The evening sky over Meeneshwari Public School had turned the color of wet clay, bruised with dark clouds. The last bell had rung nearly two hours ago, and the corridors were silent except for the rustle of leaves and the clank of a loose windowpane tapping in the wind.

In the far corner of the campus, away from the classrooms and the new assembly hall, stood the old science block — a two-story building left abandoned for years. The red bricks were blackened with age, creepers crawled up its cracked walls, and the faint smell of rust and rain drifted around it like a warning.

But for Aarav Sharma, that was exactly what made it exciting.

“Come on, Rohit,” he said, his flashlight swinging in hand, his voice more confident than he felt. “You always wanted an adventure, right? Well, here it is. Madhya Pradesh’s most haunted school corridor.”

Rohit, his best friend since Class 6, looked ready to faint. “Adventure? This is suicide, bhai! People say the ghost of that girl still cries in the lab. Remember? Anaya Deshmukh? The topper who disappeared ten years ago?”

Aarav grinned. “Exactly. A topper. Which means she was too smart to turn into a ghost.”

Behind them, Nisha Verma, the class topper of their batch, rolled her eyes. “You two are unbelievable. I only came because you were sneaking out with school flashlights. If the guard catches us, don’t you dare say I was part of this.”

Aarav turned dramatically. “Relax, Miss Topper. It’s not like we’re committing a crime. Just… conducting a practical of our own.”

She crossed her arms, her ponytail flicking like a whip. “Practical in ghost-hunting?”

Rohit muttered, “Or stupidity.”

The rain began to fall — light at first, then harder, pattering against the dusty windows. The sky grumbled. A flash of lightning illuminated the school grounds: the sports field half-flooded, the swings creaking, the yellow school bus parked like a sleeping animal near the gate.

For a moment, Aarav hesitated. The dark corridor ahead looked endless. Shadows flickered where there should have been none. But something — a mix of curiosity and courage — pushed him forward.

They entered.

The air inside was colder. The smell of damp plaster and old chemicals lingered. Broken beakers, rusted taps, and torn charts of the periodic table lay scattered across dusty benches.

“See?” Aarav said, forcing a chuckle. “Nothing but old junk. No ghosts, no screams. Just history.”

Nisha ran her finger along a wall, leaving a clean streak in the dust. “Maybe history wants to stay buried.”

Rohit shivered. “Can we please go? I’m getting goosebumps.”

But before anyone could reply, a faint tap-tap-tap echoed from the upper floor.

They froze.

It was soft but steady — like someone walking barefoot above them.

“Did you hear that?” Rohit whispered.

Aarav pointed the flashlight at the staircase. “Probably an animal. A cat, or a bat maybe.”

Nisha’s voice was barely audible. “Cats don’t wear anklets.”

There it was again. Chhan… chhan… The delicate sound of a payal.

Lightning flashed through the broken window, and for half a second, a white silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs — long hair, pale face, school uniform fluttering faintly.

Rohit gasped. Nisha clutched Aarav’s arm.

The figure didn’t move.

Then, slowly, her head tilted.

And she looked straight at them.

The beam of Aarav’s flashlight trembled as he raised it. The light hit her face — colorless skin, hollow eyes, a faint smile that looked both kind and broken.

“Why did you come back?” she whispered.

The voice wasn’t angry. It was sad.

And then — everything went dark.

---

When Aarav opened his eyes again, they were outside — running through the rain, their shoes splashing through puddles, hearts pounding like drums. None of them remembered exactly how they’d escaped the building.

By the time they reached the front gate, they were soaked and breathless. The security guard shouted something about curfew, but they didn’t stop. They just kept running until they reached the main road, where the flickering streetlights looked almost comforting.

Rohit was the first to speak. “I told you! I told you this place was haunted!”

Aarav leaned against the wall, trying to laugh but failing. “It was probably—”

“Don’t,” Nisha interrupted sharply. “Don’t say it was imagination. We all saw her. Same uniform, same eyes.”

For the first time, Aarav noticed her hands trembling. Her usual calm, confident self had vanished.

The rain softened to a drizzle. The three of them stood there in silence for a long time, the school behind them like a sleeping beast.

Aarav looked back at the old building through the mist. A single window on the upper floor glowed faintly — not lightning, not reflection, just a dim, unnatural light. And for a heartbeat, he thought he saw someone standing there again — watching them leave.

