The perfect student

The clock read 2:17 a.m.

I didn’t hear it strike…I felt it.

There’s a strange kind of silence that exists at this hour. Not peaceful. Not comforting. Just… heavy. Like the world is dead, and somehow, you’re the only one still alive.

Mumbai never really sleeps. But tonight, even it seemed quieter. The traffic had faded into a distant hum. No voices. No movement. Just the occasional flicker of headlights passing by my window, gone before I could even focus on them.

Everything outside had slowed down.

But inside my room

Inside my head

Nothing ever did.

I sat at my desk, back straight, fingers curled tightly around my pen. My notes were spread out in front of me, perfectly aligned, each page filled with clean, structured handwriting. No overwriting. No mistakes. No second chances.

Just like me.

I wasn’t reading anymore. I had crossed that stage hours ago.

I was memorising.

Forcing every word, every definition, every formula into my head like it had to stay there. Like if I missed even one thing, everything would fall apart.

Exams were in three weeks.

Three weeks to prove… again… that I was exactly who everyone thought I was.

Perfect.

My chest felt tight, but I ignored it. I always ignored it. The slight headache behind my eyes, the stiffness in my shoulders, the exhaustion creeping in slowly… it didn’t matter.

None of it ever did.

My phone buzzed.

I didn’t look at it.

Another buzz.

I kept writing.

Another.

And another.

The vibration echoed against the desk, sharp and repetitive, breaking the rhythm I had built so carefully.

I clenched my jaw.

Who even messages at this hour?

I placed my pen down slowly, exhaling through my nose, already irritated. My movements were controlled, precise… the way everything about me had to be.

I picked up my phone.

Unknown number.

Of course.

I stared at it for a second, debating whether it was even worth opening.

Then I unlocked the screen.

One message.

No name. No display picture. Just text.

“I know what you did.”

I blinked.

That was it.

No explanation. No follow-up. Just… that.

A short laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“Wow,” I muttered. “Creative.”

Some random idiot. Probably a wrong number. Or someone bored enough to think this was funny.

I rolled my eyes, locked my phone, and tossed it back onto the desk.

I didn’t have time for this.

I picked up my pen again.

V- speeds, Microburst, Squawk codes.

Simple.

Predictable.

Controlled.

“I know what you did.”

The sentence slipped back into my head.

I pressed my lips together.

Focus, Aanya.

You don’t get distracted.

You don’t lose control.

That’s not who you are.

My pen slowed.

Just slightly.

I tightened my grip and forced myself to continue writing.

Everything was fine.

Everything was normal.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, my hand stopped completely.

A strange feeling settled in my chest.

Not fear.

Not yet.

But something… uncomfortable.

I stared at the phone without touching it.

It buzzed again.

Louder this time.

Or maybe it just felt louder.

I reached for it.

Slower now.

Another message.

I opened it.

“Last year. You remember.”

My throat went dry.

Last year?

My mind reacted instantly, like it always did—quick, efficient, organised.

Memories flashed through my head.

Exams. Results. Competitions. Late nights. Early mornings. Rankings. Praise.

Everything was exactly how it should be.

Everything was… perfect.

There was nothing.

Nothing to remember.

Right?

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the phone.

This wasn’t funny anymore.

Without thinking, my eyes drifted to the mirror across my room.

For a second…

I froze.

The girl staring back at me looked exactly the same.

Same face.

Same posture.

Same calm expression.

But her eyes…

They didn’t feel like mine.

They looked… aware.

Like they knew something I didn’t.

A chill ran down my spine.

I looked away immediately.

Don’t be stupid.

I glanced back at my phone and typed quickly:

Who is this?

I hit send.

The message delivered.

And then,

Nothing.

No reply.

No typing.

Just silence.

The kind that stretches longer than it should.

The kind that makes you notice everything.

The ticking clock.

The fan.

Your own breathing.

I always had control.

I picked up my pen again.

Forced my hand to move.

Line after line.

Word after word.

Back to normal.

Back to perfect.

Minutes passed.

Or maybe more.

I don’t know.

Time felt… strange.

Like it was slipping without me noticing.

Until…

My pen stopped.

I frowned slightly, staring at my notebook.

Something felt off.

My eyes moved slowly to the bottom of the page.

And then…

My breath hitched.

There, beneath my notes…

In the same ink.

In the same handwriting…

My handwriting…

Were words I didn’t remember writing.

My fingers loosened.

The pen slipped from my hand, hitting the floor with a dull sound.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t breathe.

I just stared.

And read the words silently.

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

Loud.

Uneven.

Wrong.

This didn’t make sense.

None of this made sense.

For the first time in years…

I didn’t have an answer.

And deep inside my head…

Somewhere I had never looked before…

Something shifted.

Something… awake.