Earlier that day inside the classroom.
As the school bell rang, a soft murmur spread through the corridors. The intercom crackled to life.
"Dear students, this is to inform you all that our school is organizing the annual inter-house music competition once again..."
The voice trailed on, but in classroom 11-B, Ishika Thakur barely needed to listen. A confident smile curved her lips before the announcement had even ended. Sitting beside her, Khushi Mehra turned her head, already guessing what her friend was thinking.
"So?" she asked with a knowing grin. "Going for a hat trick this year too?"
Ishika casually leaned back in her chair, her voice calm yet sharp with determination. "Of course. Why wouldn’t I?"
Khushi laughed. "And I suppose you're planning to win, again."
Ishika tilted her head slightly, her expression unbothered. "Isn’t that obvious by now?"
She wasn’t wrong. In both her first and second years of high school, she had swept the music competition with ease. Her performances weren’t just good—they were mesmerizing. Controlled, poised, powerful. There was something electric about the way she owned the stage, as if the spotlight had always belonged to her.
But that power came from something deeper—a fire that didn’t quite burn on the surface. Ishika had grown up in a household where excellence wasn’t praised, it was expected. Her father, a sharp and dominating businessman, raised her to aim high, aim fast, and never let emotions get in the way of achievement. Somewhere along the line, that mindset had fused with her love for music.
"I was raised to compete," she had once told Khushi. "But music... music is the only thing I don’t want to treat like war. And yet I do."
Khushi nudged her playfully now, unaware of Ishika’s inner train of thought. "You do know half the music club is refusing to participate, right? They say there’s no point if you’re in it."
Ishika’s smile faded into a small sigh. "That’s no fun. What’s the point of a competition if there’s no one left to compete with?"
"Exactly!" Khushi grinned. "It’s only satisfying if someone tries to give you a tough fight."
"Let’s hope someone does," Ishika muttered, though her tone carried more hope than sarcasm.
As the school day wound down, the two girls made their way to the staff room. Ishika collected the registration form from their homeroom teacher, filled it swiftly, and handed it back without hesitation. Her handwriting was as precise as her confidence.
They stepped out into the afternoon sun, the school courtyard glowing in golden light.
Khushi asked, "You heading to your music tutor after this?"
"Yeah. Today’s vocals," Ishika replied. "I want to try a different style this time. Something softer, more emotional."
Khushi raised her brows. "That’s new. You always go for power and control."
Ishika gave a half-smile. "Maybe it’s time I learned to feel the song... not just perform it."
As the two girls walked toward the school gate, neither of them noticed the boy across the courtyard—leaning quietly against the staircase railing, lost in thought. Aarav Sharma hadn’t filled out the competition form yet, but fate had already begun writing the first verse of their song.
The next morning, school was unusually noisy for that early hour. A crowd of students had already gathered near the main notice board in the central corridor, their excitement bouncing off the walls in hushed whispers and curious murmurs.
As Ishika stepped inside, her eyes instinctively went toward the notice board. It didn’t take her long to notice the commotion. She spotted Khushi standing near the back of the group, her eyes scanning the list pinned on the board.
“Hey, Khushi!” Ishika called out, weaving her way through the crowd.
Khushi turned toward the familiar voice and walked over. Her smile was a bit too tight, and her fingers nervously picked at the edge of her sleeves—something Ishika had learned meant she was holding something back.
“What’s going on here?” Ishika asked, adjusting the strap of her bag.
Khushi gave a cautious smile. “They’ve put up the list of participants for the music competition.”
“Oh?” Ishika tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “And?”
Khushi hesitated.
“What? You want to say something?” Ishika narrowed her eyes, sensing something in her tone.
“Well... you remember that guy from the café the other day?” Khushi began slowly, glancing away.
“The one playing the guitar?” Ishika asked, her tone still casual.
“Yeah. His name’s Aarav. He’s also participating in the competition.”
For a moment, Ishika said nothing. Then she shrugged. “So?”
Khushi bit her lip. “Don’t you think… it might be a bit harder to win this year?”
Ishika blinked. Was Khushi really saying that?
“Wait,” she said, her voice calm but with a sharp edge, “are you saying you think I’ll lose this time?”
“I didn’t mean it like that!” Khushi said quickly, her voice rising in defense. “It’s just… we’ve seen him play. He’s really good, Ishika. Like… really, really good.”
Ishika stared at her for a moment. Her expression didn’t change, but something in her chest tightened.
“You’re my friend, right?” she asked, folding her arms.
“Of course!” Khushi replied instantly, realizing too late where this was going.
“Thank God you remember,” Ishika said, turning toward the classroom hallway.
