The ceiling fan creaked overhead as Vicky Dahiya leaned back on his chair, eyes half-closed. The room smelled faintly of instant noodles and cheap deodorant, the kind of scent you'd expect in a student's cramped bedroom. His textbooks were spread across the desk, most of them unopened. A red circle glared up at him from his mathematics test paper—32/100.
"Useless," he muttered under his breath, throwing the paper aside.
It wasn't that he was dumb. In fact, he was sharp in bursts—when he cared. But more often than not, he went with his gut instead of his brain. Sometimes, that gut feeling saved him. He'd pick an answer randomly on multiple-choice questions, only to find it was right. He'd dodge a pothole seconds before a truck swerved over it. Coincidences, maybe. Luck, probably.
Still, he often wondered if it was something more.
His phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. A notification: "New Episode of Wednesday Available on Netflix."
"Perfect," he said with a grin, tossing his pen away. He had been following the series religiously—Wednesday Addams fascinated him. Her sharp tongue, her eerie charm, her refusal to bend for anyone. There was something addictive about her presence, something he couldn't put into words.
He plugged in his headphones and clicked play.
But just as the show started, his stomach twisted. A sharp pain struck his chest, like invisible claws squeezing his heart.
"What the—"
He clutched at his chest, gasping. The world blurred, his body convulsed, and darkness swallowed him whole.
When Vicky opened his eyes again, he was… lying on grass.
Cold wind brushed his skin. He sat up, groaning, and froze. Around him stretched sprawling Gothic architecture, walls carved with gargoyles, windows arched like watchful eyes. The night sky above was painted silver, and the faint sound of laughter echoed in the distance.
"This… this isn't home," he whispered.
He pushed himself to his feet, heart racing. He was wearing a black blazer with a crest embroidered on the pocket—an unfamiliar emblem. His reflection in a nearby fountain startled him: same dark hair, same sharp eyes, but younger. Maybe fifteen or sixteen.
"What the hell?"
A group of students walked past him, chattering. Their outfits matched his—uniforms. Some had normal features, others… less so. A boy with scales along his neck, a girl with white streaks in her hair that glowed faintly.
Vicky's mouth went dry. Recognition struck him like lightning.
"Wait… this… this is Nevermore Academy."
The place was unmistakable. He had seen it countless times on screen. The stone walls, the strange students—it was all straight out of Wednesday.
He staggered back, panic and disbelief warring inside him.
"I-I died. Didn't I?" he muttered. "This isn't possible… I—"
A sudden voice cut through his thoughts.
"You look lost."
He turned. A girl stood before him—tall, blonde, smiling brightly. She wore the same uniform but carried herself like she owned the night. "First day nerves?"
"I…" He hesitated, scrambling for words. "Yeah. Something like that."
"I'm Enid Sinclair," she said cheerfully, extending a hand. "Werewolf, dorm rep, and unofficial welcome committee. You must be new."
Her hand lingered in the air. Something deep inside him pulsed, almost like a whisper brushing his mind. Shake her hand. Trust her.
He obeyed instinctively, gripping her hand. A warmth spread through him, the panic in his chest easing slightly.
"Vicky," he said automatically. "Vicky Dahiya."
"Cool name." Enid beamed. "Come on, I'll walk you to the dorms. You don't want to be wandering around alone—especially at night."
He followed, his head spinning. This is insane. Impossible. I'm in a TV series?
Yet the cold breeze on his skin, the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes—it all felt real. Too real to be a dream.
The dorm hallways were lined with old portraits whose eyes seemed to follow him. Enid chattered about roommates, school cliques, and the annual Rave'N dance, but Vicky's thoughts were elsewhere.
His gut whispered again—soft but undeniable. You will meet her tonight.
He didn't need to ask who. His pulse quickened.
Enid stopped at a door and pushed it open. Inside was a room split perfectly in half—one side exploding with color and glitter, the other dark and sterile, adorned with black candles and macabre decorations.
"You'll be staying here until they assign you properly," Enid said. "This is my room… well, our room. My actual roommate is kind of… difficult."
As if on cue, the bathroom door opened.
And she walked out.
Black pigtails. White-collared dress. Eyes as sharp as obsidian.
Wednesday Addams.
Vicky's breath caught. Seeing her on a screen was one thing. But here, in the flesh—she radiated an aura so heavy it pressed on his chest. Cold. Detached. Unbothered by the world.
Her gaze flicked to him, lingering for a fraction of a second before shifting back to her typewriter. "Another stray," she muttered, unimpressed.
Enid laughed nervously. "Don't mind her. She's like that with everyone."
Vicky barely heard. The whisper of intuition surged stronger, clearer than ever. Your fate begins with her.
He sat down on the bed Enid pointed to, trying to mask the storm inside him.
This wasn't a dream. Wasn't a hallucination. He had died—and reincarnated into Wednesday's world. With some strange ability guiding him.
And if his intuition was right…
His eyes drifted to Wednesday again. She hadn't spared him another glance, her fingers dancing across the typewriter keys.
…then his destiny had just intertwined with hers.
That night, as he lay in the strange bed, Vicky stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying every detail.
Death. Rebirth. Nevermore. Wednesday.
It all sounded like the start of a story. But for him, it was terrifyingly real.
And in the quiet of the night, intuition whispered once more:
This is only the beginning.