*INTRODUCTION*

Aarav Singh

A calm face in the chaos. A smile too peaceful for the world he’s about to enter. Son of a small-time businessman. Known. Liked. But far from ready.

Diya

Sharp tongue, sharper mind. She walks beside him like a mirror—seeing more than she speaks.

Rohit

The loud one. The heart of the group. A friend who laughs loudest before the silence.

Vikram

Quiet. Loyal. Observant. The kind you forget in the room—until you need him the most.

Mehak

Warm, careful, and brave in ways no one sees. The calm in their small rooftop world.

---

Mohit

The kind of bully who laughs too much. Just a schoolyard king trying to wear a crown built on fear.

Jay & Soham

Followers. Loud when together. Silent when alone. Shadows that grow in the dark.

---

Asim

Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t react. But they say once he moves—someone ends up on the floor.

A question mark with fists.

---

Zyan

Leader of Northside's school gang. Controlled. Stylish. Dangerous. Rumor says his punches break ribs—and rules.

Ashish & Rohan

Zyan’s right and left hand. Loyal because they’ve seen what happens when you’re not.

---

Rocky

Orphan. Leader. Survivor. His gang sleeps under the open sky and wakes up ready for war.

Momin

Doesn’t fight much. Doesn’t need to. His phone calls do the work. His name opens doors—and closes futures.

Roshan

The kind one. The scary one. The two sides of a coin that always lands the wrong way up.

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Chapter 1:

It was 8:03 a.m.

The school gates buzzed with the usual morning chatter. Students in navy-blue uniforms poured in, some rushing to avoid detention, others strolling in slow motion like the world owed them time. In the middle of this noisy wave walked Aarav Singh — shirt untucked, bag slung lazily over one shoulder, his signature half-smile barely hiding his tired eyes.

He greeted the watchman with a casual, “Good morning, Bhaiya,” and slipped through the crowd.

Aarav wasn’t the school topper. He wasn’t a rebel either. But somehow, everyone knew him. Teachers trusted him. Girls talked about him in hushed whispers. And if someone was being bullied, odds were, Aarav would show up before a teacher did.

“Aarav! Wait up!”

That was Diya, matching his pace with her usual no-nonsense walk.

“You forgot to bring your debate file. Again.”

“Ah... I’ll wing it,” he said, flashing a sheepish grin.

Behind them, Rohit and Vikram followed—Rohit cracking loud jokes that only half made sense, while Vikram trailed behind, headphones in, lost in his world.

---

Inside Class 11-B

The usual tension returned as soon as they stepped in.

Mohit was already leaning on Aarav’s desk, grinning like he owned the place.

Jay and Soham, his shadows, laughed at a meme they were showing off on someone's phone.

“Morning, hero,” Mohit said sarcastically. “Saved any kittens today?”

Aarav didn’t reply. He calmly walked over, dropped his bag, and looked him in the eye.

“You’re in my seat, Mohit.”

Jay scoffed, “Relax bro, we’re just messing with you.”

Aarav didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t threaten. He just stood there, calm and firm.

After a moment, Mohit muttered, “Tch, whatever,” and backed off. The class watched quietly. It was an unspoken truth—Aarav never started trouble. But he never backed down either.

---

Lunch Break – The Rooftop

The rooftop was their escape. A rusted door, a creaky stairway, and a peaceful view of the city skyline. It was here that Aarav’s group gathered almost every day.

Mehak joined them, handing out sandwiches she made at home.

“You guys hear the news?” she asked, sitting beside Diya.

“What news?” Vikram asked, mouth full.

“Some kid from Northside got sent to the hospital. They say it was a gang fight. Something about Zyan’s crew.”

Rohit whistled. “That guy’s insane. Didn’t he break someone’s jaw last year at the debate finals?”

Aarav leaned back, chewing slowly, listening but not reacting.

“Gangs, huh…” he muttered. “And here we are, getting detention for late homework.”

---

Meanwhile, in the last bench of Class 11-B...

Asim sat alone.

He always did.

No one spoke to him. No one really knew him. But there were rumors. Once, Jay tried to push him around—and ended up with a nosebleed. Asim didn’t say a word. He just stared. And that stare stayed with people longer than the punch.

