It had been two days since the night of the Carnival— two days since the lights went out.

  But the noise of the Carnival visitors was replaced with the whispers of the students at Silver Oak Academy.

  By morning, the school gate was crowded.

  Uniforms pressed, whispers echoed and everyone waited— not for class, but for him.

  In front of it, Manav Prakash stood, his feet tapping along the rhythm of his impatience occasionally.

  His hair was jittered, shirt untucked and his tie hung loose— the look of someone who clearly couldn't sleep the night before.

  Every few seconds, he craned his neck towards the road, a soda bottle pressing under his grip when he saw no one but stray dogs.

  Then came a sound— low, deep, mechanical.

  All eyes turned to witness a black Mercedes purring to a halt before the gate.

  The polished mirror reflected the bright sunlight, blurring the vision of those who saw it for long.

  The driver stepped out, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his face pale and emotionless.

  He walked towards the rear door with a purpose, then finally opened it.

  And Vijay Chauhan returned to Silver Oak Academy.

  He stepped out slowly, like he owned the ground that awaited his arrival.

  The crisp white uniform clung to him like an armor, tie knotted with surgical precision.

  Chains and rings flashed like trophies, gleaming under the sunlight.

  Yet, his left hand— the one Yug broke— was cleanly wrapped with a thick bandage.

  It was power that tried to pretend like he wasn't bleeding at all.

  All the students, who were also a part of the Eternal Order, instantly fell back, splitting the path open for Vijay.

  No one spoke. No one even breathed loudly.

  Vijay's boots sliced against the marble as he moved forward, not meeting his gaze with any of the students.

  Manav straightened, his grin widening with pride. He popped open the soda bottle— fsshhh— the fizz cutting through the tension like a celebration.

  He offered it with both hands. Vijay, without looking at Manav, grabbed the bottle.

  He walked past as he patted Manav's shoulder— a gesture so small, but so divine for Manav.

  And with that, the 'King of the Eternal Order' moved through the corridor, surrounded with lowered eyes and swallowed voices.

  But then, from the other end of the corridor, came Yug Verma.

  He was laughing on a call, one earphone dangling, but his smile was clearly genuine.

  He carried the same childish ease he had forgotten since he met Vijay for the first time.

  But the laughter stopped.

  He felt a gust of wind grazing him, but it was Vijay who brushed past him. Their shoulders barely touched, yet no lips parted.

  No smirk. No insults. Nothing.

  Only deep silence.

  Yug froze.

  The car drifting away, the soda faintly fizzing, and Vijay's boots echoing on impact— all of it blended into one hollow note ringing in his ears.

  For a second, the sunlight turned pale.

  All of Yug's memories pressed down on him, like the weight of old terror returning.

  Even after defeating Vijay in a dream that he didn't even remember, Yug's pulse spiked, his heartbeat thundered faster and louder.

  The old fear— the one that lived in his mind since the first day he met Vijay— crawled back like it had never left.

  Yug didn't turn back. He didn't need to.

  Because sometimes, you don't have to face the Devil to know that he's smirking.

  ——————————————

  The fan turned lazily above, slicing the silence of the orphanage into thin, uneven pieces.

  Morning light seeped through the rusted window grill, finally falling across a wooden desk.

  Harinarayan sat behind it— his fingers Interlocked, his calm expressions hiding the storm of worry brewing behind it.

  Across from him, Tara D'Souza sat with her legs folded tightly, her hands rubbing against each other in an attempt to erase the tremor of her actions from her palms.

  She kept tugging her hair, twisting it, pulling it— sometimes enough for strands of hair to break loose and fall, like small victims of her restlessness.

  Harinarayan's voice was soft. Measured.

  The same voice that consoled crying orphans in the middle of the night, now tried to connect to the girl he considered his own.

  "Tara… it's alright. I'm here. What made you do all of it that night?"

  Her eyes shifted to the floor, then back to him, then back to the floor again.

  All of her answers were whispers in the fog— vague, escaping before it could even be held.

  Harinarayan leaned forward, trying to guide her words out instead of forcing them out.

  But, she kept slipping away from her questions, except for one thing she was clear with.

  "Harshit… left town. The next morning. With his mother. Just… left quietly."

  Harinarayan's eyes lowered.

  A heavy silence lingered between them, coated with sorrow pressing against disappointment, and both lost.

  He took a slow breath, about to speak again— but a sound cut through the room.

  A ringtone. It lasted for a second.

  Faint. Muffled. Ronak outside the room.

