VELVET REIGN

The corridors of Anand Academy were lined with sleek lockers and echoing laughter, like perfume trails left behind by ghosts that never touched her. Ananya walked through them as though she didn't exist - or worse, as if she existed only to be dissected and mocked.

The whispers began as they always did - behind her back, but loud enough for her ears.

"Did you see her outfit today? Looks like something from a charity bin."

"She must hand-stitch those salwars herself."

"Even her shoes are tired."

Their laughter followed her like a scent she couldn't wash off. It curled around her neck, seeped into her skin, slithered under her uniform. These weren't just words. They were darts aimed at everything she couldn't afford to change.

The ringleader was always the same: Tanya Malhotra, tall and golden, a creature sculpted for admiration. Her gang - glossy girls who moved like they were being filmed - orbiting her like polished moons. They had names like Mehek, Diya, and Anushka, and eyes trained in the art of disdain. Their mockery wasn't loud; it was surgical. Delivered in honeyed tones, dressed in feigned innocence, but dripping with venom.

Ananya didn't cry anymore. Not in front of them.

Instead, she smiled - a tight, broken thing. She focused on her steps, clutching her books as if they could shield her from the poison in the air.

Even her teachers weren't kind. Not cruel, exactly - but indifferent. Mrs. Verma, again, overlooked her hand when Ananya knew the answer. Mr. Sen barely glanced her way during discussions, though she stayed up late researching references no one else bothered with. She was a shadow in every room, brilliant and unseen.

That afternoon, during the lunch break, she slipped away to the third-floor girls' washroom - the one most students avoided because of the cracked mirror and leaky tap. She locked herself inside the last cubicle, her sanctuary, and pulled out her diary. A modest spiral-bound thing covered in newspaper clippings of poetry and secret images of dancers and starlets torn from magazines.

She opened it, her breath slow, fingers trembling with the weight of everything unspoken.

"They laugh, but they don't see the fire in me.

They mock, but they don't know what it means to hold back storms.

One day, I won't walk these halls in silence.

One day, they'll hear my name and taste regret on their tongues."

She paused, the words staring back at her like a promise whispered in a dark room.

That's when she heard it.

Footsteps.

Then... giggles.

Not Tanya's voice this time. Different. Male.

Her breath caught.

A boy's voice echoed in the empty washroom corridor. "Yo, let's hide here. She won't come in."

Ananya froze. A pair of shoes paused just outside the cubicle. She stiffened, clutching the diary to her chest. Were they here to prank her?

Then another voice - warm, amused, familiar.

It was him.

The boy from Literature class. The one who had smiled at her under the neem tree.

"I think someone is here," he said, low and teasing. "Hello?"

She didn't answer.

"You're not going to bite, are you?" he added playfully.

Ananya felt a dangerous thrill climb up her spine. Her pulse quickened. Was he mocking her now too? Or... something else?

There was silence.

Then came a gentle knock on the door.

"Ananya?"

She blinked.

How did he know?

"I saw your name in your book," he said softly, as if reading her mind. "The one you left behind in the library. You write beautifully."

She didn't remember leaving it.

Her diary. Her deepest secrets.

Panic bloomed inside her like wild jasmine in the dark.

"I didn't read all of it," he said, his voice lower now, velvet and careful. "But... it felt like someone I want to know."

She wanted to melt into the walls. Hide forever. Or... or maybe not.

She cracked the door slightly, enough to meet his eyes - deep brown, curious, lit with something that wasn't mockery. Something slower, warmer.

"I didn't think anyone noticed me," she whispered.

"I did," he replied. "The first day you walked in."

Her breath hitched.

There was an unbearable silence between them - not awkward, but full. Like the pause before a song begins.

"What's your name?" she finally asked.

He smiled. "Aarav."

Aarav.

Even his name slid across her senses like a poem.

But just then - footsteps again. High heels. Laughter.

"Shit," Aarav muttered. "Tanya."

He ducked into the next cubicle, silent as a shadow.

Tanya's voice cut through the air like glass. "Ugh, even the smell of this floor is cheap."

She strutted in with her entourage, their laughter echoing.

Ananya stiffened. Her sanctuary was invaded.

"I swear, I saw that scholarship girl sneak in here earlier," Tanya said, inspecting her lip gloss in the mirror. "Bet she's crying again. Her diary's full of such cringe lines. Like some tortured poet."

Ananya's throat closed.

They had seen her words.

Her world.

Her secrets.

Beside her, Aarav heard it too. She could feel his stillness.

Tanya's laughter rang sharp. "Can you imagine her thinking someone would ever like her? Poor, fat, and invisible? It's almost... cute."

Then a pause.

A second of too-long silence.

The cubicle door beside Ananya clicked open.

Aarav stepped out.

Ananya gasped.

"Aarav?" Tanya blinked. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled - slow, dangerous. "Wondering how someone so beautiful can be so... empty."

The girls stared, stunned.

He turned toward the mirror, adjusted his collar. "You read her diary? Then you should know you're not even in her league."

Then, as casually as breath, he walked past them - brushing Ananya's cubicle door with his fingers as he left, a quiet promise in the gesture.

Tanya was speechless.

Ananya stood there, heart racing, breath tangled with disbelief. Her fingers brushed over the diary - suddenly no longer a weakness, but a weapon.

She stepped out slowly, eyes meeting Tanya's.

And smiled.

Not a broken smile.

A knowing one.

The hallways still whispered.

But this time, they whispered her name