---

As the bell rang and the class emptied, Aarav remained for a moment, staring out the window.

Down below, three boys in a different uniform crossed the school fence and disappeared into the alley.

Something was shifting in the city.

And soon, the storm would reach him too.

The morning bell rang like every other day, loud and sharp. Aarav walked through the school gate, fixing his tie, bag slung casually over one shoulder. Another normal day—at least, on the outside.

“Bro, you’ve got two girls staring at you from that side,” Vikram teased, walking beside him.

Aarav smirked. “Then walk straight, maybe they’re looking at you.”

“Shut up,” Vikram laughed.

Diya caught up with them near the canteen. “Morning, Aarav. Did you finish the chemistry assignment?”

“Yeah, I’ll pass it to you after break.”

Everything seemed peaceful. Light. Normal.

But normal is always temporary.

At the back of the corridor, Mohit and his group were laughing too loud. They weren’t near Aarav yet, but their voices carried far.

“Some kid from the junior section cried again,” Jay boasted.

“They cry too easily,” Soham added, “One push and they’re wiping their eyes.”

Aarav glanced at them but said nothing. Rohit caught the look. “Ignore it. They’re bored—trying to act big.”

Aarav nodded. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t just boredom. Something had changed lately. Their behavior was sharper, more deliberate.

In class, the usual seating shuffle happened. Mehak saved a spot near the window. Diya passed chits during the lecture. Vikram doodled in his notebook. The little moments made the day.

At lunch, as they sat under the neem tree, Aarav looked around the schoolyard. He noticed a few students whispering, their eyes darting toward the main building.

“Did you hear?” Rohit asked suddenly, lowering his voice. “That Zyan guy? From St. Marks? He beat up two seniors from Modern Academy last week.”

“Again?” Mehak raised an eyebrow.

“They say he’s one of those… crew leaders. Like real crew—not these local school gangs. Proper connections.”

Aarav looked thoughtful. “Why would a schoolboy need a crew?”

Rohit shrugged. “This city’s not as simple as it looks.”

They fell into silence.

Just then, someone walked past quietly—head down, sleeves rolled up, bag hanging loose.

Asim.

Nobody called out to him. Nobody messed with him either.

Rohit whispered, “That guy creeps me out. Never talks. Always alone. But I saw him last month. Some guy tried to mess with his bag near the bike stand. He didn’t even speak. Just looked at him—and the guy left.”

Aarav watched Asim take a seat at the edge of the ground, under the shade.

Strange.

Something about him was too calm. Too controlled.

---

After school, Aarav stayed behind to help a teacher with noticeboard work. While cutting chart paper, he heard something outside—raised voices. He peeked out of the window. Mohit and his group were pushing around a junior again.

Nothing new.

But then… they went too far.

The kid fell. His bag opened. Books scattered. His lunch spilled.

Aarav moved forward, ready to step out—then paused.

Someone was already standing there.

Asim.

Just standing. Watching.

Mohit froze for a second, then laughed. “You got a problem?”

Asim didn’t say a word. He just stared.

Mohit looked unsure, then muttered something and walked off with his group, acting like they didn’t care.

Aarav watched from the window, unsettled.

Asim didn’t help the kid. He didn’t smile. He didn’t explain.

He just… turned and left.

---

That evening, Aarav passed by the local market. He stopped near a roadside tea stall.

Behind it, a man was laughing loudly while fixing a scooter. Built like a wrestler, wearing a half-sleeved tee and oil-stained jeans. Muscular. Confident. But his smile was wide and friendly.

“Need something, beta?” the man asked.

Aarav smiled politely. “Just passing.”

“Your eyes say otherwise,” the man said. “Something’s bothering you.”

Aarav hesitated. “You ever see something… that doesn’t make sense?”

The man chuckled. “Every day. Name’s Sunny.”

“Aarav.”

“Hmm. Nice name. If things ever stop making sense, Aarav… come talk. Some fights don’t start with fists. They start with questions.”

Aarav smiled.

He didn’t know it then—but that conversation would change everything.