The rain had stopped, leaving behind a silver-washed world that shimmered as if kissed by moonlight, even in the sunlit afternoon. The soft bell marking the final two periods of the day echoed through the halls of the school like a distant chime, calm and weightless.
As the last class concluded, we rose together and bid farewell to our teacher, echoing a respectful chorus of "Thank you, sir!" and "Goodbye!" before dispersing into the corridors. I drifted towards the window seat, quietly drawn by the breathtaking beauty outside.
The world, freshly bathed in rain, looked magical.
The creamy white roses in the school lawn had caught tiny droplets on their petals that glittered like pearls under soft sunlight. It looked as though the sea had sent its waves to grace the earth, and now, even the flowers blushed at its touch. The Begonia, Black-Eyed Susan Vine, and Petunia-filled hanging baskets glistened gently with dew. Everything was serene — everything, for once, was silent.
Then, with her usual mischief, Abhilipsha leaned in close and whispered, "Let's start a ghost story circle."
I turned to her, intrigued by the idea, and nodded. "Perfect weather for that."
We gathered—nine of us in total. Arranged in two neat rows, our circle was cozy and filled with excited whispers. The cloudy sky still lingered above, its weight heavy with mystery. It was the kind of atmosphere where even the wind held its breath.
One of my classmates began, her voice low and trembling, telling the tale of her great-grandfather's haunted experience.
"It happened around seventy years ago," she began. "My great-grandpa had a job in a nearby town. There was a shortcut through the forest to get home early, but everyone in the village warned about a house hidden deep in those woods. They said a witch lived there... a beautiful young woman who played the piano every night. No one dared cross that road after dark."
She paused. We leaned closer.
"One stormy night," she continued, "my great-grandfather was caught in heavy rain. Seeking shelter, he found himself in front of that very house. He knocked for what felt like forever, but no one opened the door. Still, inside… he heard music."
We gasped in unison.
"He peeked through the keyhole and saw her — a young girl playing the piano, her back to the door. He returned every month, always seeing her, always hearing that haunting melody. But then, on one full-moon winter night, he looked through the keyhole and saw nothing but crimson — a blood-red room, completely stained."
Our spines stiffened. My breath hitched.
"He ran. But that night, he told his brother. And his brother said something that changed everything. He told him… there is no house. There is no shortcut. There never was. And what he saw through the keyhole every month…" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Wasn't a room at all. That red wasn't paint or blood. It was… the eye of something. Something watching him… from the inside."
We all sat in stunned silence, too afraid to even move. No one dared continue the story chain after that.
Just then, our class door creaked open. Senior Siddhartha Soumen, the school's Student Council messenger, stepped in with a composed expression. "All students are to assemble in the main hall," he announced. "This includes all middle school classes."
Panic fluttered in our chests.
"What now?" whispered Abhilipsha.
"I don't know… should I try predicting?" I muttered, but I already knew the setting wasn't right. Too many eyes. Too much noise.
One by one, we filed out. The assembly hall was prepared with chairs aligned class-wise. I sat between Abhilipsha and Akankshya, shrinking slightly under the weight of the countless eyes glaring at me. Whispers buzzed around like bees, words slicing through the air—gossip about yesterday, the fan club incident, the slap, the fall, and Senior Yizhenxia.
Even the seniors seated on the upper balcony muttered amongst themselves.
Then the Teachers' President entered, flanked by the Vice Principal and several mentors. After a brief speech on team unity and moral discipline, the announcement came.
"The student groupings have been reshuffled. Please listen carefully as your names are read."
The mentor began from the sixth grade.
Aryan and Alisha were called first — into the prestigious Alpha Group. I beamed with pride. Aryan, with his outstanding athletic records, and Alisha, the cultural heart of our grade, deserved it.
But when it was my turn…
"Addyanshi Akio — Alpha Group."
The words echoed louder than thunder.
I froze.
No… not Alpha… not Yizhenxia's group.
I looked at my friends who were cheering, calling me to sit beside them. I forced a smile and dragged my feet to the Alpha Group's bench.
Once again, murmurs exploded around me. "She must have charmed her way in," someone said. "Yizhenxia probably recommended her," someone else whispered.
But what startled me most was when I dared to look up — only to find Senior Yizhenxia staring at me already. Unblinking. As if waiting. As if watching.
And then… he smiled.
That wicked, knowing, devastating smile.
It wasn't warm. It wasn't friendly. It was the kind of smile you get from a wolf in the dark — dangerous and confident.
At that moment, I truly believed — my life was done. I wasn't in control of my story anymore.
…My story had begun to write itself.