He blinked. The light was gone.

---

That night, Aarav couldn’t sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her — the girl at the staircase. The sadness in her voice replayed in his head: “Why did you come back?”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a question.

A personal one.

As if she knew him.

He sat up, rubbing his face. His room was quiet except for the ticking of the wall clock. His textbooks lay scattered across the desk, unfinished homework still open. The rain had stopped, and the night outside was perfectly still.

And then — tap-tap-tap.

The same sound. Soft. Right outside his window.

Aarav froze. The curtains swayed slightly though the window was shut. His breath quickened. Slowly, he reached for his phone and turned on the flashlight.

The light revealed nothing but raindrops on the glass. He let out a shaky sigh.

But then he noticed something on his study desk — a piece of paper that hadn’t been there before.

It was a torn page from an old school notebook. The edges were yellow, the handwriting neat and cursive.

It read:

> “Meet me tomorrow. Behind the science block.”

— A.D.”

A chill ran down his spine.

He turned the note over, hoping to find some logical explanation — but the back was blank.

Aarav sat there, staring at the initials: A.D.

Anaya Deshmukh.

The same name from the school legend. The girl who had disappeared.

Somewhere outside, a dog barked. The wind howled through the neem trees.

Aarav folded the note slowly, his mind racing between fear and curiosity.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t know which was stronger — the fear of ghosts… or the desire to meet one.

The next morning, the corridors of Meeneshwari Public School buzzed with the usual chaos — morning assembly chants, the smell of wet uniforms drying, and the echo of the principal’s voice shouting about discipline.

But Aarav Sharma wasn’t listening.

His mind was still trapped in the darkness of the old science block, in the flicker of that lightning, in the echo of that soft voice:

“Why did you come back?”

He kept touching his pocket, where the torn piece of paper from last night rested, folded neatly like a secret.

“Bhai, are you okay?” Rohit asked, sitting beside him in class. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I didn’t,” Aarav muttered.

Rohit sighed. “Same. Every time I close my eyes, I see those eyes. Bro, promise me we’re not going back there.”

Aarav didn’t reply. He just stared at the blackboard, where the teacher was scribbling equations that looked like alien language.

Behind them, Nisha Verma sat silently, pretending to take notes but sneaking glances at Aarav. She hadn’t spoken a word since last night. Her hair was still a bit damp from the rain, and her eyes carried that same fear — but also curiosity.

Halfway through class, Aarav felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned. Nisha slipped a folded chit onto his desk.

He opened it quietly under the bench.

The handwriting was neat — hers.

> “We need to talk. After school. Near the canteen.”

Aarav looked back. Nisha was staring at the board, her face calm, but her fingers fidgeted with her pen.

---

When the last bell rang, students poured out like a flood. Boys shouted, girls laughed, the bell pealed, and the entire school seemed alive again. But in one quiet corner behind the canteen, three familiar faces gathered — Aarav, Nisha, and Rohit.

Rohit came armed with a pack of Khatta Meetha namkeen and suspicion. “Please tell me we’re not going to talk about ghosts in daylight.”

Nisha ignored him. “Aarav, you found something last night, didn’t you?”

He hesitated, then pulled out the note. “This.”

Nisha read it aloud softly:

> “Meet me tomorrow. Behind the science block. — A.D.”

Her eyes widened. “A.D. as in Anaya Deshmukh?”

Rohit groaned. “No, A.D. as in ‘Arey Don’t!’ That’s what we should be saying!”

But Nisha was serious. “This isn’t a prank. Look at the paper — it’s old. The ink’s faded. You can’t fake this.”

Aarav’s voice was low. “I found it on my study table this morning. Window was shut. Nobody entered my room.”

They stood there in silence. The sound of the canteen bell and laughter of juniors faded behind them.

Nisha finally said, “We need to go back.”

Rohit choked on his snack. “WHAT? Did your brain get haunted too? We barely escaped yesterday!”

Nisha’s tone was calm but firm. “Don’t you want to know why she asked ‘Why did you come back?’ What if it’s not about us at all?”

Aarav looked at her. “Then what is it about?”

“Maybe,” she said quietly, “someone else came back. Someone connected to her past.”