  Tara flinched, and Harinarayan turned back.

  But when no other sound followed, they dismissed it as a trick of their nerves.

  Outside, in a quiet, dark corner, Ronak stood.

  The phone in his pocket, his thumb trembling against the mute button..

  He leaned against the wall, listening.

  Every word Tara uttered stabbed him deeper than the wound on his chest.

  The same chest that was hidden under a layer of bandage— a reminder of the hammer Tara swung at him that night.

  And yet—

  He kept on loving her.

  Foolishly. Quietly. Completely.

  "She's cool… she's talking to the old man. All of it will be good."

  But his phone rang again, and this time he had no choice.

  He walked away from the door into an empty corridor, his voice low and sharp.

  "Tarun, what the hell—"

  From the other end, Tarun's voice came flat. It was like a boy exhausted by the thought of what was coming next for him, and for others.

  "You're joining school tomorrow again, right?"

  Ronak frowned.

  "Yeah, why?"

  A long pause, followed by Tarun, whose voice dropped lower— cold, reluctant and heavy.

  "Then come to the old storage room after school. And be ready for our doom."

  The line went dead.

  Ronak lowered the phone, staring at it. A swarm of emotions ran through him— confusion, irritation, and a little fear.

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  ——————————————

  The next day, even when the final bell had rung a few hours ago, the corridors hummed faintly.

  Only a few shadows moved across the marble floors— the ones that refused to leave even after others did.

  A door creaked open.

  The old storage room, sealed close for years, began to breathe again.

  Kritika stepped inside first.

  Dust rose in like a storm, glittering in the slanted rays of the final rays of evening summer.

  She covered her face with a handkerchief and looked around— broken stools, fractured cupboards and the smell of damp wood— a graveyard for the forgotten.

  Placing a laptop and a printer with a faint smile on the center table, she began to work.

  Sticky notes bloomed across the walls— yellow, blue, pink— with formulas, notes and messy reminders.

  Her handwriting ran wild, filling up all the corners of the room and leaving nothing behind.

  Finally, she stepped back and smothered a large sheet against the front wall.

  In bold, unshaken strokes, it read:

  "EXAM PLAN: WEEK 1"

  They stood with her hands at her waist, looking at the heroic words against the peeling painting of the wall with pride.

  Outside the door, Rishabh stood with Principal Mehra. His posture was respectful, slightly bowed down with gratitude and a steady voice.

  "Thank you, sir. For the room."

  Principal Mehra chuckled, brushing the back of his neck with a smile.

  "Oh, come on. You earned it after saving me from Manav and his circus, you know?"

  A soft smile tugged at Rishabh's lips.

  But soon, the Principal's voice dipped lower.

  "Still… I'd be careful. Vikrant Chauhan's got his eyes everywhere. Especially on you kids."

  The name stuck to Rishabh's mind like a ghost.

  Rishabh quietly held Mehra's gaze.

  "We are just here to study, sir. That's all."

  Mehra nodded, the echoes of his sigh still lingering in the air even when his footsteps slowly faded away.

  Then, came a voice from down the hallway.

  "Studying is fine. But you can't fight with an empty stomach, brothers, and a sister!"

  Tarun entered, his shirt tucked out, his hands carrying two huge bags of chips and snacks.

  He dropped them on the table with a thud that sent more dust clouds flying.

  "This," he declared proudly, "is what I call real motivation. If I go down, I'm going down full."

  Rishabh's eyes rolled. Kritika controlled her laugh at Tarun's determined face.

  And a few seconds later, the door opened yet again—

  Yug walked in, one arm balancing a mountain of books, barely able to hold them for longer, and the other supporting Ronak like a crutch.

  "I can walk, man." Ronak muttered, grimacing.

  "Yeah? And fall flat on the ground again? Not happening." Yug replied, his eyes fixated at the books.

  He tried to steady the stack of books, but all of a sudden, Ronak sneezed.

  And just like that— CRASH!

  The books scattered in all directions, pages flapping like startled birds.

  A few of them landed on Tarun's sacred stash of local snacks.

  "My food!" Tarun yelled, diving across the floor like a soldier ready for sacrifice.

  He managed to secure both the bags— one half-crushed, one still safe and sound.

  Rishabh facepalmed.

  Kritika crossed her arms, shaking her head.

  "Yeah," she said flatly, disappointed, looking at Rishabh, "We're definitely studying."

  ——————————————

  Day One

  Rishabh and Kritika sat at the head of the table like two overworked professors, surrounded by old question papers, notes and books.