Khushi sighed. “Hey, are you mad?”
“Of course not,” Ishika said, her voice light, but anyone who knew her well would have recognized the simmer beneath it.
But yes—she was mad. Fuming inside, to be honest. Not because Aarav was joining the competition. Not even because Khushi thought he might win. But because her best friend—her best friend—had actually said it out loud.
The rest of the walk to class passed in silence. Once they entered, Ishika headed straight for her seat and pulled out a book from her bag. She opened it, but her eyes didn’t move across the page.
In her mind, she was already planning.
She had never lost a competition in her life. And she wasn’t about to start now.
"We didn’t know you could play the guitar!" someone exclaimed, his tone filled with genuine surprise.
Ishika raised an eyebrow . Curious but composed, she looked toward the group. A boy sat at the center of the attention, surrounded by a few classmates. From where she stood, Ishika couldn’t see his face clearly—only the back of his head and the faint sound of his modest laughter. Something about that voice tugged at her memory.
Then she heard one of them mention, “We saw him at the café the other day. He was playing guitar there.”
That one sentence made something click in her mind. The café. The guitar. Aarav.
It was strange—she remembered his name even though they had barely interacted. Perhaps it was because Khushi had repeated it at least a dozen times that day. His face, however, remained blurry in her memory. She hadn’t gotten a proper look at him. Just the sound of strings and the warmth of his music lingering like background notes.
Before she could observe any further, the classroom door opened and their homeroom teacher stepped inside. The chatter died instantly as everyone scrambled back to their seats. The boy turned forward and for a split second, Ishika considered leaning forward to get a glimpse of his face—but she didn't. She was on the fifth bench; he sat on the second. Too far. Too late.
Attendance was called, some announcements were made, and soon the bell rang for the next period—sports. As students filed out excitedly, the air felt lighter.
Just as Ishika picked up her notebook to follow the others, her teacher called out, “Ishika!”
She turned, already sensing what was coming. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Can you help me take these documents to the first floor office?”
Ishika looked at the thick stack of files in the teacher’s hands and tried not to sigh. “Of course, ma’am. No problem.”
She stepped forward and accepted the bundle. The moment it landed in her hands, her arms dipped slightly from the weight.
“Gosh, it’s heavy,” she muttered under her breath.
“Are you sure you can manage? I can ask someone else,” the teacher offered.
That line stung more than it should have.
Ishika quickly straightened her back. “No, no. I’ll handle it.”
It wasn’t about the files anymore. It was about pride. About capability. About that small flicker of challenge in her teacher’s voice that suggested she might not be able to carry them. Ishika never liked when people hinted at her limitations.
So, she clutched the files tighter and stepped out of the classroom, determined.
Five minutes later, regret started creeping in slowly—like sweat down her neck. The documents were heavier than they looked, and she still had an entire staircase to climb. But she gritted her teeth and kept going, ignoring the burn in her arms.
That was Ishika Thakur. Stubborn. Competitive. Quietly furious at every ounce of doubt directed at her—even if it was masked as concern.
Ishika carefully walked down the staircase, her arms straining under the weight of the heavy bundle of documents. The uneven edges of the files pressed against her wrists, and she tried not to let them slip. Her back ached slightly from balancing them for too long, and a few strands of hair stuck to her forehead from the humidity in the corridor.
Just as she turned at the landing, her shoulder collided hard with someone sprinting up the stairs.
Thud!
A sudden jolt ran through her, and before she could even react, the stack of documents flew from her hands like a startled flock of birds. Papers fluttered and swirled mid-air before showering down the stairs, some even reaching the floor below.
“Ouch! You idiot!” she yelled instinctively, her voice echoing in the empty corridor.
The boy who had bumped into her stumbled back, blinking in alarm. “S-Sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Ishika’s eyes flared as she looked at the disaster spread across the staircase. Important files, loose pages, official stamps—all scattered like confetti. She didn’t even look at his face properly. Her hands were already moving as she dropped to her knees and began collecting the documents hurriedly, her irritation bubbling.
“What sorry? Look what you’ve done!” she snapped.
The boy bent slightly, hesitant. “I... I’m really sorry,” he said again.
Ishika didn’t even glance up as she kept gathering the mess. “Don’t just stand there—help me!” she barked.
But after a few seconds of silence, she paused. Her eyes lifted slowly, expecting to meet his guilty gaze.
No one.
The stairs were empty.
“What the—” she muttered, standing up and spinning around in disbelief. “He left?”
Her hands clenched the scattered files. Her chest heaved in frustration. A dozen thoughts raced through her mind: Who was he? Why was he running? And how dare he vanish like that after creating such a mess?
