Until the Last Name

Part 1: Before the Sirens

At seven thirteen on Monday morning, Vels University looked far too alive to become a place of death.

The front entrance had been transformed overnight. Tall blue-and-silver banners stretched between the pillars, strings of paper stars moved gently in the humid Chennai breeze, and a temporary archway stood above the open gates with the words VELS INTERCOLLEGIATE FESTIVAL WHERE EVERY WORLD MEETS printed across it. University buses arrived one after another, dropping students dressed in department T-shirts, traditional clothes, dance costumes and formal competition outfits. Volunteers hurried between the buildings with identity cards swinging from their necks, while speakers near the main stage repeatedly tested the same three seconds of music.

Nobody complained about the heat because the festival had not officially started. Nobody looked at the shadows beneath the buildings because there was nothing unusual to see. Nobody noticed the white refrigerated van entering through the service gate behind the Life Sciences Block because dozens of delivery vehicles had already entered that morning.

To everybody standing outside the university, it was only another celebration.

To Subasri, it felt like thirty different plans had been tied together and handed to her with the warning that she was not allowed to drop any of them.

She stood beneath the festival archway with a cloth bag hanging from one shoulder, two visitor passes between her fingers, a power bank in her pocket and a folded list of names inside her notebook. Her black hair had already begun escaping from the clip at the back of her head, though she had fixed it carefully before leaving home. She stared at the crowd, checked the time on her phone and then looked at the gates again as though her school friends might appear simply because she had become impatient.

She opened Snapchat, lifted the phone and captured the decorated entrance. For a moment, she considered typing something meaningful. Instead, she wrote, I arrived before half the volunteers. This university should give me a salary.

She sent it to several friends. Her thumb paused briefly over one name before she sent it there too.

Rithvik.

The snap was delivered immediately.

That was how their connection existed now: delivered, opened, answered with another picture and rarely translated into an actual conversation. They had each other’s phone numbers, but neither of them called. They exchanged proper messages on New Year’s Day and his birthday, and then returned to the strange silence of sending each other pieces of ordinary life. A ceiling fan. A road. A cup of tea. A dark sky. A half-watched film. Proof that they continued to exist without requiring either of them to explain what that existence meant.

Rithvik opened her snap within twenty seconds.

Suba watched the small notification change and waited without admitting that she was waiting. No reply came.

“Of course,” she murmured, locking the phone. “Daily attendance completed. Why should we communicate like normal human beings?”

A loud voice came from behind her. “Who are you scolding at seven in the morning?”

Suba turned and found Ashwini walking toward her with three festival badges around her neck and irritation written across her face. Ramya and Kajol followed several steps behind, arguing over a roll of tape, while Lokeshwari and Amrutha carried a cardboard box between them.

“Myself,” Suba replied. “I am the only person who listens to me.”

Ashwini stopped in front of her and looked at the entrance. “You said you would meet us near the Cybersecurity Block.”

“I changed the plan.”

“You changed the plan without telling your partner?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“That is not how telling someone works, Suba.”

“It is exactly how it works. You know now.”

Ashwini stared at her for a few seconds before taking one of the visitor passes from her hand. “One day, I am going to leave you somewhere and allow you to solve your own problems.”

Suba smiled and slipped her arm through Ashwini’s. “You have been saying that for years. You are still here.”

Behind them, Ramya finally pulled the tape away from Kajol and held it above her head triumphantly. Kajol attempted to reach it, but Ramya moved backward and nearly collided with a group of dance students.

“Stop behaving like children,” Lokeshwari warned while trying to keep the cardboard box balanced.

“They started fighting before we reached the gate,” Amrutha said. “We travelled for only twenty minutes, and I have already lost the desire to live.”

Suba released Ashwini and walked toward Ramya with exaggerated affection. “Ramya, my girlfriend, you look beautiful when you steal university property.”

Ramya placed one hand against her chest. “Finally, someone appreciates me.”

Kajol pointed accusingly at Suba. “Don’t encourage her. She took the tape from our decoration kit.”

“Our relationship is built on supporting each other’s crimes,” Suba replied.

“You already have a boyfriend,” Ashwini reminded Ramya.

“Robin will understand.”

“He will not,” a male voice said from near the gate.