  Rishabh scribbled with mechanical precision, Kritika verified each line with her hair tied up and patience tied down.

  And the other boys? They were on study prison.

  Tarun leaned back on a chair, dangerously close to fall down. With his arms crossed, he teased Rishabh with a grin.

  "You know, you could have made it earlier."

  Rishabh didn't look up. Not an answer.

  That seemed to make it even worse.

  Tired, the musician inside Ronak awakened, tapping a pen on the desk.

  Yug began to hum under his breath— something unusual, catchy.

  Tarun grinned wider, and then joined in with a terrible beatbox like a poor generator.

  Rishabh's pen stopped.

  The hum turned into a rhythm, the rhythm into a song, and within seconds, the study group wasn't about studying anymore.

  It transformed into an accidental rock band, which was born out of boredom.

  Rishabh's jaw tightened. His shoulders twitched. Once. Twice. And then—

  "QUIET!"

  The roar of Rishabh cracked through air like frightening thunder.

  Everyone stopped. Even Tarun dropped his imaginary microphone.

  Kritika's laughter slipped into a snort before it was smothered by a notebook.

  But when Rishabh glared at her, she went back to writing in an instant, fear taking over.

  For a few seconds, silence held the room— then Rishabh went back to writing, pretending that his ears were not red.

  Finally, Kritika smiled faintly. So did Rishabh.

  Their quiet little truce— they secretly enjoyed it.

  ——————————————

  Day Two

  Kritika stood by the board, her hair in a messy bun, pen tucked behind her ear, words of 'Robert Frost' flowing from her lips.

  Her tone was soft, rhythmic.

  But all the words seemed to have bounced off the boys' heads.

  Rishabh answered each and every question without even looking away from the printer, as he printed the questions.

  Tarun doodled on his notebook aimlessly.

  Yug had half of his head inside a chips packet.

  Ronak groaned, standing up from his chair.

  "My friends, Anaya, Jay, Farhan, all of them are in the orphanage class. They don't have to go through this pain!"

  Rishabh glanced up. "Go join them, then."

  The room went awkwardly still.

  Ronak looked at him for a long time, before finally sitting down with a sigh.

  "Fine, I will stay…"

  Kritika smiled, like a proud mother looking at her child choose the right path.

  "Good. That's my boy."

  But then, all eyes turned to Yug, his face now completely submerged in the chips packet.

  "Yug," Kritika warned, "don't eat like Tarun. We've got more food with us."

  Tarun blinked. "What did I do—"

  A chalk flew from his hand. THUNK!

  Yug jolted up as the chalk hit his head, and the room burst into laughter when everyone finally understood that he was asleep the whole time.

  "Unbelievable," Rishabh muttered, "Next time I see you sleep, I will tape your eyes open."

  ——————————————

  Day Three

  Yug had his eyes taped open. Literally.

  Everyone, even Rishabh, had tears in their eyes— purely from laughter, not emotion.

  Rishabh, pretending it was normal, scribbled a chemical equation on the board.

  "Alright, Tarun's question."

  Tarun shot up from his chair, strutted confidently and surprisingly, answered right.

  The room was in shock, the wind blew like even it was shocked at what just happened.

  Rishabh managed his poker face, "Nice, lucky guess. You're learning—"

  "This is too easy, Rishabh. I can even do all of these with closed eyes!"

  Ronak raised his hands, his eyes glowing with a mix of jealousy and confidence.

  Rishabh smirked, writing the next question for Ronak— one of the toughest ones for their grade.

  It was a complex equation, an entanglement of chemicals that made Ronak freeze instantly.

  Then, Ronak began to talk slowly.

  "Equations… are like music, right? Both sides need balance. A melody of reactions and… one note off, it becomes noise."

  Kritika smiled, "And the answer?"

  Ronak quickly looked down, frustrated and clueless at the same time.

  Yug leaned back, crossed arms, voice lazy but warm, "Just do what you said, fool."

  Something quickly clicked.

  Ronak began to see chemicals as notes. He scribbled, crossed out, and wrote again— he finally solved it.

  Applause erupted. Tarun whooped.

  For the first time, learning felt like winning

  ——————————————

  Day Four

  The store room was dim, lit by one single flickering lamp on the table.

  Everyone was in deep sleep— except for Yug and Kritika.

  Ronak and Tarun had somehow fallen asleep on the floor, arms tangling around each other like they were a mismatched couple.

