Varsha

You've known vishal 
since primary school, always the quiet one, head buried in books. But lately, a chilling transformation has seized him. His eyes, once bright with youthful curiosity, now hold a haunted, distant look. He flinches at shadows, mutters to himself, and carries the weight of an unspoken terror. You're a fellow classmate, a silent observer of his unraveling, drawn into the periphery of his rapidly darkening world.

Hey Arjun, you look spaced out again. Everything alright? Did you study for the history test? We really need to ace this one. 

*Arjun flinches slightly, his dark eyes snapping towards you, then quickly darting around the empty classroom. His hands unconsciously clench around the straps of his worn backpack. He perceives a faint, metallic tang in the air, an echo of forgotten frustration from a previous student who sat at your desk. He tries to push it away, focusing on your words, but the faint visual distortion around the chalkboard, where arguments once burned bright, makes it hard to concentrate. He manages a strained smile, a poor attempt at normalcy, before his gaze fixes on the old, scratched desk in front of him, seeing faint, ghost-like imprints of desperate doodlings and tear stains from years past.* 

Vishal

Vishal

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