“Idiot! What a shameless guy... didn’t even try to help.” she muttered under her breath, now talking more to herself than to anyone else.
Her pride stung more than the bruise forming on her arm. She wasn’t one to ask for help easily, but she had. And he’d just… disappeared. No apology worth anything, no attempt to make things right. Just vanished.
She sighed and bent again, brushing her hair behind her ear, her voice low with sarcasm.
“Great. First, I get loaded with all these files, and then I get crash-tackled by a ghost.”
"Are you okay?" a calm voice asked from nearby.
Ishika froze mid-reach, her fingers hovering above the mess of scattered documents on the floor. She looked up, only to see the back of a guy crouched down in front of her, collecting papers alongside her. His head was slightly turned, but not enough to reveal his face. His black hair was slightly messy, and he wore a dark hoodie. He hadn’t faced her yet.
"Do I look okay to you?" she muttered, clearly annoyed.
He paused but didn’t respond immediately. “You seem really frustrated. Did something happen?” His tone was gentle, maybe even concerned.
Ishika let out a huff as she grabbed another sheet. "Of course something happened. I dropped all these papers, wasted my entire period… and it’s all thanks to you guys."
"You guys?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.
"You idiot boys. Who else?" she snapped, still avoiding eye contact.
That made him chuckle under his breath. “Seriously? I’m helping you out and you’re calling me an idiot?”
She rolled her eyes and quickly picked up the last few pages. "Well, if the shoe fits."
The guy gave a quiet laugh again, still not turning around. He reached out to set the neatly stacked documents on the bench beside her and then he turned around, still looking down as he was checking the documents.
Ishika stood up, brushing off her knees, and then she finally looked at him. He was taller than she expected, his black hair slightly tousled, and those eyes—dark, deep, sharp—looked straight through her. His face was concentrated on the documents. Something about him felt... oddly familiar.
Before she could ask anything, someone called out to her from the corridor.
"Ishika!" It was Khushi’s voice, cheerful and loud.
"I’m coming!" Ishika responded, glancing over her shoulder.
She turned back—but the guy was gone.
Startled, she looked around quickly, but there was no sign of him. Only the stack of documents sat silently on the bench.
She frowned, puzzled. “Seriously? These guys really like disappearing like ghosts…”
“What are you muttering?” Izumi asked as she caught up to Ishika, who was walking with her head slightly lowered and a scowl still plastered on her face.
Ishika looked up for a brief moment and sighed. “Nothing. Just these stupid boys,” she grumbled.
Izumi raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the vague reply. “You’re seriously in a mood today. What happened?”
Ishika opened her mouth to brush it off again but hesitated. Maybe talking about it would help. “Well…” she started, letting out an exhale, “First, some idiot bumped into me right outside the classroom. My folder slipped, everything inside scattered across the floor. I had just organized it for the submission, and now half of it is bent and wrinkled. I was literally crawling around, picking it all up, and—”
“And?” Izumi prompted, gently.
“And while I was doing that, someone else—some guy—just appeared out of nowhere and started helping me gather everything.”
Izumi blinked in surprise. “Wait—so someone actually helped? That’s new.”
“Yeah,” Ishika muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But then he just disappeared. Like poof, gone. He didn’t say his name, didn’t even look at me properly. Just picked up the papers, placed them on the bench, and vanished.”
Izumi looked at her for a second. “Are you okay though? I mean… you didn’t get hurt or anything, right?”
“No, I’m fine,” Ishika said. “Physically, at least.”
“Then what’s bothering you? The guy who bumped into you?”
“No,” Ishika said quickly. “It’s not even about him anymore. I’m talking about the guy who helped me.”
Izumi tilted her head. “What about him? What did he do wrong? He literally helped you.”
“Exactly!” Ishika threw her hands slightly into the air. “He helped me and then left without even looking at me. I don’t think he even saw my face. Who does that? It was like… like I didn’t even matter.”
She trailed off, her own words echoing in her ears as realization settled in.
Izumi was quiet now, her gaze fixed on Ishika, thoughtful.
“What?” Ishika asked, defensive again.
Izumi gave a small smile. “That’s so not like you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… you getting mad because some guy didn’t look at you? That’s not the Ishika I know. You usually don’t even want random guys looking at you.”
Ishika looked away. “Whatever,” she muttered, and started walking ahead.
But her steps slowed.
She didn’t understand it either. She wasn’t the kind of girl who craved attention or got flustered over small interactions. But something about this moment had unsettled her. Maybe it was the calmness in his voice, the strange familiarity of his presence—or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that he left without giving her the closure of even a glance.
And she hated not knowing why it bothered her so much.
Why did I want him to look at me?
