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The corridor was quiet, too quiet for this hour. Light from the high glass windows poured in slanted streams, creating a sharp pattern of shadows on the floor. The silence was thick—like the kind that follows betrayal, or perhaps the kind that arrives right before it.

Avyansh walked with heavy steps, jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides. He wasn’t angry—no, anger was far behind him now. What he felt was colder. Like something inside had frozen.

That video…

Akshita.

The one person he thought he understood.

And now, he didn’t know what to believe.

The message had come from an unknown number. A clipped video. Just fifteen seconds. Her voice. Her tone. It didn’t sound like love—it sounded like… control. Obsession. The kind that turned affection into poison.

He was midway across the corridor, somewhere between the science wing and the empty storerooms when his phone buzzed.

A call.
Kavya.

He stared at the name. It glowed on the screen like it wanted to burn into his skin. She hadn’t called all morning. Not once since the incident. And now?

He nearly declined.

But something—whether formality, or the last shred of courtesy toward an old acquaintance—made him answer.

“Hello?” His voice was low, flat.

There was no reply at first. Just a sound—unsteady breathing.

Then finally—

“Avyansh…”

A whisper. Cracked. Faint. Not at all like the confident, sharp-voiced girl he had known all these years.

“…please… storeroom… back corridor…”

The line crackled. Her voice trembled, as if it were falling apart.

“I’m not okay.”

That was all.

He didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t waste a breath.

He just turned.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

The corridor stretched like a spine made of glass and dust. His footsteps were brisk, soundless like a shadow. At the end, beyond the broken window shutters, lay the door—faded blue, rust hugging its edges.

The old storeroom.

He pushed the door open with a creak that sounded more like a sigh of something long dead.

Inside, darkness clung to the corners. The smell of old wood, damp notebooks, and rotting memories lingered.

And there she was.

Kavya. On the floor. Her frame hunched against the far wall. Her back was to him, shoulders shaking slightly. Her dupatta lay half crumpled beside her, and one arm clutched her side as if she were holding herself together.

He stepped in.

“Kavya?”

She didn’t turn immediately.

When she finally did, her face was pale. Eyes wide. There was a smear of blood near her temple—unclear if from a wound or smudged lipstick. Her lip quivered.

“I didn’t know who else to call…” she whispered.

Avyansh stood still.

Formal. Distant.

Just enough humanity left to not walk away.

“What happened to you?” His voice held no softness—only a straight question. His posture was stiff. Eyes scanning her for answers she wouldn’t yet give.

She looked away, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

“They… they tried to…” Her breath hitched. She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, her voice dissolved into a quiet sob.

“Tried to what?”

Silence.

Avyansh stepped forward, one slow step at a time. Not out of concern—but out of necessity. Someone was hurt. That was all he needed to know right now.

“Kavya, if something happened, say it.” His tone didn’t change. It was like questioning a witness, not comforting a friend.

She covered her face with both hands.

“You won’t believe me,” she murmured.

He kneeled, not close—just far enough to look her in the eye.

“I don’t have time for games. Say what happened. Who did it?”

She flinched.

For a moment, she looked like a frightened bird—wings broken, but still unwilling to admit they were.

Then, in a whisper, she said, “Akshita.”

The name sliced through the air like a knife.

Avyansh didn’t blink.

“What about her?”

Kavya’s hands trembled in her lap.

“She was jealous.”

The words were strange in that space. Like they didn’t belong. Like they had been dragged in forcefully.

“Of what?”

Kavya’s gaze flickered upward for the first time. Her eyes were wide—frantic almost—but not weak.

“Of me. Of us.”

He stiffened.

“There is no ‘us’.”

Kavya gave a broken smile.

“I know. But she didn’t see it that way. I was your friend. I was close to you. That was enough for her to feel threatened.”

The quiet that followed felt alive.

“So she… what?” he asked.

Kavya swallowed hard.