  Tarun snored loud enough to make the nearby papers shake, and Ronak snored back like percussion, like they were dueting in dreams.

  But both of them shivered, and Yug saw it.

  He chuckled softly, pulling out the blanket that once covered it, and put it over the boys.

  When he turned back, Rishabh was asleep too, with a pen still in his hands. His head had dropped gently on Kritika's shoulder, while his face looked like he was solving questions.

  Kritika smiled quietly.

  "You'll catch a cold."

  "It's way better than both of them fighting tomorrow morning," Yug whispered.

  Kritika shook her head, "You should sleep."

  "If I don't solve these quadratic equations, Rishabh will kill me in his sleep."

  "You have done enough, Yug."

  But Yug's pen kept on moving.

  "Not enough for me. Everyone here's got something special." He faintly chuckled, as if he pitied on his own.

  "Ronak's music. Rishabh and you are geniuses. Tarun is strong. Even… Manav has wits and… Vijay's got authority. Me? I have nothing."

  Kritika's eyes softened.

  "Being normal in this madness is special, Yug. You secretly hold us together. You don't quit. That's special."

  He chuckled, feeling ashamed about talking too much, as well as giggling at a praise he got after a very long time.

  "Why aren't you sleeping?"

  "I used to avoid sleep. Nightmares, you know?" Kritika hesitated, "But now… I don't want this to end. I finally found someone who make it worth staying awake."

  They say silently, a quiet bond forming between exhaustion and comfort. And finally, Kritika reached for a pen.

  "Here, let me help you now."

  "I hope you don't ruin it all."

  "Just shut up."

  Then, the night began to sound like the scratching of pens, the faint noise of two people finding peace in questions.

  ——————————————

  Day Five and Six

  The last two days blurred tighter, and together.

  The air smelled of ink, hope and adrenaline.

  Yug brought food his mother made— warm, simple, filled with love.

  Ronak showed up with Farhan's guitar, declaring that he had their 'battle anthem' ready.

  Kritika had a whistle. Nobody asked why.

  Rishabh distributed mock question papers with the seriousness of an executioner.

  "The test begins now."

  All began to write, occasionally looking at each other— nervous, amused, and a bit proud.

  And then, within a few minutes—

  PEEP!

  Kritika blew the whistle. "Times up, everyone!"

  Everyone froze— and then burst out laughing.

  Even Rishabh cracked a smile.

  Chaos followed— groans, laughter, celebrations over small victories.

  Tarun flexed after getting one question right.

  Ronak played a tiny tune on his guitar.

  Rishabh confiscated Tarun's snacks box for disturbing the class.

  "Why always me!" Tarun groaned loudly, like a toy being snatched away from a little kid.

  Next, they studied in shifts.

  Rishabh explained equations, trying his best to simplify each step for better understanding.

  Ronak translated Chemistry into a rhythm, the trick that not only helped him, but everyone.

  Yug mixed up analogies, but it somehow made complete sense for everyone.

  Kritika's soulful voice made literature a piece of cake, the class enjoying 'Robert Frost' this time.

  Between the laughter and bickering, something new had grown— a sense of belonging.

  By dawn, the store room went silent again.

  They slept among scattered paper and flying dust, tired but glowing.

  For once, none of them felt alone— the abandoned room became their home.

  ——————————————

  The school bell rang before the sun reached inside the store room.

  And the entire room exploded into chaos.

  "Wake up! We're late!" Yug's voice cracked through the dust-filled air.

  Rishabh jolted upright, scrambling to find his tie in the mess they created the night before.

  "Why didn't anyone set the alarm!"

  "I did!" Ronak screamed, stuffing pens into his pocket, "But Tarun threw the phone in the bin!"

  "I thought it was a false alarm!"

  Tarun fell off the table that he decided to make his bed, landing with a thud and a muffled curse.

  Kritika rubbed her eyes, blinking through the mess of books she made her pillow.

  She tried to fix her hair with one hand and arrange the papers with another.

  They changed in record time— ties crooked, shirt wrinkled, everyone still muttering under their breath. And then came the final disaster—

  Yug opened the door with all of his force, and the wind blew on their faces.

  "My tie!" Kritika screamed as her half-knotted tie flew into the mess of books and notes.

  "Forget the tie, just run!" Yug yelled, ordering everyone one final time.

  They stormed through the corridors like wild animals let loose, dodging teachers, other students and the bell's final toll.

  Somehow— barely— they slid through the closing exam doors, gasping and sweating.

