Shruti Mahawar

"Good morning, Señorita!"

My best friend, Roohi dixit , sang the greeting as she draped an arm heavily over my shoulder. Her energy was a sharp contrast to the morning haze I was feeling.

"Morning, Rooh," I managed to say, easing into my seat as she slid her backpack onto the bench between us.

She leaned in, her eyes searching mine. "What happened? You look worried, Señorita."

I let out a low, frustrated breath, shifting uncomfortably. "It’s nothing, Rooh. It’s just my period. You know how 'ugly' this pain gets."

She didn't need any more explanation. A flicker of sympathy crossed her face, and she gave a knowing nod. That was the thing about us Roohi and I had been inseparable since the first grade. Now, we are in  our eighth standard so  she could practically read my mind.

The sharp, metallic ring of the school bell cut our conversation short. As our teacher walked in, the room fell into the familiar routine of morning prayer. Once the echoes of the last amen faded, it was time for the first period: English.

I honestly don’t know who decided that English should be the very first class for every grade level, but in my opinion, it's a cruel rule. There’s something truly ungrateful about starting a long day with grammar and prose when your body is already at war with you.

"Shruti?"

Akash Sehgal, one of my classmates, called my name the moment the bell rang indicating the english period is over.  The next period was Hindi, and since our teacher was notoriously five minutes late every single day, the class treated the gap like a hard earned privilege. The room was a low hum of hushed conversations and laughs.

"Yes, Akash?" I turned toward him, purposely wearing a bored expression.

I already knew exactly why he was calling me.

Since we sat in the very last row and he was in the seat adjacent to us, we were practically invisible to the rest of the room. Moving quickly, he slid a small box wrapped in crisp white gift paper across the gap between our desks. I felt a small smile tug at my lips as I took it, tucking the secret delivery away. I flashed him a quick thumbs up; he just smirked and shook his head before turning back around.

Just as the gift disappeared into the safety of my bag, the Hindi teacher swept into the room.

I glanced over at Roohi. She didn't even look up; she was writing with mechanical speed, her pen flying across the paper in a desperate attempt to finish her homework before the teacher reached her row. I just shook my head at her frantic energy and turned my focus toward the chalkboard.

Two classes later, the lunch bell finally rescued us. Roohi and I flipped open our tiffins at the exact same moment. I had packed aloo parathas and fresh fruit, while she had poha accompanied by a few golden motichoor ladoos. We shared a look of pure amusement it was just another reminder of why we were best friends. Even our cravings were perfectly in sync.

Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere of the class shattered. A wave of students began sprinting toward the stairs, their footsteps thundering against the floor.

"What’s going on now?" Roohi asked, her mouth half full of paratha.

"Wanna find out?" I suggested. Her face lit up instantly, and I mirrored her expression. We each popped a ladoo into our mouths as a final treat, snapped our lunch boxes shut, and raced upstairs to catch the show. We lived for this kind of school drama whether it was two boys fighting over a girl, a classic hair pulling match, or a full on rowdy brawl. It was our favorite midday entertainment.

But as we reached the top floor, the vibe changed. A massive crowd had already formed, a wall of students blocking our view. We shouldered our way through the taller boys, pushing toward the front. As I broke through the inner circle, a raw, guttural shout echoed through the hall, followed by a sickening thud.

My body went cold at the sight.

A boy was pinned to the floor, another student straddling his stomach and raining down brutal, heavy punches. One, two, three the strikes were so savage I feared the boy on the ground wouldn't get up. The attacker boy  looked terrifying  the veins in his arms were bulging with adrenaline, his school shirt soaked through with sweat, and his hair a matted, damp mess. I couldn't see his face he was turned away from me but the sheer violence of his movements was enough.

I looked around, expecting someone to intervene, but the crowd was frozen. No one moved. The "drama" we had come to watch had turned into something far more merciless, and everyone was too paralyzed by fear to stop it.

"You bastard!" the attacker boy  roared, his voice cracking with rage as he landed another heavy blow. The boy on the floor, Dhruv, let out a gut wrenching scream of pure agony.