---

That evening, as the school emptied again, the three of them sneaked toward the old science block. This time, Aarav carried not just a flashlight, but also a determination that even he didn’t understand.

The building looked the same — lonely, half-eaten by time. But in the dim orange light of sunset, it almost seemed… waiting.

Inside, their footsteps echoed on the dusty floor. A classroom door creaked open by itself, startling Rohit into dropping his water bottle.

“Ghosts, if you’re here,” he whispered, “we come in peace. Please don’t—”

Aarav hushed him. “Listen.”

There it was — faint, but real — a whisper.

Not from upstairs this time, but from the old chemistry lab at the end of the corridor.

They followed it, step by cautious step.

The lab door was half-broken. Aarav pushed it gently. Inside, glass fragments sparkled in the weak sunlight filtering through cracked windows. On one desk lay a pile of old practical registers, eaten by silverfish.

And on the blackboard, someone had written — in fresh chalk —

> “You came back.”

Rohit yelped. “Nope! Nope nope nope! I’m done!”

But Aarav walked closer, his throat dry. “She’s here.”

Suddenly, the window shutters banged open. Wind swept through the room, scattering pages into the air like white butterflies. Nisha shielded her face. Rohit screamed.

And in the swirl of papers — just for an instant — they saw her.

Anaya.

Standing near the teacher’s desk. Her eyes were soft, but her voice carried a chill that made the air freeze.

> “He promised he would come back… and he did.”

“Who?” Aarav asked, trembling.

But she was gone.

The wind stopped. The papers fell silently to the ground.

In the heavy stillness that followed, Nisha noticed something glinting under one of the desks. She bent down and picked it up — a small silver bracelet, old and rusted, with engraved initials:

> “A.D. — R.M.”

Rohit squinted. “R.M.? Who’s that?”

Aarav’s mind raced. “Maybe… someone she loved?”

Nisha looked at him. “Or someone who betrayed her.”

---

That night, none of them could sleep again.

Aarav sat at his desk, staring at the bracelet they’d found. He had cleaned it gently, revealing its full engraving — the letters gleamed faintly in the lamplight.

On an impulse, he flipped open his school diary and began to write — not homework, but questions.

> “Who are you, Anaya? What happened ten years ago? Why me?”

He closed the diary and turned off the light.

But when he woke up the next morning, something new was there — written neatly in his own diary, below his question.

> “Because you’re the only one who can set it right.”

His hand trembled as he touched the page. The ink was still wet.

He wasn’t dreaming.

The ghost had answered.

Morning sunlight poured through the neem trees lining the boundary wall of Meeneshwari Public School, turning dew drops into tiny diamonds. The campus looked so normal — laughter, morning prayers, dusty football matches — that no one could’ve guessed what had happened in the old science block last night.

But for Aarav Sharma, normalcy was gone.

The words he had found in his diary — “Because you’re the only one who can set it right.” — kept flashing in his head like neon lightning. Every page of his school notebook suddenly felt like a possible ghostly messenger.

He sat at his desk, pretending to listen to Maths Sir, but his mind drifted far away — to that bracelet, the initials A.D. – R.M., and that fading whisper that still echoed in his ears.

“Mr. Aarav Sharma!”

The teacher’s booming voice snapped him back. Aarav jumped.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Could you please explain this theorem to the class, since you seem to be daydreaming about the meaning of life?”

The class giggled. Even Nisha Verma, sitting two benches behind, tried to hide a smile. Aarav stood up, fumbling with the chalk. “Uh… the theorem says that—uh—if two triangles are congruent…”

Rohit muttered, “You’re congruent with stupidity.”

A few laughs burst around. The teacher sighed. “Sit down, Mr. Sharma. You need divine help — not mathematical.”

If only he knew how true that was.

---

When the lunch bell rang, Aarav, Rohit, and Nisha sneaked to the school library — the quietest place in the building, where dust motes floated like tiny spirits in the sunlight.

Old wooden shelves lined the walls, stacked with years of forgotten reports, registers, and dusty yearbooks.

Nisha whispered, “The school records go back to 2008. Anaya Deshmukh disappeared in 2014, right?”

Rohit groaned. “Why are we doing this again? Can’t we just watch horror movies like normal teenagers instead of living one?”

“Because,” Aarav said softly, “she talked to me.”

That silenced them both.

