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.
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