I instinctively clamped my hands over my mouth, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beside me, Roohi’s grip on my arm tightened until it hurt. We stole a glance at each other, our faces pale reflections of the same terror.

"Someone stop him!" a girl pleaded from somewhere behind us. I couldn't even bring myself to turn and look.

"Yeah, you guys stop him  He’s going to kill Dhruv!" another voice cried out.

The boys standing in the inner circle just swallowed hard, their heads shaking in a synchronized retreat. "No way," one of them whispered, his voice trembling. "You know how he is. If anyone gets between him and his target, they’re next. He won't spare anyone."

What is so terrifying about this guy? I wondered, my fear turning into a cold sort of curiosity.

"But he’s actually going to kill him," I blurted out.

The moment the words left my lips, the surrounding students shifted their gaze to me. I winced. I hated the sudden spotlight, and the looks of pity and understanding they gave me were even worse.

Thankfully, the sound of heavy footsteps and authoritative shouting broke the tension. A group of teachers came charging down the hallway, their voices booming over the crowd. I let out a long, shaky breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Everyone! Back to your classes now!" our math teacher bellowed, his face red with exertion.

Through the chaos of the dispersing crowd, I caught a glimpse of another teacher grabbing the shoulder of the boy who had been acting like a caged animal. Before I could see his face, Roohi was already dragging me toward our classroom.

"Oh my god, Shru," Roohi breathed, her voice suddenly switching to the most dreamy, star struck tone I had ever heard. "That boy was so hot."

I stopped dead and gave her a flat, deadpan look. Hot? The guy who almost committed a murder in the hallway? Without a word, I turned and walked into the classroom, the image of those bloodied knuckles still burned into my mind.

The day finally wound down with Geography. It’s one of the few subjects that actually holds my interest, so the time seemed to fly by. After the final prayer, we joined the sea of students flooding out of the building.

We had just reached the main gate when Roohi turned to me. "Can I have a sip? My bottle is bone dry."

I reached into my bag to pull it out, but my hand met empty space. My heart sank. I’d left it in the classroom. Why am I so absentminded? I groaned inwardly. Now I had to trek all the way back up four flights of stairs.

"Again, Shru?" Roohi deadpanned, giving me a look of pure exhaustion.

"I have to go back," I said, already pivoting to run. "If I lose one more bottle, my mom is actually going to kick me out of the house!"

"Fine, I’ll wait for the Señorita," Roohi sighed, dropping onto a nearby bench to guard our bags.

I hurried through the corridors, which were now eerily quiet. I’ve always hated being alone in large, open spaces, and an empty school is the prime example of that unease. The few remaining students were already heading for the exits as I climbed the stairs to the third floor. I ducked into my classroom, grabbed my bottle from the desk with a sigh of relief, and headed back out.

As I descended to the second floor, I froze.

A boy was sitting alone on a bench outside the medical room. His head was hung low, chin tucked into his chest, and his bag lay discarded on the floor by his feet. His shirt pocket was torn, and his hair was still damp and messy. I still couldn't see his face, but a chill went down my spine. Was this the same boy from lunch? The one who had been beating Dhruv like a wild animal?

Looking at him now, he didn't look like a predator. He looked like a victim.

I shook my head, trying to clear the thought, and started to walk past when a voice cut through the silence.

"Shruti?"

It was my math teacher. I spun around, my heart jumping into my throat. He was standing directly in front of the boy, completely blocking my view of him.

"Yes, Sir?" I answered, my voice barely a whisper. "What are you doing here?" my teacher asked, his brows lifting in curiosity.

I clutched my water bottle tightly against my chest. "I forgot this in class, Sir. I just came back to get it," I answered, my lips pressed in a thin, nervous line.

He gave a brief nod. "Right. Go on, then. Head home."

He turned away, and I couldn't help but think, I was already going, Sir, you're the one who stopped me! I shook my head and turned to leave, but my gaze snagged on the boy one last time. He hadn't moved an inch. He sat there, lost in a world of his own, seemingly unaware of the hallway or the teacher. Was he traumatized by what he’d done, or just waiting for the hammer to fall?

