I reached back to my classroom and slumped into my seat as if my body was dragged through a storm. My mind was a scattered mess of thoughts crashing into each other. What had just happened?
A double suicide pact?
Ridiculous.
I wasn't the kind of person who'd say yes to something like that. I wasn't even the kind of person who talked to people like him. These things belonged in movies, in news stories—not in my life. Definitely not me.
The classroom noises felt far away. Muffled. The screeching chalk on the board, the quarrels of boys in the back row, the high-pitched giggles of the girls near the windows—it all blurred into a background hum. I sat by the window, as always. Left-most row, middle seat. My private little space.
The breeze was gentle that day, as if the world was pretending to be kind.
But I couldn't stop thinking. That guy on the terrace. His words. His deal. The way he looked at me like he knew.
I tried to distract myself by peering out the window, eyes locked on the school ground. Anything to avoid the weight curling in my chest. Not just minutes ago I almost ended myself and now, back to my usual seat. It felt unreal.I must've zoned out for too long, because the teacher's voice cracked through the haze like thunder.
"Kriti, do you want to go to the ground?" followed by the students gauging their eyes at me.
Laughter. A sting of mockery. I felt their giggles ripple through the silence I got lost in. I just looked down.
Everything inside me felt light and heavy at the same time—a weird kind of floating. I didn't belong in that room, not really. My thoughts weren't there. They were still stuck on the rooftop, with a boy who offered Oreos like it was salvation.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a slim paperback. A habit I'd picked up over the years, on the days when loneliness felt louder than usual. I used to bring books to school so I wouldn't have to sit idle while others had their inside jokes and group projects. Over time, I realized people only sought me out when they needed help with tests or notes.
Books never did that.
They didn't use me. They didn't shout. They didn't call me names or taunted me. They simply waited, page after page, for me to show up. They had dignity to them. A calmness that didn't ask anything from me. Sometimes, I cried into them. And they just… absorbed it. I didn't need to pretend to be someone.
Today's escape was The Great Gatsby. I slipped it beneath the desk, balancing the pages between my knees, turning the pages one by one with my fingertips. I'd mastered the art of reading discreetly—glancing up every few minutes to make it seem like I was taking notes, when in reality, I was in West Egg, watching Gatsby throw parties for Daisy hoping she likes him back again.
Sir's lecture on trigonometry droned on, but I wasn't listening.
I had just settled into the rhythm of the classroom disappearing when I felt it. Something unfamiliar. Eyes on me.
I looked up, instinctively. And yep - there he was.
Standing by the window in the corridor, like a low budget hero, just outside our classroom .That same ridiculous grin plastered on his face. Like he'd found a toy to play with or something. Confidence. The look of stupidity. Unbothered.
And for some reason, he was looking right at me.
My heart leapt—whether in shock or annoyance, I couldn't tell. I turned my gaze away quickly, pretending not to notice. But I could feel him, like sunlight burning on the back of my neck. Every few seconds, I risked a side glance.
He was still there. Still watching. For ten whole minutes.
No shame. No explanation. Just standing and smiling like some idiot who'd won a prize.
Other students started to notice too. They didn't say anything directly, but the glances, the whispers—they were catching on. That he was standing weirdly still. That his eyes hadn't left me.
Then, he raised his arms. Palms up, above his head.
Detention pose.
I nearly laughed. It was such a ridiculous way to cover his tracks, but it worked. The class assumed he was being punished—probably for loitering. That's the exact type of person he looked like. A few kids rolled their eyes. Some snickered. Some might be wondering why he is standing next to our class. But no one knew the truth.
Just me.
And for the life of me, I couldn't understand why. Why me? What was with this sudden fixation? Why did he look at me like that—like we shared something secret and unbreakable?
As the period ended, our teacher collected his notes and stepped out. The guy took the opportunity and vanished – poof, just as quickly, slipping away before anyone could question him.
But that stupid smug smile— it stayed. Burned into my mind like it belonged there.
Because of him, I couldn't concentrate. Not on the board. Not on Gatsby. Not even on the breeze that used to be my companion.
I hated him for ruining my silence. My peace and solitude. I hated that some part of me… didn't want it to stop as well.
The classes dragged on for another hour, and then—finally—the last period. I didn't want it to end. There was something comforting about being here. Inside these four walls, everything felt quieter, slower… safer.
I had to return to the same storm waiting for me. But here, for just a while, I could breathe.
The bell rang and it echoed through the school. We performed our school prayer and waited for the class teacher to leave. The last period was over and it was time for me to go back to the den I came from everyday. I stood up, pushed my seat behind me and shrugged my bag over the shoulders carefully, so that my cuts wouldn't show accidentally. And while I was walking out of my row, towards the class exit, a familiar voice called my name out loud.
"Kriti! – Thanks for the book. Bye!"
I turned around to look only to realise it was Shreya, returning the novel I'd lent her, handing it to me in an instant before hurrying off to the corridor. She always seemed to be in a hurry—being a van student, she was always late, mostly because she could never stop chatting with her endless parade of friends.
Warmness oozed from her. She reminded me of a puppy, happy and jolly around everyone she met. Not an ounce of malice in her eyes. We shared this relationship of book discussion and sharing. The funny part was, she rarely finished the ones I gave her. She just asked for them to kill time when her friends couldn't gossip with her. But I didn't mind. It was a quiet kind of bond.
I walked out of the class, quietly blending in on the stream of students and headed toward the bus stand, eventually falling into line with the people going to my sector.
But today, my eyes weren't drifting aimlessly like usual. They were searching—softly, half-consciously—just maybe trying to catch a glimpse of someone.
I didn't spot him on the way to the parking lot. Just the usual noise: students swapping stories, cracking jokes, throwing casual slurs like they were candy. I'd grown used to their voices in the background. But today, their rhythm didn't feel the same.
I reached the doors of my bus – Route Number 12 and decided to board it, finally ending my unconscious search.
Was he a walker? Did he take a different bus?
I realized I knew nothing about him. Not even his name.