“She watched me. Thought I was getting in the way. And then… when I tried to reason with her… she turned cruel. emotionally… she wanted to humiliate me.”

Avyansh looked at her carefully.

Her voice wasn’t faltering now. Each word was controlled. Almost rehearsed.

But her face—

It had just enough damage to be believable.
Just enough fear to seem real.
And just enough emptiness to cast doubt.

He didn’t trust her.

But he didn’t disbelieve her either.

Not yet.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Because I knew no one would believe me,” she whispered. “Because… everyone thinks she’s perfect. Sweet. Untouchable.”

He didn’t respond.

Kavya looked at him.

“She wanted you, Avyansh. She thought I was in her way. So she did what she had to do to remove me.”

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

The room was heavy. Dense with implications.
The corridor outside the school infirmary was dim and deathly quiet, far from the chaos that had erupted just moments ago in the west wing corridor. The storm outside was growing, as if it, too, had sensed the poison spreading in silence.

Inside the room, Kavya lay on the white cot, her dupatta slightly wrinkled, hair disheveled, bandaged wrist trembling. Her lips quivered, not just from the act—but from the weight of what she had dared to do.

She had accused Akshita.

She had accused her of something vile.

And the boy sitting beside her, fists clenched, jaw locked—had carried her here with his own arms.

Avyansh hadn’t spoken since she collapsed. He hadn’t even asked what had happened when her sobs filled the hallway and the teachers gathered. He had only looked at her bruised elbow, her smeared kajal, her torn expression—and lifted her.

Not with love.

Not with rage.

But with an eerie silence that terrified her more than rejection ever could.

Now, seated beside her bed, he finally spoke.

His voice was low, like thunder hidden behind clouds.

“I want to understand one thing, Kavya…”

She didn’t respond. Her fingers gripped the blanket tighter.

“…You were crying… completely shaken up…And when I asked who did this… you said just one name.”

“Akshita.”

He turned to her now, his eyes burning—not with doubt, but the desperation to not believe what he was fearing.

“Why?”

Kavya’s lips parted. She looked up, fragile, eyes glassy.

“She was insecure, Avyansh… I saw it in her eyes. Like I was taking something from her. She used to glare. There was anger. But she never said a word.”

Avyansh blinked.

“But you want me to believe that Akshita—the girl you once said was different—she would send boys… to bring another girl down like this?”

Kavya nodded slowly, tears falling freely now.

“She was insecure, Avyansh… I saw it in her eyes. Like I was taking something from her. She used to glare. There was anger. But she never said a word.”

A lie.
A perfectly crafted, venom-laced lie.

But Avyansh didn’t react.

He just stared.

Still. Silent. Still hoping she’d break down and say the truth.

Instead, Kavya continued.

“Aaj jab main storeroom se nikal rahi thi... teen ladke... mujhe ghoorte hue aaye. Ek ne mujhe haath lagaya. Dusra hansa. Jab maine chillaya, tab tak tum aa gaye. But... unhone jo bola—woh main kabhi nahi bhoolungi.”
(Today, when I was walking near the storeroom… three boys came toward me, staring. One touched me. The other laughed. And when I screamed, they became more. But… what they said, I’ll never forget.)

Her voice broke.

“‘Usne bheja hai humein... us ladki ne jisko lagta hai ki yeh ladka sirf uska hai.’”
(‘She sent us… that girl who thinks this boy belongs only to her.’)

A pin-drop silence followed.

Kavya looked at him now—not as a victim—but as a girl pushing him into fire and watching whether he'd burn or survive.

“Tum samajh rahe ho na, Avyansh?” she whispered. “Woh ladki... tumhare pyaar mein pagal ho chuki hai. Usne mujhe—”
(You understand, right, Avyansh? That girl… she’s gone mad in your love. She—)

“Stop.”

Avyansh didn’t raise his voice.
But the way his hand gripped the edge of the chair made it clear—he wasn’t calm.

