't many, but they were mine.
And just as I began to smile at the past, I was reminded—again and again—why I couldn't stay here. Why I didn't belong anymore. Why those moments felt like someone else's life now.
I walked slowly around the terrace, scanning the edges, trying to decide where I should jump from—somewhere quiet, where I wouldn't draw too much attention.
A small part of me wanted to do it right above the ground's main entrance. Maybe then people would finally look up. Maybe they'd finally understand how much I was hurting. But no… I couldn't do that to someone else. I didn't want to leave behind a scar like that. Someone would find me no matter where I fell. Better it be somewhere out of the way.
But then I saw him.
Someone was already there—sitting near the edge facing the school's entrance. Not exactly at the tip, but close enough to see the drop below. Hidden enough that no one would notice him from the ground.
I froze.
How? How was someone else here? This place was my secret. I found it by accident, while trying to find the girls' washroom behind the auditorium. You couldn't stumble upon this terrace unless you were truly looking for something. And of all people, it was a guy?
Panic gripped me. My mind went blank. I was planning to do it today. What if he figured it out? What if he reported me? They'd drag me back to that hell. I couldn't let that happen.
I needed to act normal. Keep things under control. This place—this plan—had to stay a secret.
"And I thought only I knew this spot. Do you come here often?" turning his neck as he probably heard my footsteps, he asked with a soft voice, almost gentle. There was sadness in it.
I think he studies in my grade. Section B, maybe.
"Yeah, a few times," I replied, trying to sound casual. "What about you?"
"Nope," he said, looking down at his hands. "I just come up here sometimes… when I need air."
It sounded real. Like he wasn't just killing time.
I wanted to ask him how he found this place. But I stopped myself. The more we talked, the more chances there were that something would slip—about my plans, about my reasons. I had to keep the conversation from going anywhere dangerous.
"Not having lunch today? Here—have this!" he said cheerfully, holding out a half-open packet of biscuits.
The sadness in his voice was suddenly gone. It threw me off. Just a moment ago, he sounded like he had something heavy inside him. Now he was… smiling?
It felt odd. Honestly, weird. Who offers snacks on a deserted terrace to a stranger?
I decided I should leave. The longer I stayed, the more uncomfortable I felt. Without saying much, I turned around to walk away.
Then he called out, "You're Kriti, right? From Section D. I've heard of you. You're really pretty!"
I stopped in my tracks.
What?
A compliment? Now? Of all times?
I turned back slightly, confused, almost frowning. Why would someone say something like that so suddenly… so casually?
"Thanks?" I mumbled, still unsure how to process it. And then, before I could stop myself, the question slipped out. "How did you find this place?"
I hadn't meant to ask. But his strange behaviour distracted me enough to forget why I had come here in the first place.
"Oh," he said, looking out at the sky.
"I was looking for places to jump off from."