Robin approached them wearing an Engineering Department badge and carrying a bundle of electrical cables. His official name was printed on the card, but almost everyone close to him called him Sri. Suba had ignored both options and called him Dudu for so long that he had stopped protesting.

Suba stepped in front of him and spread both arms dramatically. “Dudu, your girlfriend was ready to abandon you and begin a new life with me.”

Robin looked at Ramya, then at the stolen tape in her hand. “You can take her. But you must also take responsibility for everything she breaks today.”

Ramya struck his arm with the tape. “What have I broken?”

“The event coordinator’s patience.”

“That was already broken.”

Robin laughed, but his attention moved quickly to the heavy cardboard box Lokeshwari and Amrutha were carrying. He placed the cables on the ground and took the box from them without being asked.

“Where does this go?”

“Cybersecurity seminar hall,” Amrutha answered. “They filled it with extension cords, water bottles and enough paper cups to supply the entire city.”

“I’ll carry it.”

Suba watched him begin walking with the box and called after him, “Dudu, this is why you are still approved.”

Robin looked over his shoulder. “I didn’t know I was waiting for your approval.”

“Everyone is waiting for my approval. Some people simply haven’t realised it.”

Ramya moved beside Suba and lowered her voice. “He came at six thirty to help his department.”

“And you came at seven fifteen.”

“I believe relationships require balance.”

Before Suba could answer, her phone began ringing. Tarun’s name appeared on the screen.

She accepted the call and immediately moved the phone away from her ear when his voice exploded through the speaker.

“Where are you?”

Suba frowned. “Good morning to you too, Ron Weasley.”

“Don’t call me that now. Where are you?”

“At the entrance.”

“You said Cybersecurity Block.”

“I changed the plan.”

Ashwini, still standing beside her, said loudly, “That is exactly what she told me.”

Tarun heard her. “See? This is why nobody should trust you with locations.”

Suba started walking toward the main building with the others. “You are younger than me. Speak respectfully.”

“You treat me like I am older than you whenever you create a problem.”

“That is because you have older-brother responsibilities.”

“I never accepted those responsibilities.”

“You answered my call. That was your acceptance.”

A second voice appeared in the background. Sarvana sounded as though he was standing farther away from Tarun. “Ask her whether she brought the visitor passes. Darini will reach by nine thirty.”

Suba raised the two passes even though they could not see her. “I brought them. Tell Father not to worry. His daughter is responsible.”

Sarvana took the phone from Tarun. “You changed the meeting point twice this morning.”

“Responsible people adapt.”

“You are not adapting. You are confusing everybody.”

“Where are you both?”

“Near the auditorium. Tarun said he could carry the speaker alone, and now he is pretending his shoulder isn’t hurting.”

Tarun protested somewhere behind him. “My shoulder is fine.”

Suba’s expression changed immediately. The humour remained in her voice, but concern entered beneath it. “Put the speaker down. I’m coming there.”

“I said I’m fine,” Tarun replied.

“And I said put it down. Why do you behave like an older brother only when it gives you the right to struggle unnecessarily?”

There was a short silence before Sarvana laughed.

Tarun muttered, “Just come quickly.”

The call ended.

Ashwini looked at Suba knowingly. “You will fight with him when we reach there.”

“I will not fight.”

“You used that voice.”

“What voice?”

“The voice you use when you are worried but want everyone to think you are angry.”

Suba opened her mouth to deny it, but Ramya interrupted. “She uses the same voice with all of us. Then she will say, ‘Do whatever you want,’ while standing there to make sure we don’t do whatever we want.”

“You people have developed too much confidence,” Suba complained. “I don’t like it.”

The six girls crossed the central courtyard together. The campus had become louder with every passing minute. Students ran toward registration desks, music travelled from the main ground, and volunteers called to one another from balconies. On the first-floor corridor of the Engineering Block, someone was hanging a banner from the railing while three others shouted contradictory instructions from below.

Radhika waited near the stairs with a canvas tote bag pressed against her side. A small silver star was painted on the front, surrounded by a curved line resembling a magician’s hat.

Suba recognised it immediately. “You brought The Sound of Magic bag?”

“You said today was supposed to feel magical,” Radhika replied.

“That was before I saw the crowd.”