“Tu keh rahi hai ki Akshita... Akshita ne kuch ladkon ko bheja, taaki woh tumhara... tamasha bana saken?”

(You’re saying Akshita… sent boys to harass you? To shame you?)

Kavya nodded. “She’s jealous. Tum dono ke beech jo tha… woh main tod nahi paayi. Toh usne mujhe tod diya.”
(She’s jealous. I couldn’t break what was between you two. So she broke me instead.)

Avyansh stood up.

His hands trembled.

His mind was burning.

And yet… his heart, even in its bruised state, whispered one thing over and over again.

She can’t. She wouldn’t. She’s not capable of this.

He turned back to Kavya slowly.

“She might be obsessed. Yes.”

“Sometimes I see a strange longing in her eyes… something that never turns into words.”

“She stops when she sees me… and I pretend not to notice.”

“But there’s one thing I can say even against the whole world……”

“She even hesitates to touch someone. She is not someone who would ruin another’s dignity.”

Kavya’s expression cracked.

But she held her final card.

She sat up, her hair falling in disarray, her voice trembling.

“Par meri izzat gayi hai, Avyansh. Woh cheez jo ladkiyon ke paas ek baar hoti hai.”
(But my dignity is gone, Avyansh. That one thing a girl only has once.)

She looked straight into his soul.

“Aur woh usne cheeni hai. Akshita ne.”
(And she took it. Akshita did.)

The room fell silent.

And in that silence, something inside Avyansh broke—not his trust in Akshita.

But the final illusion of who Kavya really was.

He stepped back once, twice, his face frozen in shock.

Then he whispered, almost to himself—

“You lost, Avyansh.”

Without waiting for her response, he walked to the door.

This time, he didn’t look back.

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

The sun had draped golden sheets over the school corridor, warmth glowing through the window panes, as laughter spilled from Classroom 12A. It was their last day—their farewell, the day everyone dreamed would be a mosaic of memories. Inside, the students were joking, scribbling on each other’s uniforms, clicking selfies, preserving what they thought was eternal.

Ishaan was mid-sentence, narrating one of his typical, exaggerated tales—“Aur uss din jab maine principal ke samne—” And that day when I— but his voice trailed off.

The classroom door slammed open.

Everyone turned.

Avyansh.

The calm, composed prince of silence… now storm.

His eyes weren’t blank, but burning—blazing with a fury no one had ever seen. Even Ishaan’s jokes fell dead in his throat. A silence, strange and immediate, blanketed the room. All eyes turned toward him.

But his eyes searched only for one.

Akshita.

She stood near the window, her saree shimmering under the sunlight, her eyes confused yet calm. That calmness—he couldn’t stand it. How could she stand like that after everything?

Kavya’s words echoed in his head like a storm crashing against his skull—

"She was jealous of me, Avyansh… she always was.”

That 15-second clip… That voice… Her face.

Her.

Possession.

He didn’t wait.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

He strode across the classroom—his footsteps sharp, cruel, echoing with judgment. Students parted like the Red Sea. Akshita flinched, sensing something shift in the air. But before she could speak, his hand gripped her wrist, firm and unyielding.

“Avyansh…?” she whispered, more to the silence than to him.

But he didn’t reply.

Not a word.

Not a glance.

His grip wasn’t of affection. It wasn’t of concern. It was rage. Rage, betrayal, and something that trembled just beneath… something he didn’t even want to name.

Everyone stared, stunned.

Ishaan was the first to rise. “Avyansh! What the hell are you doing, bhai?!”

Siddharth shot up, Vedika clutched her dupatta tight. “Avyansh, stop! Listen to her at least!”

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

He dragged her out of the classroom—like a storm dragging the sky, uncaring of who it scorches along the way.

Akshita didn’t fight. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.
Because something inside her knew—this was the last day she would smile.

Vedika, Siddharth, and Ishaan chased after them, their hearts hammering in panic.

