The auto stopped just outside the tall iron gates of Delhi Public School. Aryan Singh stepped out quietly, his bag slung low over one shoulder. The winter air smelled faintly of diesel and early morning dust. He tilted his head up — green-white building, flagpole in the center, students already rushing inside. He adjusted his collar and walked in without looking around much.
It had been months since he'd heard so many voices in one place. Boys shouting, girls laughing, sneakers squeaking on the floor tiles. His ears weren't used to it. In Syria, noise meant danger. Here, it was just… normal. Still, his shoulders stayed slightly tight.
"Hey, new kid?" a voice said beside him. A boy with a cheerful face, short hair, and a Delhi accent was jogging up to him."I'm Aditya. New, huh? Section B, right?"
Aryan nodded. "Yeah."
Aditya grinned. "Don't look so serious, bro. You'll get eaten alive here if you act like that. "He started walking beside him, talking non-stop — about teachers, about how the canteen samosas were overrated, about which gang controlled which spot.
"There are three main groups here," Aditya said. "Apex, Shadow Crew, and Street Kings. Apex is like the rich spoiled ones — led by Raghav. Please don't mess with them unless you like trouble. The Shadow Crew is mostly comprised of gym enthusiasts and some former sports players. Street Kings… kinda mixed crowd."
Aryan listened quietly. He didn't interrupt, didn't react.
They reached the lockers. Aditya showed him his — dented, scratched, number 47. When Aryan opened it, the hinges squealed. Nothing inside. Clean start.
"Anyway," Aditya said, "just keep your head down, alright? People here test new students for fun."
Aryan gave a small smile. "I'll be fine."
Lunch Break — The First Spark
By noon, the sun outside had turned harsh. The corridors were loud again — bursts of laughter, gossip, and shouts echoing through the hall. Aryan and Aditya sat near the staircase, sharing a packet of chips.
That's when three seniors walked up. Apex gang. You could tell by the way they walked — not rushed, not hesitant. Confident.
"Aditya," one of them said, "didn't you borrow my notes last week?"Aditya frowned. "No, I didn't."
The senior smirked. "So you're calling me a liar?"He shoved Aditya's shoulder lightly — just a test, to see how far he could push. Aditya tried to step back, but the boy's hand caught his shirt.
Aryan's fingers twitched. He stayed seated for a second, watching. He waited until the senior's second shove came — heavier this time, enough to make Aditya stumble back. Then Aryan stood up.
"Let him go."
The senior turned. "And who the hell are you?"
Aryan didn't answer. He didn't need to. His eyes didn't move from the senior's wrist — loose grip, bad stance, weight on the back foot.
The boy tried to push him. Aryan's hand moved once — calm, short, precise. He caught the wrist, twisted slightly, and shifted one step forward. The boy's own momentum pulled him off balance, and he dropped to one knee before he understood what had happened.
No fancy spin, no cinematic kick — just one clean motion, perfectly timed.
The other two seniors hesitated. They saw something they couldn't name — not aggression, not showmanship. Just control.
"Bro, he didn't even move," one whispered.
Aryan released the wrist, stepped back, and said softly, "Enough."
The boys backed away slowly, muttering under their breath.
Aditya was frozen. "What… what was that?"
Aryan shrugged. "Just balance."
Aftermath — Whisper in the Corridors
By the last bell, the story had already changed twice. Someone said the new kid flipped a senior with one finger. Someone else said he didn't blink once during the fight. By the time school ended, one phrase was floating through the campus:
"That new guy — they're calling him Ghost."
Aditya caught up with Aryan near the gate."You know, people think you're some MMA champ or something."
Aryan smiled faintly. "People think too much."
Aditya grinned. "Still… thanks for helping me."
Aryan nodded. "Next time, try walking away early."
As he walked toward the main road, the noise of traffic replaced the chatter of students. Aryan's face went calm again. The day had been ordinary on the surface, but something inside him was stirring.
For years, he'd promised himself to stay invisible — to never fight unless necessary. But sometimes, when he saw someone being cornered, old instincts woke up like ghosts.
And now, it seemed the ghosts had found him again.