Bangalore was still asleep when Ananya Sharma opened her eyes.

The clock beside her thin mattress showed 4:45 a.m.The sky outside the small window was dark, silent, indifferent—much like the house she lived in.

She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling with a familiar heaviness in her chest. There was no alarm to wake her. There never was. Her body had learned its duty long ago.

Before anyone else in the house stirred, Ananya quietly folded her blanket, placed it neatly at the corner, and stepped out of the room she shared with her younger sister. Riya slept peacefully, her face relaxed, unaware of the day waiting outside her dreams.

Ananya didn’t wake her.

She never did.

The kitchen light flickered as Ananya switched it on. She tied her hair into a loose braid and began her routine—washing rice, chopping vegetables, heating water. The smell of cooking slowly filled the small house, marking the start of another day she would carry alone.

By the time her mother entered the kitchen, breakfast was already halfway done.

“You woke up late today,” her mother said flatly, glancing at the clock.

“I’m sorry,” Ananya replied instinctively, even though she wasn’t.

“Make Rohit’s lunch properly. He has an important presentation today,” her mother added.

Ananya nodded.

No one mentioned that she had a math test at school.

Her father sat in the living room reading the newspaper.

Rohit scrolled through his phone, relaxed, while Riya complained about her uniform not being ironed well.

Ananya served everyone quietly.

“Why are you standing like that? Sit and eat,” her mother said—not with concern, but irritation.

Ananya sat down, her plate barely touched. She ate fast, silently, already calculating the time in her head. If she missed the bus again, she would have to walk.

Her father finally looked at her.

“You’re still in school. Don’t think studying will change everything. Learn some responsibility instead of dreaming,” he said.

Ananya lowered her eyes.

She wanted to ask—What responsibility have I not fulfilled?

But she swallowed the words like she always did.

By 7:15 a.m., she was out of the house, school bag on her shoulder, heart heavier than her steps.

At School

High School stood tall and proud in the middle of the city—polished gates, shiny cars, laughter echoing through corridors.

Ananya entered quietly.

Her uniform was clean but faded. Her shoes were worn, carefully polished to hide the cracks. She walked past groups of students discussing weekend parties, new phones, foreign trips.

She sat on the last bench, near the window.

That was her place.

As the classroom filled, the noise grew louder. Girls whispered excitedly. Boys laughed. Someone shouted a name, and the room buzzed instantly.

“Aarav is coming today!”

“I heard he got suspended last week.”

“He doesn’t care. His dad will handle everything.

Ananya didn’t look up.

She had heard that name before. Everyone had.

Aarav Mehra—the richest student in school. The boy with perfect grades when he cared, perfect charm when he smiled, and a reputation that made teachers tired and girls weak at the knees.

A playboy.

A troublemaker.

Untouchable.

The bell rang.

Just as the teacher entered, the door opened again Late.

“Aarav Mehra,” the teacher sighed, not even surprised. “Do you ever come on time?”

A lazy, confident voice replied,

“Traffic, ma’am. Bangalore, you know.”

Laughter rippled through the class.

Ananya kept her eyes on her notebook.

Footsteps moved down the aisle.

Then—someone stopped near her bench.

“Move your bag,” a voice said casually.

Ananya looked up.

For the first time, her eyes met Aarav Mehra’s.

He was tall, effortless, his blazer worn like rules didn’t apply to him. His eyes were sharp, amused, scanning her face with curiosity rather than apology.

She moved her bag instantly.

He sat beside her.

The classroom went silent for a second.

Why here?

There were empty seats everywhere.

Ananya’s heart pounded.

The teacher began the lesson, but Ananya couldn’t focus. She felt his presence like a disturbance in the air—too confident, too loud even when silent.

A pen rolled off her desk.

Before she could pick it up, Aarav nudged it away with his foot.

“Oops,” he whispered. “Careless.

Her jaw tightened.

She bent down, picked it up, and said nothing.

He smirked.

Something about her silence intrigued him.

Most girls giggled. Some snapped back. Some tried too hard.

She didn’t react at all.

As the bell rang for the next period, Aarav leaned back and glanced at her notebook.

“Topper?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

He chuckled softly.

“Interesting.”

Ananya stared out of the window, pretending he didn’t exist—unaware that in that moment, in a classroom full of noise, she had caught the attention of the one person who would soon turn her quiet world upside down

And for the first time, trouble had chosen her.....