"What the hell he is doing?!" Vedika gasped.

Siddharth ran beside her. “He’s taking her to the principal’s office. Something’s wrong—very wrong.”

Inside the principal's office, the air was thick with silence. The principal, startled, looked up.

Avyansh let go of her hand with a sharp motion.

"Sir," he said, voice cold like steel, “I need you to see a video. Right now.”

His hand was trembling. But he didn’t let it show.

Akshita stood there, silent.

Her eyes didn’t plead. They didn’t explain.

They just waited.

As if she knew—this wasn’t a battle she could win with words.

Vedika burst in behind them, panting. “Sir! Please! Whatever he says—it’s not what it seems!”

But Avyansh had already handed over the phone. The principal watched. The clip played.

That voice.

That line.

That smile.

The principal leaned back in his chair, shocked. “Miss Akshita… is this true?”

Silence.

The kind that isn’t empty but choking.

Avyansh looked at her for the first time now. Not like a friend. Not like a classmate.

Like a stranger.

And Akshita?

She looked up… her eyes glassy but unwavering.

“I don’t want to say anything.” she said.

Vedika stepped in, her voice cracking. “That video is edited! Sir, please! It’s a lie!”

Siddharth added, “We all know her. She could never say that. Never do that.”

Ishaan scoffed bitterly. “This is some bullshit manipulation. Where did that video even come from?”

But Avyansh’s silence was louder than their words. His eyes didn’t move from her. Not with affection. But disbelief.

Betrayal.

Kavya’s web had tightened.

And for Akshita, the sun outside the window didn’t shine anymore.

It was the last day of school.
And maybe the last day someone would look at her with trust.

She stood, not as the vibrant girl who once laughed with Vedika under banyan trees… not as the poetic soul who danced in rain…
But as an accused.

Not by the world.

But by him.

And sometimes, one person’s disbelief is enough to shatter everything.

The principal’s office was still buzzing from the unresolved storm when the door creaked open once again. A nurse stepped inside, her face grim, her hands carefully supporting someone behind her.

Kavya.

She looked like a shadow of the girl who’d always walked the corridors with arrogance stitched into her steps.

Now, she was broken.

Or so it seemed.

Her uniform was disheveled, her sleeves torn slightly, her hair tangled like ivy in a thunderstorm. There were red marks on her arms, light bruises — precisely where one would expect them to be.

Everyone froze.

Time stood still.

Even Avyansh blinked.

"What… happened?" the principal gasped, standing from his chair.

Vedika took a step back, clutching the table.

Ishaan muttered, “What the hell…?”

Akshita’s heart dropped. She stepped forward slowly, crouching before Kavya, her voice trembling but soft, soaked in empathy.

“Kavya… what happened? Who… did this…?”

Kavya looked at her. Eyes swollen with tears… and something darker.

And then she snapped.

“Why the hell are you pretending, Akshita?!”

The room shattered in her scream.

“When, You’re the one who did this!” Kavya cried, pointing a trembling finger at her.

Akshita froze.

The floor beneath her knees suddenly felt like fire.

“What?” she whispered.

“You think this act will save you?” Kavya sobbed dramatically, “You think crouching in front of me, showing fake sympathy will change what you did?! You did this to me! You were jealous!”

“Kavya, what the hell are you talking about!?” Ishaan shouted, stepping forward.

The accusation echoed again in Akshita’s ears.

“You did this.”

Before she could even blink… even understand… Avyansh was already moving.

His hand gripped her upper arm roughly.

"Enough!" His voice thundered like a slap.

He pulled her up forcefully from her crouched position, making her stumble to her feet.

“Avyansh! Don’t—” Vedika rushed forward.

Siddharth extended a hand, blocking her path.

“Not now,” he whispered. His voice unusually cold. Unmoving.

Akshita’s eyes welled up—not because of the pain in her arm, but because of the pain in his eyes.