Radhika’s eyes moved toward the Doraemon gang. “Have all of you started fighting already?”

“We never stopped,” Kajol answered.

Suba hugged Radhika briefly. Their friendship had grown from conversations about Alchemy of Souls, but it had long since moved beyond dramas. They discussed endings, characters, music and the strange comfort of watching fictional people survive impossible things. Radhika had once gifted Suba a painting inspired by The Sound of Magic, and Suba had protected it with the seriousness usually reserved for official documents.

Radhika looked at the visitor passes in Suba’s hand. “Are the school people definitely coming?”

“They are already on the way. School Ramya sent six voice notes, Promish sent one message asking for the correct gate, Harshith has probably not started yet, Sandeep claims he knows the route, and Lavanya is the only person I trust to make sure they reach here.”

“That does not sound promising.”

“It is not. But they’ll come.”

“What about Kaushal and Sneha?”

“Kaushal said he’ll reach before the main event. Sneha is coming directly with her college group.”

Radhika gave her a long look. “And the other person?”

Suba understood without asking whom she meant. “Rithvik is not coming.”

“Did you ask him?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you he isn’t coming?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because he studies somewhere else, we barely speak, and I am not going to send a dramatic message asking whether my childhood crush will attend my college festival.”

Radhika smiled slightly. “You called him your childhood crush very easily.”

“Because it is history. History is safe.”

“History has a habit of returning.”

“This is a college festival, not one of our K-dramas.”

Before Radhika could respond, Suba’s phone vibrated.

A snap from Rithvik waited on the screen.

Suba stared at his name for a moment before opening it. The picture showed the inside of a moving college bus. Most of the image was dark, but a blue participant band was visible around his wrist. Through the window, a road sign pointed toward Pallavaram.

There was no written message.

Radhika was watching Suba’s expression. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That is not your nothing face.”

Suba locked the phone quickly. “He sent a bus picture.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“Which bus?”

“I don’t know.”

“You saw the participant band.”

Suba turned toward her. “Why do you observe everything?”

“Because you become suspiciously quiet whenever something matters.”

Ashwini called from several steps ahead, and Suba used the interruption to escape the conversation. Yet as she followed the others, she looked once more at the dark phone screen in her hand.

For the first time that morning, her nervousness was not about managing the festival.

Across the campus, behind the Life Sciences Block, the white refrigerated van stopped near the service lift.

Two festival volunteers waited beside it with a laboratory assistant. The boxes inside the van were marked with warning symbols and the name of a private biomedical company sponsoring the university’s innovation exhibition. Most contained harmless demonstration models, sealed display equipment and promotional materials. One smaller container, however, had been secured inside a separate cooling compartment.

The driver climbed out and wiped sweat from his forehead. “The cooling system showed an error ten minutes ago.”

The laboratory assistant’s face tightened. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I was driving.”

“You should have stopped.”

“The company told me delivery must happen before eight.”

One of the volunteers, a second-year biotechnology student named Madhan, stepped closer to the van. “Sir, should we take the boxes inside first?”

The assistant unlocked the rear doors. Cold vapour rolled outward, carrying a sharp metallic smell that did not belong to ordinary refrigeration. Several boxes had shifted during transport. The smaller container lay tilted against the wall, one corner visibly damaged.

The laboratory assistant swore beneath his breath. “Nobody touches that container.”

Madhan stopped. “What is inside?”

“An experimental neural-recovery compound. The exhibition team is supposed to handle it.”

The other volunteer leaned closer. “Is it dangerous?”

“It is sealed.”

The words would have been reassuring if the container had not made a faint clicking sound from inside.

The assistant climbed into the van. He reached for the damaged case, but the vehicle shifted slightly beneath his weight. One of the larger boxes slid from its position.

Madhan reacted instinctively. He caught the box before it fell, but his forearm struck the broken metal corner of the smaller container. He pulled back with a sharp cry.

A thin cut had appeared above his wrist.

The assistant grabbed his arm. “Did anything touch the wound?”

“No. It’s only the metal.”

“Are you sure?”

Madhan looked down. A clear droplet rested against his skin beside the cut. It might have been condensation from the cooling compartment. It might have come from somewhere else.

Before either of them could inspect it properly, a senior festival coordinator appeared at the service entrance.

