"Chinnappa's Concern: The Missing Classmate"
While Booma mastered the intricate flow of Aethel's elemental magic, the Mundane Realm was struggling to make sense of her sudden, inexplicable disappearance.
Two weeks had passed since Booma vanished near her school locker, and in the bustling, structured world of St. Augustine's Academy, two weeks was an eternity. For Maya and Rishi, her closest friends, the worry was a constant, gnawing presence. For Chinnappa, however, Booma's absence was a surprising, unsettling void he couldn't ignore.
Chinnappa was many things: charismatic, popular, and perpetually busy. His life revolved around academics, his sports team, and the easy banter of his large social circle. He hadn't realized how much he relied on Booma's quiet, steady presence until she was gone. He remembered the brief moment their eyes had met near the gate, the friendly nod he'd given, and then… nothing.
"She just wouldn't do this, Chinnappa," Maya insisted, slamming her history book shut in the library—a place she frequented only out of sheer desperation. Her eyeliner was slightly smudged, a clear sign of stress. "She was so excited about the biology test. She was even sketching designs for the upcoming Fashion Show—doodles she said were inspired by those weird ancient texts Rishi keeps reading."
Rishi, perched beside them, adjusted his glasses, his face pale. "I checked her library records. She was researching mythical artifacts right before she went missing. Things about lockets and temporal displacement. It sounds like pure fiction, but I'm worried."
Chinnappa felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. He hadn't just seen her at the gate; he'd seen her by the locker right before lunch. He had been distracted by the new transfer student, Leena, but he distinctly remembered a flash of light by Booma's locker—something he had immediately dismissed as a reflection or a prank. Now, the memory felt sinister.
"Did she mention going on any trips?" Chinnappa asked, running a hand through his hair. The truth was, he realized with a sharp pang of guilt, he didn't know Booma well enough to know her secrets, despite her being his classmate for years. He knew she had a massive, quirky cat named Bujji, and that she always carried a thermos of milk, but beyond that, their interactions were superficial and dictated mostly by shared classes.
The reality of her disappearance made him realize his easygoing nature often bordered on negligence. He always assumed she was fine. He'd mistaken her quietness for contentment.
"No trips," Maya said, sighing. "She's not the impulsive type. She was probably just struggling with her one-sided love life and ran off to clear her head." She shot a significant look at Chinnappa, who immediately flushed. He knew the rumors. Everyone knew. He just hadn't ever addressed them because... well, because he hadn't known how, and it was easier to pretend the intensity of her feelings didn't exist.
The mention of her crush added another layer of guilt to Chinnappa's growing anxiety. Was he responsible for her feeling broken or hurting enough to leave?
The weather outside St. Augustine's mirrored the gloom inside. A perpetual drizzle had settled over the city, a cold, relentless rain that mirrored the heavy atmosphere of the school. Even the cafeteria food seemed less appealing, as if the joy had been leached out of the Mundane Realm.
Chinnappa began his own, discreet investigation. He revisited the area around Booma's locker. He found nothing but scuff marks and a lingering, faint scent of jasmine—the same scent that sometimes clung to Booma's stationery.
One afternoon, standing near the bustling Metro Train station during a massive downpour, Chinnappa noticed a small, elderly woman selling flowers. She looked familiar, and he paused, his mind still cycling through possibilities.
"Son," the woman said, her voice raspy, "you look troubled. Are you searching for something lost?"
Chinnappa was startled. "Yes, an old classmate. She vanished near the school."
The old woman's eyes, dark and knowing, fixed on him. "I saw a girl near the gate, about two weeks ago. She found a trinket—a flower-shaped locket. It was glowing faintly, shimmering, like a captured star."
Chinnappa's heart pounded. "Do you know what happened to her?"
The woman shook her head slowly. "The air around her cracked, like a pane of ice. There was a bright, strange flash, and she was gone. She was clutching a cat. I felt a power, raw and untamed. A spell, perhaps, but ancient."
Chinnappa felt a dizzying wave of disbelief. Magic? Spells? He was an aspiring engineer; his world was governed by physics and logic. Yet, the woman's conviction, and the sheer impossibility of Booma's disappearance, left him with nowhere to turn.
He raced back toward the school, the rain lashing down around him. He needed to talk to Rishi again, but first, he had to see something for himself. He remembered Booma's love for her cat.
He found the key to Booma's empty house taped beneath the mailbox—a detail only he, as her close neighbor, knew. Slipping inside, he felt the oppressive silence of an abandoned home. Everything was neat, untouched, except for one thing: a half-eaten bowl of cat food and a small, worn cat toy lay near the door.
If Booma had simply run away, she never would have left Bujji. She loved that cat more than anyone. This reinforced the old woman's story: both Booma and Bujji had vanished.
As he stood in her quiet living room, Chinnappa saw a stack of large, leather-bound notebooks tucked away on a shelf. Intrigued, he pulled one out. It wasn't a school diary; it was Booma's Fashion Show sketchbook, filled with intricate, stunning designs of flowing garments, each one infused with strange, luminescent patterns and fantastical accessories.
He flipped the pages, his appreciation turning into admiration. These weren't doodles; they were the works of a true artist. One specific design caught his eye: a dress with a crystalline, flower-shaped locket embedded in the waistline, casting a vibrant, ethereal glow. The design was titled: "The Locket of Whispered Wishes."
Chinnappa finally understood. Booma was not just a quiet classmate; she was a vibrant soul with a world of fiction and passion locked inside her. And now, she was gone, potentially pulled into the very fantasy world she sketched.
Clutching the notebook, Chinnappa felt the confusion melt away, replaced by a desperate, burning need to find her. The truth might be illogical, but the pain of her absence was real. He was no longer looking for a lost friend; he was searching for a girl who might be trapped in a magical realm, a girl whose existence he had taken for granted, and whose hidden depth had now pulled her out of his reach.
"Booma," he whispered to the empty room, his voice heavy with determination. "I don't know where you are, but I'm going to find you."
The ordinary life of Chinnappa had just ended. He had a mystery to solve, and maybe, just maybe, a heart to mend.