PART 1:
"You joined mid-session," the teacher said, tapping her pen against the desk. "You'll need fix-up studies. Stay back today and complete the assigned work."
Shree nodded.
She always did.
The final bell rang, and the classroom emptied in minutes. Laughter echoed down the corridors before fading into silence. By the time Shree stepped into the library, the sky outside had begun to darken.
She searched the shelves carefully, but the reference book wasn't there.
"Storage room," the librarian said without looking up. "Old block. Ground floor."
Shree took the slip and left.
The old block felt colder than the rest of the school. Dust clung to the air, and the lights flickered weakly. She pushed open the storage room door and began scanning the shelves stacked with old files and forgotten books.
As she reached for a file box, her elbow brushed against a loose stack.
Folders slid out.
Paper scattered across the floor.
She crouched down quickly, irritated—and then her eyes caught a name.
Hemanta Lahiri
Agnishree Lahiri
Her breath stopped.
"No…" she whispered without realizing.
"Careful there."
The voice came from behind.
Shree turned sharply. A security guard stood at the doorway, older, his expression unreadable.
She held the file up instinctively. "These names—"
The guard's eyes flicked to the folder.
Something changed in his face.
"Those?" he said slowly. "Old records."
"Who were they?" Shree asked, her voice steady but tight.
He hesitated, then sighed. "Professors. Brilliant ones. Everyone admired them once."
Her fingers curled around the file. "Once?"
"Until people found out," he replied carefully. "They say those two were involved in criminal activities. Used their positions. Betrayed the school."
Shree's jaw clenched.
"They ran away," he continued. "Left behind a mess. Ruined lives."
She stared at the names again, hatred rising like a familiar storm.
"So everyone believes that," she said coldly.
The guard met her eyes. "Belief becomes truth when repeated enough."
She dropped the file back into the box and stood up, expression unreadable.
"Thank you," she said flatly, picking up the book she came for.
As she walked past him, he spoke again—quieter now.
"Some stories are buried for a reason."
Shree didn't look back.
Outside, dusk had fully settled. The school grounds were nearly empty. Near the gate, Aryan Sen stood beside a parked car, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on the building as if it were a puzzle he hadn't solved yet.
Their eyes met briefly.
His gaze held curiosity.
Hers held distance.
He looked away first.
Good.
She walked past, hatred burning beneath her calm.
Her parents' names echoed in her mind—not with grief, not with doubt, but with resentment.
They left her when she was seven.
They chose disgrace.
They chose him.
Victor Valdan.
She would uncover everything.
PART 2:
Inside the school, moments later
The corridor near the cafeteria was almost empty.
Ira adjusted her bag strap—and froze.
Richa stood in front of her.
"I warned you," Richa said softly. "You're getting involved where you don't belong."
"I was just helping," Ira whispered.
Richa stepped closer. "Helping creates enemies."
Her voice dropped. "Stay away from her. Or your name will be next."
She walked away smiling.
Ira stood still, heart pounding.
Something dark was moving inside St. Alaric's.
And it had only just begun.