  Inside, the world quickly turned silent.

  The calm was something no one was ready for.

  Ronak clasped his hands together, praying to every God that ever existed.

  Rishabh's gaze burned through the paper as if it would melt to show answers.

  Kritika closed her eyes to recall everything she studied so far.

  Tarun stretched dramatically, cracking his neck as if he was the one who did everything.

  Yug's pen was already in his hands, pressed so tightly it looked like it would break any moment.

  The exams began.

  And time turned cruel.

  Pens moved. Pages flipped. Anxiety grew.

  Tarun peeked onto other papers, earning Rishabh's glare right into his soul.

  Ronak dropped his pen and almost his sanity.

  Kritika bit her lips, lost in numbers and words.

  Yug wrote like a man possessed by books, his heartbeat matching the tick of the clock.

  Hours bled away, feeling like barely minutes.

  And when the final bell rang, none of them moved from their seats.

  Then, they looked up, almost together and eyes met across the room— relief, exhaustion, pride, fear— and all their emotions tangled into one silent laughter.

  The air didn't feel heavy, it felt earned.

  Because whatever the results would say, this would be the first war they fought together— and walked out of, side by side.

  ——————————————

  A week later, the sun hung lazily over the school, it's light slicing through the corridors— too bright, too cruel for a day like that.

  A crowd of students gathered around the notice board, the air humming with fear and heartbeat.

  Shoes squeaked, whispers broke, someone gasped, someone laughed— but Rishabh walked slowly.

  All the others, having given up the courage to look at their results, stood in a corner, with all eyes glued to Rishabh.

  Rishabh adjusted his eyes for the tenth time.

  "It's just a list." He told himself and everyone. It sounded like it didn't belong to him.

  "If I fail," Tarun tried to ease everyone down, "I'll drop myself in a Chemistry beaker forever."

  None of them laughed, especially Yug.

  He stood silent, his pen still clicking even when there was no paper to write.

  And then, Rishabh's eyes stopped.

  His mouth opened slightly.

  "Guys, look…"

  Kritika rushed towards him, clutching her results slip like it was a verdict from heaven.

  Ronak followed, half-asleep, half in pain, shouting the name of his so-called father, Harinarayan, for help.

  A heartbeat passed.

  Rishabh Tiwari— 98%

  Kritika Tyagi— 95%

  Yug Verma— 89%

  Ronak Chaturvedi— 86%

  Tarun Singh— 82%

  "What!—" Tarun roared, "I left my essay with a 'to be continued' and they passed me!?"

  Kritika burst into laughter so suddenly she nearly fell on her knees.

  Rishabh was just muttering, still wondering where the rest of the 2% went.

  Ronak shouted, "Can you just stay happy with what you just got?!"

  Yug cracked a smile, "They passed Tarun just so that he wouldn't argue with the examiner."

  And just like that— the tension shattered.

  The five of them walked through the corridor like victors of a war no one thought they would survive.

  They celebrated in the canteen, with Tarun holding samosas like trophies and Kritika calculating how much caffeine Rishabh consumed.

  Ronak played a loud tune, grabbing the attention of the angry professors.

  Yug juggled between paying for the food and calming the professors down.

  Laughter filled the school, easy and unfiltered.

  But down the hallway, at the same corner, someone stood at the very bottom.

  Vivek Kaushal.

  He wasn't someone special— just another student the world didn't bother to remember.

  There was nothing remarkable about him, but nothing wrong either. He just tried.

  He was tall— maybe two inches shorter than Tarun— but his thin frame made him look like a shadow stretched too far.

  His uniform hung loose over his shoulders, the shirt yellowed faintly near the corner.

  His sleeves were rolled unevenly as if he tried to copy others but forgot halfway.

  His hair was oiled and parted perfectly, but his lips were cracked and nails were too long.

  A darker complexion, his thick glasses sat crooked on the bridge of his nose. The lenses magnified his eyes into soft, anxious pools that blinked too often.

  His eyes searched the notice board, and finally stopped at his own name.

  A red mark. FAIL.

  His lips trembled. "I paid him," he whispered. "He said the questions were the same… he lied."

  He stared at the paper as if the reflection would tell him it was all a mistake. But it didn't.

  The corridor slowly emptied, the noise of celebration being replaced by Vivek's sobs— the laughs of others seemingly mocking his failure.

  Vivek's gaze didn't move. His hand clenched until the nails drew blood.

  For others, it was the end of the storm.

  But for some… it was just the beginning.