“Why are the exhibition materials still outside? The dean is coming for inspection in twenty minutes.”

The laboratory assistant pointed toward the damaged container. “The cooling unit failed. We need to contact the sponsor and isolate this entire delivery.”

The coordinator’s expression changed. “The biomedical company paid for the main exhibition hall.”

“That does not matter.”

“It matters to the people running this event. Move the undamaged boxes inside and keep that one here until the company representative arrives. We are not cancelling an entire section because one case was scratched.”

“It may be compromised.”

“Then don’t open it.”

Madhan pressed his palm over the cut, hiding the trembling that had begun in his fingers. If he reported an exposure, he would be removed from the event, questioned and possibly blamed for damaging equipment worth more than his family could afford. He looked at the clear liquid on his skin and quietly wiped it against the side of his trousers.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Nobody noticed how pale his face had become.

Inside the Cybersecurity Block, Suba’s classroom had stopped resembling a place where anybody studied. Charts, cables, laptops, handmade signs and packets of decorations covered the desks. Professor Shreekala stood near the board holding a clipboard, watching her students attempt to organise themselves with the weary patience of someone who already knew organisation was impossible.

Tarun and Sarvana had finally placed the speaker on the floor. Keerthika stood beside Tarun, examining his shoulder while he insisted nothing was wrong.

Suba entered the classroom and pointed at him. “You.”

Tarun looked around. “There are many people here.”

“The guilty person understood.”

“I carried one speaker.”

“You carried it from the main gate.”

“Sarvana helped.”

Sarvana raised both hands. “Don’t include me in the lie. I told him to wait.”

Keerthika looked at Suba. “He is not injured. He is only dramatic.”

Tarun appeared offended. “How did this become my fault?”

Suba moved closer and pressed two fingers carefully against his shoulder. When he did not flinch, the tension in her expression eased.

“You treat me like a child,” Tarun complained.

“You are my younger brother.”

“Five minutes ago, I had older-brother responsibilities.”

“Family positions are flexible.”

Sarvana shook his head. “There is no winning against her.”

Around them, the rest of the classroom carried on with its own chaos. Salaman Santosh was writing quotations for the storytelling corner, rejecting every suggestion that did not involve the moon. Joshua walked backward while recording a festival video on his phone, describing the classroom as though it were a film set. Aravind sat on the edge of a desk, calmly offering comments that made everybody laugh without moving enough to help anyone.

Vijay and Karthik were arguing beside a row of posters.

“A zombie apocalypse is more survivable than Voldemort,” Vijay declared.

Karthik looked personally insulted. “You cannot compare an infection with dark magic.”

“I can compare anything. Steve Harrington would survive Hogwarts.”

“He would not survive the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class.”

Suba stopped between them. “Why are Stranger Things and Harry Potter fighting during a cybersecurity festival?”

Vijay pointed at Karthik. “He started it.”

Karthik pointed back. “He said a baseball bat is better than a wand.”

“A baseball bat doesn’t require pronunciation,” Vijay argued. “In a dangerous situation, that matters.”

“You both have lost your minds,” Suba said.

Vishu appeared from beneath a table holding a roll of industrial tape. “If danger happens, I have already found a solution.”

Nobody asked why he had been under the table.

“What solution?” Krishna asked while connecting a laptop to the projector.

“We tape all the doors.”

Bharat, who was spinning a set of van keys around one finger, laughed. “If danger happens, I’m taking the university van.”

Suba looked at him immediately. “You are not driving us anywhere.”

“Why? You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you to reach the destination. I do not trust the vehicle to remain in one piece.”

“You should appreciate creative driving.”

“Driving is not supposed to be creative.”

Near the windows, Sharukh quietly watched volunteers unloading boxes behind the neighbouring block. He said nothing, as usual, but his eyes remained on the damaged refrigerated container longer than anyone else’s.

Darshan passed behind Kamalesh with spectacles and tried to steal the pen from his shirt pocket. Kamalesh caught his wrist without looking.

“Try again,” Kamalesh warned, “and I’ll attach you to the display board.”

The other Kamalesh the bulky one whom Suba frequently accused of looking like a kidnapper was sitting with two packets of biscuits. He threw one toward Suba. She caught it against her chest.

