Inside the School Hall
Khushi stepped through the main doors of St. Claire's International, pausing just a few steps inside. The soft scent of floor polish and fresh flowers greeted her, and sunlight streamed through tall glass windows, scattering warm gold across the marble flooring.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her guitar case.
Breathe, Khushi. You've worked hard for this.
She walked forward slowly, taking in the high walls lined with achievements, trophies that glittered under spotlights, photographs of smiling students holding medals. A small, awe-struck smile tugged at her lips.
"Wow…" she murmured under her breath, almost as if afraid the grand hall would swallow the sound. "This school really lives up to its name."
For a moment she stood there, admiring—not just the beauty—but the possibility. A new beginning. A different life than the one she was running from. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and whispered with a brave little sigh,
"If I manage to get this job… I'll finally start earning properly. Maybe things will get better."
A spark of hope lit her eyes—fragile but alive.
She didn't notice a pair of small eyes from across the hallway peeking around a pillar—the same eyes that had called her angel moments ago.
Kiaan.
Watching silently.
Recognizing what no one else could.
And fate, gently and quietly, had begun to pull their paths closer.
Further Inside the School
Khushi moved deeper into the hallway, heels soft against the polished floor. A woman in a neat navy-blue saree stood behind the reception counter—organized desk, a warm yet strict presence, the kind that made students straighten their back instantly. She looked like someone who had been running this place long before Khushi even dreamed of applying.
Khushi approached with a polite smile.
"Good morning, ma'am. I'm Khushi Dubey… I have an interview scheduled today for the position of Music Teacher."
The receptionist—Mrs. Verma, Senior Administrative Officer—lifted her gaze over her spectacles. Her eyes swept over Khushi's resume folder, guitar case, her slightly nervous posture.
"Interview candidates?" she asked, her voice crisp but not unkind.
"Yes," Khushi nodded, trying to keep her voice steady.
Mrs. Verma's expression softened just a little.
"Follow me."
Khushi exhaled in relief as she walked behind her. They passed classrooms filled with chatter, little shoes tapping on floors, posters about discipline and creativity pinned neatly on boards. It all felt unreal—like walking through a life she was still afraid to believe she could have.
Mrs. Verma stopped at a quiet corridor and opened a glass door.
"The interview panel will call you shortly," she said, gesturing toward a bright room with cushioned chairs, a water dispenser, and two other applicants flipping through notes.
"Thank you," Khushi replied gently, stepping in.
As the door closed behind her, she clutched the guitar case a little closer, nerves trembling under hope.
New city. New job. New beginning.
She just needed a chance.
What she didn't know was that a little boy was searching the corridors outside—looking for his angel.
Khushi stepped further into the waiting room, her eyes sweeping across the space. A few candidates sat with straight spines and hopeful expressions, resumes neatly tucked in their hands. Others came out through another door—slow steps, lowered gazes, shoulders sagging with disappointment. One girl even rubbed her teary eyes before walking away.
Khushi's heart tightened.
So the interview is tough…
She pressed her lips together, swallowing the nervous flutter in her chest.
She found an empty chair near the corner and carefully rested her guitar case beside her. Her fingers drummed lightly against her lap, betraying her anxiety.
What if I don't get selected? What if I'm not good enough?
The thought slipped in, unwelcome.
She took a slow breath, lifted her chin and whispered softly to herself,
"Khushi… whatever happens, happens for a reason. God knows best."
A small, reassuring smile touched her lips—fragile, but real.
Unknown to her, destiny had already taken its seat beside her.
A child who believed in angels was just a few corridors away.
The tension in the waiting room gradually thickened, like air before rainfall.
One of the applicants—a well-dressed woman with glossy hair and a voice loud enough to claim attention—leaned back in her chair with a smug smile.
"I've performed in three state-level competitions," she announced to no one in particular, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "I'm sure they'll pick me. Honestly, these small interviews are nothing for someone like me."
A few candidates shifted uncomfortably. One lowered her resume, confidence visibly shaken.
The woman smirked again. "I don't know why others even bothered coming. They'll shortlist the best. Obviously."
Khushi listened quietly at first, eyes thoughtful. Her grip tightened around her guitar case. She had seen people like this—those who shined their ego brighter than their talent.
Finally, she stood and walked over to the boastful candidate, her steps soft but firm.
"Excuse me," Khushi said politely, "since you're so sure about the future… could you read mine as well?"
The girl blinked, confused. "What? I'm not a fortune teller."
Khushi smiled gently, but there was steel beneath the softness.
"Exactly. Then how can you predict what's going to happen today? Who will get selected and who won't?"
The room fell silent.
Khushi continued, voice calm but clear, "Everyone here has worked hard. Everyone has something unique—a voice, a skill, a spark. Discouraging them won't make you better. Confidence is good, but belittling others for it… isn't."
A few candidates exchanged grateful glances. Someone even nodded.
The woman scoffed lightly but fell silent, her arrogance shrinking under the weight of Khushi's words.
Khushi returned to her seat, heart steady.
She wasn't here to compete with souls—she was here to sing with one.
---
To be continued…