Chapter 1:THE FATE
Chapter One
Darkness surrounded him.
A body lay motionless on the ground. A figure stood over it, tearing into flesh with brutal force. Blood soaked the earth. Only the back of the person was visible, their heavy breathing echoing in the silence.
Arun woke up with a gasp.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as sweat covered his skin. He sat up on the bed, staring into the darkness of his small room, trying to steady himself.
“Again… the same nightmare,” he whispered.
Before the fear could settle, a loud voice broke the silence.
“You’ll be late! Go to college!” his neighbour uncle shouted.
Arun sighed, forcing himself out of bed. He got ready quietly, grabbed his bag, and walked out. As he closed the door behind him, a family photo remained on the wall inside the room—smiling faces frozen in a moment long gone.
The college campus was filled with noise and laughter. Students walked in groups, talking endlessly, enjoying the day. Arun moved through them alone, untouched by the energy around him, heading straight toward his classroom.
Just as he reached the door, chaos erupted inside.
A girl slapped a boy across the face and calmly walked back to her seat as if nothing had happened.
“What did I even say?” the boy shouted angrily. “I just joked that you’re selfish and rude!”
She didn’t look back. He muttered something under his breath and stormed out.
Arun entered quietly, taking his seat. Whispers followed immediately.
“Stay away from her.”
“She’s mad.”
But when Arun glanced at her, he noticed something the others didn’t—her eyes weren’t angry. They were empty, heavy with something deeper. He looked away as class began.
The day passed. Around four in the evening, the teacher stood up.
“I’ve divided you into groups of three based on your roll numbers,” she announced. “You’ve been given a project. Your marks will depend on it.”
She left the classroom.
Arun gathered his things when two people stopped near his bench—the girl from earlier and a boy named Jack. Whispers rose again behind them.
“Poor kids… stuck with her.”
The girl slammed her hand on a bench. The sound silenced the room.
“Do you have a problem?”
“No… no,” the students replied instantly, fear replacing amusement.
She turned to Arun and Jack. “If you don’t want to work with me, say it now.”
Jack smiled easily. Arun nodded.
The group was formed.
Over the next few days, they met only to work on the project. Notes were shared, ideas corrected, pages rewritten. Nothing personal. Just work. Slowly, coordination replaced distance. The project progressed, and without realizing it, so did something else.
The day of the presentation arrived.
Arun was absent.
Rin checked her phone repeatedly. No answer. Jack searched the campus but found nothing. When their names were called, there was no choice—they presented without him.
By evening, the college emptied.
Rin’s frustration surfaced. She muttered angrily, questioning his absence. Jack tried to brush it off, though concern lingered beneath his words. He said goodbye and left, leaving Rin alone with unanswered questions.
She began walking across the quiet campus.
That’s when she saw him.
Arun sat alone on a bench near the far end of the ground, head lowered.
She stormed toward him and shouted his name.
He looked up slowly.
“Are you here to show pity too?” he asked, his voice tired and hollow.
Her anger vanished.
She noticed the cut on his hand, fresh and red.
Rin sat beside him in silence. After a moment, she spoke softly.
“You can’t change the things you’ve done or what has happened,” she said. “But you can choose how you want to continue—either by worrying about it, or by trying to accept it and live with that.”
Arun said nothing, but his breathing slowed.
She gently held his injured hand. He didn’t pull away.
They stood and began walking side by side. As they moved forward, faint cuts on Rin’s own hand became visible—quiet proof that she carried her own past.
The scene shifted.
A dimly lit room.
Photographs scattered across a table.
A hand—its owner unseen—picked up a marker and crossed out two random girls’ photos, pressing hard.
The face remained hidden.
The intention did not.