“What is this?”

“You didn’t eat breakfast.”

“How do you know?”

“You have been shouting at everyone since you entered.”

“That is my normal personality.”

“Today it is louder.”

The Kamalesh with spectacles glanced at her. “He’s right. Eat something before the crowd comes.”

Suba looked between them. “Why are both Kamaleshes monitoring me?”

The bulky Kamalesh opened his own packet. “Because if you faint, everyone will blame us.”

“You care about me.”

“No. I care about avoiding unnecessary paperwork.”

“Your face looks like paperwork.”

“Your face looks like a missing-person poster.”

Professor Shreekala struck the clipboard gently against the desk. “If the two of you are finished expressing affection through insults, can we prepare for the event?”

The classroom burst into laughter.

Football Santosh entered carrying a portable television screen from the media room. “Can we show the match highlights during lunch?”

“No,” Shreekala answered immediately.

“It will attract people to our stall.”

“It will attract you to your own stall. There is a difference.”

Suba pointed at him. “For once, I support his idea.”

“You support anything involving football or avoiding work,” Shreekala replied.

Santosh placed the screen on a desk and grinned at Suba. “June-born people understand each other.”

“That is because June produces intelligent people.”

“Your confidence is unbelievable.”

“It is our birth-month gift.”

From the corridor came a familiar shout.

“Pen Queen!”

Suba turned just as Tanesh entered with Sonesh and Ashik. Tanesh had made the dangerous decision to wear white trousers to a crowded university festival.

Suba looked slowly from his face to the spotless fabric.

Tanesh stopped walking. “Don’t.”

She took one deliberate step toward him.

“Suba, I am warning you.”

“You wore white trousers in my presence, baby boy. That is an invitation.”

Sonesh moved aside immediately. “I am not becoming involved.”

Ashik laughed and followed him away from the approaching disaster.

Tanesh retreated toward the door. “If you touch my trousers with your slippers, I will throw your notebook from the roof.”

“You would have to catch me first.”

Professor Shreekala raised her voice. “Nobody is dirtying anybody’s clothes, throwing notebooks or climbing onto the roof. The festival has not even started.”

Suba stopped, but only because her phone vibrated again.

This time, it was the school group. School Ramya had shared their live location. Promish had sent a picture from inside a car, while Harshith and Sandeep argued in the background about which entrance they were supposed to use. Lavanya’s message appeared beneath it, assuring Suba that everyone was together.

Kaushal had also texted that he was twenty minutes away. Sneha’s college bus had entered the main road. Darini had nearly reached the university.

For the first time, it seemed possible that every part of Suba’s life would occupy the same place at the same time.

Then another Snapchat notification appeared.

Rithvik had sent a second picture.

Suba opened it cautiously. This time, the image showed a blue-and-silver festival archway through the front window of a bus.

The same archway under which she had been standing less than an hour earlier.

Rithvik was coming to Vels University.

Suba’s heartbeat changed so suddenly that she became conscious of it. She read the image again even though there were no words to read. Around her, the classroom continued laughing, arguing and preparing. Tarun was attempting to move the speaker again. Sarvana was calling Darini. Ramya had found Robin in the corridor. Joshua was filming. Vijay and Karthik were still debating fictional survival. Tanesh was protecting his white trousers from Suba’s slippers.

Everybody was present or on the way.

Everybody was alive.

At eight forty-six, the festival music began across the campus.

Beneath the Life Sciences Block, Madhan locked himself inside a washroom cubicle. Sweat soaked through the back of his volunteer shirt. The cut above his wrist had turned dark purple, and thin black lines were spreading beneath his skin toward his elbow.

He tried calling the laboratory assistant, but his fingers could no longer press the correct numbers. Every sound outside the cubicle had become unbearably loud the running tap, the footsteps in the corridor, the pulse inside the throat of the student washing his hands several feet away.

“Madhan?” the student called. “Are you okay?”

Madhan covered his mouth as his teeth began striking against one another.

The student moved closer to the cubicle. “Should I call someone?”

Madhan wanted to answer. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell him to run.

Instead, an unfamiliar hunger rose through his body, violent enough to erase language.

Outside, the festival speakers became louder.

The first scream disappeared beneath the music.