They began searching through the old school magazines and photo albums, fingers leaving trails in the dust. The pages were full of smiling faces, farewell messages, and handwritten wishes — all from the years before they had even joined the school.

Finally, Nisha pulled out a thick blue-bound yearbook titled “Batch of 2014.”

“There,” she said, blowing dust off the cover.

They sat on the floor and flipped through the pages. The photographs were grainy but clear enough to see the school uniforms, the same classrooms, the same banyan tree that still stood outside.

Then Rohit pointed. “Look.”

Anaya Deshmukh — Science Stream, Class XII-B.

Her photo was small, black-and-white, but unmistakable. The same eyes. Calm. Intelligent. A faint smile that looked kind and a little sad even in the picture.

“She looks exactly like—” Rohit began.

“Like what we saw,” Nisha finished quietly.

Under the photo was a short caption:

> “Anaya Deshmukh – Brilliant mind, kind heart, a star of our school.”

Aarav stared at it for a long moment. His fingers traced the edge of her picture, feeling something deep stir within — not fear, not curiosity… but familiarity.

“I’ve seen her before,” he murmured.

Rohit frowned. “Of course you have. Yesterday. When she tried to kill us.”

“No,” Aarav said, shaking his head. “Before that. Somewhere else. She looks… familiar.”

Nisha looked thoughtful. “Could your parents have known her? Or maybe she was related to someone who worked here?”

Aarav didn’t answer. He turned to the next page — a class photograph of XII-B, with teachers standing behind rows of students.

And there — standing beside Anaya — was a boy with the same school uniform, smiling confidently. Underneath, the name read:

> Raghav Mehta – Head Boy.

Rohit blinked. “R.M. That’s the other initial on the bracelet.”

Nisha’s voice dropped to a whisper. “A.D. – R.M. It wasn’t just initials… it was theirs.”

Aarav’s chest tightened. A story was forming — one that felt too tragic to belong to school corridors.

Nisha turned the page. There was a short article titled “Inter-School Science Exhibition Accident.” The page was partly torn, but a few lines were visible:

> “During the late-night preparation for the exhibition… electrical short circuit in the chemistry lab… two students present… one missing, presumed…”

The rest of the paragraph was smudged.

Rohit gulped. “Presumed what? Dead?!”

Nisha frowned. “And who were the two students? Anaya and Raghav?”

Before Aarav could respond, a faint gust of cold air brushed past his ear. He froze.

The air around them shifted — suddenly cold, heavy. The pages of the yearbook fluttered on their own, stopping at one photograph near the end: a picture of the Science Trophy shelf. Behind it, barely visible, was a reflection — a faint outline of someone standing there who wasn’t supposed to be.

Aarav stared. “Look… behind the trophy.”

It was a silhouette — of a girl in the school uniform, head slightly tilted.

Nisha whispered, “That’s her. She’s… in the picture.”

As they watched, a drop of ink appeared on the page — out of nowhere — and slowly formed a word right over the photo.

> “Find Raghav.”

Rohit stumbled backward. “Okay, okay! Enough Scooby-Doo for today!”

But Aarav couldn’t look away. His pulse hammered in his ears.

“Raghav Mehta,” he said. “He must still be alive.”

Nisha nodded. “If he is, he’s the key. He might know what really happened that night.”

Rohit grabbed his bag. “And how exactly do you plan to find someone who left this school ten years ago? Ask the ghost for his address?”

Aarav closed the yearbook gently. “No. I’ll start with the records office. Maybe there’s a contact. If not, we’ll find another way.”

As they walked out of the library, Nisha looked back one last time. The yearbook lay open on the floor — and Anaya’s photo seemed different now.

Her faint smile looked… almost hopeful.

---

That evening, Aarav returned home early. His mother scolded him for not eating lunch properly, but he barely heard her. After dinner, he went straight to his room, placed the bracelet beside his diary, and whispered softly into the still air:

“Anaya… I’m trying. I’ll find him.”

The window rattled faintly, though there was no wind. The diary fluttered open on its own, to a blank page.

And new words began appearing in that same neat handwriting:

> “He’s closer than you think.”

Aarav’s breath caught in his throat.

He stared at the ink forming on its own.

> “He’s been waiting too.”

The final word underlined itself — almost like a heartbeat.

> “Hurry.”