Five years ago...
Some moments don't fade.
They echo.
Like the sound of Vihaan's laughter bouncing off school corridors.
Loud. Real. Alive.
He wasn't a ghost back then.
He wasn't invisible.
He was Vihaan — the boy everyone waited for during break time, the one who knew every shortcut around campus, the one who made even boring classes feel like something was happening.
"Oi, Vihaan! Give me the notes or I swear—"
He tossed the notebook across the bench with a grin.
"Only if you admit I'm smarter."
Laughter.
Shouting.
Voices overlapping.
Memories weaving themselves into the very air of that old classroom.
He had a gang — four boys, two girls.
They fought, shared lunch, made plans that would never happen but still felt exciting to talk about.
They weren't just friends.
They were a world.
And Vihaan was in the center — not because he tried to be, but because his smile made space for others to smile too.
---
Home back then felt like home.
He'd throw his bag onto the bed and hear his father say, "Take off your shoes first, hero."
His mother would yell from the kitchen, "Wash your hands! And don't touch the fridge!"
And Vihaan would respond with a voice that didn't carry weight, or guilt, or weariness.
He would respond like a child.
---
But then came that day.
The sky looked strange that evening — like it knew something was about to break.
His father called him into the bedroom.
The tone in his voice was too calm.
Vihaan stepped in, still holding a half-eaten biscuit.
"Sit down."
He sat.
"There's a problem," his father said, eyes not meeting his.
Vihaan waited.
"We can't afford your school anymore. The business is gone. I've spoken to your uncle. You'll be moving to his village. You'll continue your studies from there."
That moment didn't crash like a storm.
It slipped in like cold water under the skin.
He blinked.
Swallowed.
Laughed — maybe to check if it was a joke.
It wasn't.
"I don't want to go," he said softly.
His father stayed silent.
"I don't want to go," he repeated.
Still silence.
So he stopped speaking.
---
The next day, Vihaan stood in front of his friends, smiled the fakest smile he'd ever worn, and said—
"I'm shifting to a bigger city. Dad got a transfer. Guess I'll be starting fresh, huh?"
They cheered.
Slapped his back.
Said things like "Don't forget us!" and "You'll rock there too!"
He nodded.
And lied.
Inside, something sank that day.
Something... important.
---
One year later.
He came back to the city.
Not with family.
Not to laughter.
Just… with a suitcase and a set of duplicate keys.
The flat was big.
3BHK.
Wooden floors. White walls. Clean windows.
No warmth.
The silence greeted him like it had been waiting.
He opened every cupboard even though he knew they were empty.
Walked across every room as if someone might be there.
But no voice echoed back.
He cooked two-minute noodles, sat on the cold floor of the living room, and stared at nothing for a while.
"This is freedom," he whispered.
He believed it for one night.
---
But freedom gets heavy when no one's around to share it.
By the third day, he was talking to walls.
Asking questions to lights.
Sitting still for hours, just to hear his own breath.
He missed arguments.
He missed his mother's complaints.
He missed his father's quiet presence.
He missed… feeling like he belonged somewhere.
Now he just existed in a space too big, too clean, and too empty.
---
School began again.
Same building. Same classrooms.
But nothing else felt the same.
The people were new.
Louder. Flashier.
Filled with pride that left no space for kindness.
And those who still remained from his past…
acted like he didn't.
One boy — the one who once shared lunch with him — walked past without even a nod.
Another girl, once close enough to call him "Vihu", now gave him a look like she was trying to remember if he existed.
He smiled at someone. They turned away.
He raised his hand to answer a question.
The teacher chose someone else. Someone louder. Someone with the right brand on their bag.
---
Vihaan sat at the back of the class.
The window was still there.
Same view.
Different sky.
And for the first time, he realised—
"My school life is over.
Not because the walls changed.
But because I don't belong in the story anymore."
The bell rang.
No one looked at him as they left.
He sat for a minute longer.
Not waiting for anyone.
Just… afraid to go back to the silence of that flat again.
He stood up.
Picked up his bag.
And walked out like a stranger in the city that once felt like home.