Andrew sat on his bed, staring at the diary. His eyes wouldn't move away from the page. The words looked normal enough—just ink on paper—but his heart was pounding like he'd sprinted across the city.
Don't let her die.
He hadn't written that. He knew he hadn't. He could bet his life those words weren't there last night when he shut the diary. And yet, there they were.
His first thought: Is someone messing with me? Maybe one of his friends sneaked in and scribbled it down. But how? His parents were home all day yesterday. His door had been locked. And who would even think of writing something that dark as a joke?
It didn't make sense. None of it did. He flipped the page back and forth, even rubbed the words with his finger. The ink was dry. Not fresh. Old, like it had been sitting there for hours.
Andrew dropped the diary on the bed and pressed his hands over his face.
"Am I losing it?" he muttered.
Sunlight leaked through the curtains, soft but useless. Today was a holiday—no classes, no homework. His dad had even told him in the morning that he could rest or hang out.
But there was no way he could "rest" now.
That line wouldn't stop repeating in his head. Don't let her die.
And with it, Grace's face kept flashing in his mind. The way she smiled when she leaned against the gondola window yesterday. The way she laughed when she teased him for walking too slow. The way she once stood up in class and told everyone the rumors about him were garbage.
He clenched his fists.
Even if there was the smallest chance the diary was real, he couldn't just sit here.
After breakfast, Andrew was already walking down the street, bag slung over his shoulder. His dad spotted him from the living room.
"Where are you going?" his father asked.
Andrew paused. He didn't want to explain—he didn't even understand it himself. "Just… to see a teacher," he said.
His father raised a brow. "On a holiday?"
"Yeah. It's about school stuff."
His dad looked curious but didn't push. "Don't take too long."
Andrew gave a faint smile before stepping out. The sun was warm, but his mind was ice-cold, focused.
The streets were quieter than usual. Kids played cricket down an alley. Shopkeepers lazily opened shutters. It was a calm, ordinary morning. But inside Andrew, everything felt wrong.
He remembered where his class teacher lived—Mrs. Verma. She'd mentioned it once during a parent-teacher meeting. Not far. A twenty-minute walk at most.
When he reached her place, he froze at the gate. A small house, neatly kept. Potted plants lined the steps. A curtain shifted slightly behind the window.
Taking a breath, he knocked.
The door opened a moment later. Mrs. Verma, in a simple cotton sari and glasses, blinked at him in surprise.
"Andrew? What are you doing here?"
"Good morning, ma'am," Andrew said, trying not to sound too nervous. "I… I just wanted to ask you something. If that's okay."
She studied him, then sighed and opened the door wider. "Come in, but don't take long. It's my day off."
"Of course."
He stepped in. The house smelled of tea and old books. Photographs and awards hung neatly on the walls. He sat on the edge of the sofa while she went to the kitchen.
"Tea?" she called.
"No, thank you," Andrew said quickly. His throat was too dry for it anyway.
She returned with her own cup and sat across from him. "Alright. What's this about?"
Andrew hesitated. He couldn't bring up the diary. That would sound insane.
"It's about Grace," he said at last.
Her hand froze halfway to her lips. "Grace?"
"Yes. I just… wanted to know if everything's okay with her family."
Her brows furrowed. "Why are you asking me that?"
Andrew shifted in his seat. "I don't know. I just feel like she's hiding something. Like maybe she's not okay."
Mrs. Verma sighed, placing her cup down. She looked at him carefully.
"Andrew, listen. Grace is a good student. She does her work, she shows up to class. But her personal life… it isn't something for us to interfere in."
Andrew leaned forward. "But she told me once she lives only with her father. I'm just worried, ma'am. Is everything alright at home?"
Her lips pressed tight. "I know a little, yes. But it's not my place to share. If Grace wanted you to know, she'd tell you herself."
"But ma'am—"
"No, Andrew," she cut him off, firm. "I know you care about your classmates. But stepping into someone's family matters? That's not your role. It would be disrespectful."
Andrew looked down. His chest tightened. He wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes stopped him.
"…I understand," he said quietly.
Her face softened a little. "Good. You're smart. Focus on your own studies and your own life. That's what you can control."
Andrew stood. "Thank you, ma'am. Sorry for bothering you."
"Take care, Andrew. And remember—don't push where you don't belong."
The walk back felt heavier. The sun was higher, the light sharper, but his mood was darker.
Maybe she's right, Andrew thought. Maybe I shouldn't dig into Grace's life. Maybe it's none of my business.
But it didn't sit right in his chest.
He remembered when everyone believed the rumors about him. He'd felt cornered, judged. And then Grace had stepped up for him. She'd defended him without hesitation.
"No one has the right to spread lies about him," she'd said in front of everyone. "You don't know him like I do."
That moment had changed something inside him. She had stood by him. She'd been brave when no one else was.
How could he walk away now?
The diary's warning echoed again: Don't let her die.
Andrew stopped walking. His hands balled into fists.
"No," he whispered. "I can't ignore it. I won't."
He lifted his head to the wide, endless sky.
"I don't know what's happening. I don't know why the diary said that. But if Grace is in danger… I'll help her. No matter what. I'll protect her."
The decision sank into him like a stone at the bottom of a lake. Heavy, certain, final.
Andrew walked the rest of the way home with a new kind of resolve.
This wasn't the end. It was just the beginning.