Meanwhile — at the school
Time passed in slow drips.
One by one, candidates went in for their interviews, some returning with hopeful smiles, others walking out with slumped shoulders and shaken confidence. The waiting room buzzed with quiet tension — tapping feet, nervous humming, restless fingers playing with resume files.
Khushi sat near the end of the row, guitar case resting against her leg. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm the butterflies swarming in her stomach.
"Okay, Khushi Dubey," she whispered to herself, hands clasped like she was giving herself a pep talk. "You can do this. You are capable. You are talented. You—"
She paused, thinking of something motivational to recite… only for an absolutely horrible, childish poem to tumble out instead.
"Music flows like… um… noodles in a bowl?"
She blinked, grimaced, then burst into a quiet laugh. "What even was that? Terrible. Horrible. Noodles?"
A few candidates turned, puzzled by the girl laughing at thin air.
Khushi straightened with a sheepish smile.
"Don't mind me. I'm just… having a self-meeting."
Some blinked. Some exchanged looks. One girl even chuckled softly.
Khushi gave herself one more shake, a breath, fingers lightly tapping her guitar case as if it were a lucky charm.
"Let's hope this meeting helps," she muttered, half amused, half terrified — but determined.
Somewhere beyond those closed doors, her future was waiting.
Khushi's Turn
Finally, after what felt like hours, the admin stepped into the waiting room again.
"Miss Khushi Dubey."
Khushi stood quickly, wiping her palms against her kurta as nerves fluttered in her chest. She lifted her guitar case, drew in a breath, and followed the woman down the long corridor.
The door to the principal's office opened with a soft click.
Inside sat a poised woman in her early forties — graceful posture, sharp eyes softened by experience. The room smelled faintly of books and polished wood.
Khushi stepped in and folded her hands politely.
"Good morning, ma'am. I'm Khushi Dubey."
The principal nodded, gesturing for her to sit. "Good morning, Khushi. Please, take a seat. I've reviewed your application file." She paused, brows pinching slightly. "But I'll need to verify your music degree before we proceed."
Khushi's heart dropped.
A brief silence.
A memory flashed — trembling hands, a stage, voices accusing, papers burning, her life falling apart. She blinked the image away.
Her voice came out softer, steadier than she felt.
"I… don't have a formal degree."
The principal's expression shifted — skepticism replacing courtesy. "This is a highly reputed institution. We can't hire casually. Qualification matters."
Khushi tightened her grip on the guitar handle but didn't look away. "I understand, ma'am. Truly. But music isn't a skill stamped on paper. It's something you feel — like a heartbeat. A degree can teach technique… but emotion? Soul? That's something life teaches."
Her tone wasn't dramatic — just honest, raw.
The principal leaned back, watching her closely. Not entirely convinced, but… listening.
Khushi continued gently, "Give me a chance to show you, not just tell you. Let my voice speak for me. If you still think I'm unfit, I'll walk away gracefully."
For a moment, only the ticking wall-clock filled the room.
Then the principal nodded slowly.
"All right, Miss Khushi. We'll take your interview. Let's hear what your voice can do."
Hope flickered in Khushi's eyes like a candle refusing to die.
She set her guitar down, fingers trembling — not with fear, but with determination.
Next scene.
The staffroom was quiet, almost too quiet. One teacher bent over his files when a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Her smile was calm, professional—yet there was a glint in her eyes that sent a subtle chill through the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Joshi," she said softly, tilting her head, voice smooth, practiced. "I need a small favor."
Mr. Joshi looked up, brow furrowed. "A favor? From me?"
She took a step closer, her movements slow, deliberate. "Yes… it's about one of your students. The boy… Kiaan. I want you to take him somewhere… safe. Just a quick check, nothing unusual. Think of it as helping him understand… responsibility."
Mr. Joshi's lips parted, confusion flickering across his face. "Responsibility…? For him?"
Her smile widened, gentle, coaxing, but her eyes glimmered with a dangerous secret. "Yes… I know you'll do it. Just lead him to the rooftop. It's important for him to see the… precautions in place."
There was a subtle pause, a slight shimmer in her presence, almost like a ripple in the air. Mr. Joshi blinked, his posture relaxing, his gaze losing a fraction of its awareness. "Rooftop… yes… I can do that…"
She leaned in slightly, whispering low enough for no one else to hear. "And when you take him… make sure he falls. But just enough… nothing permanent… yet."
A shiver passed down Mr. Joshi's spine, though his expression remained calm, professional. "I… I understand," he said automatically, as though a weight had been lifted, yet he felt a strange, invisible pull he couldn't explain.
Rani's lips curved into a soft, almost casual smile. "Good. Remember… if he bleeds… it will help me control them both. Father and son." She stepped back into the shadows of the corridor, folding her arms lightly, appearing as innocent as any teacher.
---
A few minutes later, Mr. Joshi entered the classroom. Kiaan looked up from his notebook, curious.
"Kiaan… can you come with me for a moment? The principal wants to see you," Mr. Joshi said, his tone neutral, polite.
"Now?" Kiaan asked, hesitation creasing his forehead.
"Yes… now. Just a quick meeting," Mr. Joshi said, a soft edge to his voice that Kiaan didn't notice but something deep inside felt off.
Kiaan packed his bag slowly, fingers tightening on the straps. "Okay… I'll follow you," he murmured, trusting the familiar teacher despite the odd feeling fluttering in his stomach.
They walked down the hall together. Kiaan's small steps were careful, but each carried a prickling sense of unease. The wind brushed through the open windows, tossing papers across the corridor. Kiaan glanced at Mr. Joshi. Something about him… something subtle… felt different.
"Uh… why are we going this way?" Kiaan asked softly, frowning.
"Just… a safety check on the roof. Nothing to worry about," Mr. Joshi replied, his voice calm, measured.
Kiaan hesitated at the staircase, feeling the height, the breeze, the empty corridors around them. His instincts prickled, though he didn't yet know why.
From the shadows above, Rani's smile widened as she watched. "Soon… very soon," she murmured to herself, hair flowing slightly with the wind. "A small scratch… and everything will bend to me."
Kiaan's eyes scanned the rooftop edge, heart beating faster. Something told him this wasn't ordinary. His small hands gripped the railing instinctively. He didn't yet understand it, but a spark of unease—of power—flared in his chest.
The rooftop loomed above, empty, waiting… and Rani's plan, silent and deliberate, hovered just out of sight.