He wasn’t looking at her like a friend anymore.

He was looking at her like a monster.

“Why did you do this, Akshita?!” Avyansh shouted, his voice slicing through her.

Akshita’s lips parted, but nothing came.

"Why?! Tell me what I did to deserve this from you!" his voice cracked with rage, not just at her—but at the world that suddenly didn’t make sense.

And then he pulled out his phone.

Shoved it right in her face.

"Is this you? Is this your voice?"

The video played again.

Her in the red saree.

That one clip, that one twisted sentence.

"Toh woh rahega bhi uske saath... jo meri cheez ban chuka hai…"

Akshita’s body froze.

Her throat ran dry.

It was her voice. It was her voice.

But…

The context was gone. The laughter that followed it, the longing tone—gone.

She looked at Avyansh, shaking her head. “No. It's not full....this is not what—”

He stepped back. “Don’t lie.”

"I’m not lying!” she cried, finally finding her voice.

But the room wasn’t listening.

Not yet.

Kavya sobbed again, curling into herself on the chair. “She hated me. She said I was coming between her and you. She said I should be taught a lesson... and then…”

She looked away. Tears slipped down her cheeks like rehearsed lines in a drama.

And that’s when it hit Akshita—

She wasn’t being confronted.

She was being framed.

And the only person she thought would never doubt her… had already chosen the other side.
The air inside the principal’s office had turned heavier—every breath dragged like a burden, every second stretched like a punishment.

Akshita stood in the middle of it all.

Her lips trembled, fingers clenched around the edges of her saree, and her voice—when she finally found it—came out cracked like broken glass.

“Avyansh… please… believe me—this is not what it looks like…”

Her eyes flickered helplessly between him and Kavya. “She’s lying. That video is edited. It’s not—”

“Then say it!” Avyansh stepped closer, his voice desperate now, layered with a pain he didn’t know how to carry.

“Say it, Akshita. Say that this isn’t you. That this video… this lie… isn’t real.”

He grabbed her shoulders now—firm, not harsh—his eyes trembling beneath his anger, as if somewhere deep down, a part of him still wanted to believe her.

“Just say it once…” his voice broke, “...and I’ll believe you. I swear.”

Akshita looked at him.

No words left her mouth.

Just tears.

Silent… constant… falling like rain on desert land.

Because what hurt her was no longer the accusations… or even the betrayal by Kavya…

It was his eyes.

The warmth in them… gone.

That subtle softness he didn’t even realize he had when he looked at her—erased.
Replaced by doubt.

She had lost.

Not to Kavya.

Not to a video.

But to his eyes.

The only place she ever wanted to be seen truly… had turned away.

And that moment, she didn’t saw her silence or his pleading. But she saw herself losing in his eyes.

Avyansh’s grip loosened slightly.

He searched her face… her silence… for truth.

But silence is a strange thing.

It can scream, but only to those who know how to listen.

And Avyansh, in that moment… had already stopped listening.

He stepped back slowly.

His hands dropped to his sides.

And something inside him… sealed shut.

His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I thought I knew you.”

That was it.

He didn’t accuse her again. He didn’t yell.

Because sometimes, silence is the loudest judgment of all.

Akshita wiped her tears slowly and stepped forward.

Her eyes not begging.

Just broken.

“Do you really believe all this?” she asked, her voice hollow. “Do you trust this video… more than me?”

The room stilled again.

Her words didn’t demand an answer.
They deserved one.

But this time…

Avyansh said nothing.

His silence spoke everything.

And this time, it was her heart that stopped listening.

ᴛ ᴏ  ʙ ᴇ  ᴄ ᴏ ɴ ᴛ ɪ ɴ ᴜ ᴇ ᴅ

Beta, Yeh toh sirf trailer tha, picture to abhi bhi Baki hai.
Okay!!
So be ready with a bundle of tissues, you might need them.

Love you all🌷͙

Your author.