Morning light cut through the classroom blinds. The air already felt heavy, the kind that made uniforms stick to the back of your neck.Aditya was late, which meant Aryan sat alone. The buzz of conversation filled the room like background static.
Raghav and his friends from Apex Gang entered a few minutes later — laughter too loud, cologne too strong. They hadn't forgotten what happened in the canteen. Neither had anyone else.
New Rules
During break, Aditya finally arrived, panting."Bro, it's bad," he said. "Apex and Street Kings almost fought behind the gym yesterday. Dev said Raghav's people jumped one of his guys after tuition. Now everyone's choosing sides."
Aryan said nothing. He could feel it — the tension, the way bodies moved faster in corridors, the way laughter ended half a second too soon. A fight was coming; he'd seen this pattern before, only with rifles instead of fists.
"Just stay out of it," Aditya added. "They only respect crazy, not quiet."
Aryan smiled faintly. "Quiet lasts longer."
Behind the Gym
By late afternoon, word spread that Raghav's boys were waiting for Dev behind the gym. Half the school seemed to drift that way, pretending to be "just walking."
Aryan tried to ignore it. He packed his bag slowly, but when he saw Aditya heading out that direction—half-curious, half-worried—he followed.
The narrow lane behind the gym smelled of wet concrete and cigarette smoke. Raghav stood there with four others. Dev came from the opposite end with his crew. It was less a brawl than a standoff — until someone threw a bottle.
The crash shattered the silence. Shouts erupted. Pushing, grabbing, fists swinging.
Aryan pulled Aditya back, out of the first rush."Stay here."
Dev was getting pressed against the wall, two Apex boys holding him. Another came in swinging wild. Aryan stepped forward automatically — not heroically, just instinctively.
He caught the attacker's forearm mid-punch, used the man's own motion to shift him sideways, elbow grazing ribs. The boy gasped, fell. Another lunged; Aryan sidestepped, guided him into the wall. It looked effortless — almost lazy — but each move broke rhythm, killed momentum.
Within seconds, the chaos paused. Everyone stared.
"Who the hell are you?" Raghav demanded, voice cracking between fear and fury.
Aryan straightened his collar. "Someone who's tired of noise."
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was a drip of water from the gym's cooler pipe. Then Raghav laughed — forced, brittle."You think you scare me, Ghost?"
Aryan met his eyes. "If you're smart, you'll walk away."
Raghav's smirk faltered. He spat on the ground, gestured for his crew. "Let's go."
The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had formed. Teachers would be coming soon.
Aftermath
Aditya was still wide-eyed. "Bro, you stopped a full gang fight."
Aryan shook his head. "It'll happen again. Just somewhere else."
"You didn't even hit them hard."
"Why waste energy?"
Aditya laughed nervously. "That's why they call you Ghost. You fight like you're not even there."
Aryan didn't answer. He glanced around the lane, saw something glint near the wall — a small metal badge, circular, the kind used by private security firms.He bent, picked it up. The logo was scratched, but the words underneath were clear: CIRCUIT GLOBAL SERVICES.
He felt his pulse slow, not speed up. The way it did when danger stopped being hypothetical.
He slipped the badge into his pocket.
Evening Walk
The bus ride home blurred past — horns, advertisements, a cloud of dust rising from construction sites.Aryan got off two stops early and walked. The city's rhythm always helped him think: chai stalls steaming, scooter horns, a child chasing a ball across the road. Normal life.
He took out the badge, turned it in his palm. Circuit Global Services.It wasn't proof — could have fallen from anyone — but deep down he knew.They'd found a trace of him.
Jackal's voice echoed again in memory:
"When you run from a war, the war doesn't forget your scent."
Aryan slipped the badge back into his pocket, straightened his shoulders, and kept walking.Delhi was huge, noisy, and indifferent — the perfect place to hide.But ghosts, he thought, don't stay hidden forever.