I didn't stick around to find out. I hurried down to the school gate where Roohi was waiting. The second I reached her, she snatched the bottle from my hand and began gulping down the water.

"Rooh that boy," I started as we shouldered our backpacks.

She looked at me, blinking in genuine confusion. It was rare for me to bring up a boy, let alone with this much intensity. "Which boy? Are you actually interested in someone, Shru?" she asked, her voice rising in shock.

I swatted her arm and rolled my eyes. "Shut up! Not like that. I'm talking about the one who was thrashing Dhruv during lunch."

"Oh," she whispered, her playfulness vanishing. "What about him?" , "He was sitting alone on the second floor, right outside the medical room," I told her.

"Well, he must be hurt while beating or murdering we can say  ," she guessed. "And honestly, I doubt we'll see him again. Do you think Principal Ma'am is just going to let that slide? He’s definitely getting suspended or worse."

She had a point. I lowered my head, the image   stuck in my mind, and walked toward my car where my driver was waiting. We exchanged quick goodbyes before heading in opposite directions.

The moment I stepped through the front door, the tension of the day began to melt away. My mom, Aditi Mahawar, was sitting on the couch. I didn't care that I was in the eighth standard; I climbed right into her lap like a little kid. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me to her chest.

"My baby," she murmured, kissing my hair.

I leaned back into her embrace, finally relaxing. "Go change and come down," she said with a smile. "I made chole bhature."

My eyes lit up. I practically sprinted to my room, tossed my uniform aside for comfortable home clothes, and flew back down the stairs.

"Easy, baby!" Mom warned as I skidded into the dining room. I slowed just enough to collapse into my chair as she served the steaming hot chole and fluffy bhature with a side of pickle. I dove in immediately. "Slowly," she laughed, sitting beside me and filling my water glass. "It’s not going anywhere."

"Amazing, Mom," I mumbled through a mouthful.

After lunch, I sprawled out in the living room. Mom had retreated to her room to get some work done. She owns a beautiful bookstore a gift from Dad for her thirtieth birthday that doubles as a library. It’s her favorite place in the world, but since she’s the boss, she works whenever the mood strikes her. Today, I was just glad she was home.

I pulled out my phone to check in with Roohi. We had classical dance classes together at an academy nearby. We’d been at it for a year now, balancing the discipline of dance with our schoolwork.

"Are you ready?" she asked the second she picked up.

"No, but I’ll still beat you there," I teased. The academy was a stone's throw from my house but a long haul for her.

"Fine, Señorita. I’m leaving in five minutes!" she chirped and hung up before I could get another word in. I stared at the screen for a second, feeling like a bit of a dork, before heading to the kitchen for a glass of chilled water.

I changed into a loose kurta and palazzo the perfect outfit for movement and grabbed a piece of chocolate. My cramps were quiet for now, but I knew the dancing might stir them up. It was the monthly tax of being a girl, I suppose. I refused to let it ruin my routine; I am getting used.

I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs. My driver was already waiting at the main gate. My dad had arranged for a car and driver to take me wherever I needed school, dance, shopping, or over to a friend’s house. While I appreciated the luxury of it, I stared at the steering wheel with a quiet longing. My ultimate dream was to one day be the one in the driver's seat, controlling the road myself.

Slumping into the back seat, I pulled out my phone. Scrolling through Instagram reels was my favorite form of escapism, a way to numb the lingering stress of the  day. Between swipes, I unwrapped a chocolate bar, savoring the sweetness as the city blurred past the window.

Soon, we pulled into the academy parking lot. I immediately spotted Roohi’s car. She had a habit of waiting inside whenever she beat me there, a silent pact we had. The moment my car came to a halt, she hopped out, her face lighting up as she hurried to my side.

"Ready to sweat, Señorita?" she teased.

I laughed, tucking my phone away. We fell into step together, leaving the world behind as we made our way inside the academy.

Hi guys the first chapter is here .

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