Chapter 5: Bhag Kaur’s Warning

The morning after the note, Geetanjali woke up earlier than usual.

Not because she wanted to.

Because she couldn’t sleep properly.

The words kept returning to her mind like a quiet echo that refused to fade:

Don’t trust what you see in smiles.

She lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling fan rotating slowly. Every turn felt like a loop of thought she couldn’t escape.

She finally sat up and reached for her phone.

No new messages.

No unknown numbers.

No explanation.

Just silence.

But silence, she was learning, did not always mean peace.

Sometimes it meant waiting.

At college, Bhag Kaur was already waiting near the gate when Geetanjali arrived.

“You look tired,” Bhag Kaur said immediately.

Geetanjali forced a small smile. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

Bhag Kaur studied her face carefully. She had that habit—observing people not just with curiosity, but concern.

“You’re thinking about something,” she said.

Geetanjali hesitated. For a moment, she considered telling her about the note.

But something stopped her.

Maybe it was fear of sounding irrational.

Or maybe it was the strange pull of secrecy itself.

“I’m fine,” she said instead.

Bhag Kaur didn’t look convinced.

They started walking toward class.

For a while, neither spoke.

The college was already alive—students arguing about attendance, laughter spilling from staircases, the usual chaos pretending to be normality.

But Geetanjali felt slightly detached from it all.

As if she were watching everything from behind glass.

Bhag Kaur suddenly stopped near the corridor wall.

“Geetu,” she said firmly.

Geetanjali turned.

Bhag Kaur’s expression had changed. It wasn’t casual anymore. It was serious.

“I need to tell you something,” she said.

Something in her tone made Geetanjali’s attention sharpen.

“What is it?”

Bhag Kaur looked around once, then lowered her voice.

“It’s about Buta Singh’s group.”

Geetanjali’s heart tightened slightly—but she kept her expression steady.

“What about them?”

Bhag Kaur hesitated. “I didn’t want to bring this up, but… I’ve seen what happens around them.”

Geetanjali stayed silent.

Bhag Kaur continued.

“People think they’re just fun. Parties, influence, popularity… but it doesn’t stay like that for long.”

Geetanjali felt a faint tension rise inside her.

“What do you mean?”

Bhag Kaur exhaled slowly. “I mean people change after joining them.”

A pause.

Then she added, “And not in a good way.”

Geetanjali frowned slightly. “That sounds like gossip.”

“It’s not gossip,” Bhag Kaur said sharply, then softened her tone. “I saw it happen to someone I knew.”

That made Geetanjali pause.

Bhag Kaur looked down for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

“There was a boy in our previous college group,” she said slowly. “His name was Aman.”

Geetanjali listened quietly.

“He was… normal. Funny, smart, not very serious about studies, but a good person. He used to hang out with everyone. Then he met people like Buta Singh’s group—same kind of crowd, same kind of energy.”

Bhag Kaur’s voice lowered.

“At first it looked harmless. Parties, late-night outings, breaking rules, acting fearless. He said he was just having fun.”

Geetanjali could already sense where this was going, but she didn’t interrupt.

Bhag Kaur continued.

“Slowly, he stopped coming to classes. Then he started lying to his family. Then… he started depending on them for everything.”

She paused again.

“And then one day, he changed completely.”

Geetanjali’s fingers tightened slightly around her bag strap.

“What happened to him?” she asked quietly.

Bhag Kaur looked at her.

“He stopped recognizing who he was,” she said. “Like he was still alive, but not really present.”

A silence fell between them.

Students walked past, laughing loudly, unaware of the conversation unfolding beside them.

Bhag Kaur’s voice softened.

“We tried to help him. I tried. But by then… he was already inside something he couldn’t step out of easily.”

Geetanjali felt a faint heaviness in her chest.

“And now?” she asked.

Bhag Kaur shook her head slightly.

“He left college. No one knows exactly where he is now.”

That last sentence hung in the air longer than the rest.

Geetanjali didn’t respond immediately.

Her mind tried to process what she had heard, but emotions kept interfering.

Fear.

Curiosity.

Doubt.

And something else she didn’t want to admit—

Interest.

Because everything Bhag Kaur described sounded dangerous.

But also strangely organized.

Like a system.

And systems always had structure.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Geetanjali asked finally.

Bhag Kaur looked at her directly.

“I’m saying stay away from them.”

There was no hesitation in her voice now.

No softness.

Just concern.

Geetanjali nodded slowly, but her silence didn’t fully agree.

Later that day, Geetanjali found herself sitting alone near the library steps.

Bhag Kaur had gone to attend a lecture.

The campus felt different in solitude. Less noise, more thought.

She pulled out her notebook, but didn’t write anything.

Instead, she kept thinking.

Aman.

Buta Singh’s group.

The note.

Don’t trust what you see in smiles.

Everything was connecting in a way she couldn’t fully explain.

But she also couldn’t ignore the pull of curiosity.

Because fear had two effects on her.

It either made her step back…

Or made her look closer.

And Geetanjali had always been someone who looked closer.

A shadow fell across her page.

She looked up.

A group of students passed nearby—laughing, talking loudly.

And at the center again—

Buta Singh.

He didn’t notice her this time.

Or maybe he did and chose not to show it.

Either way, something about his presence made the air feel slightly different.

Not heavy.

Not light.

Just… controlled.

As they disappeared down the corridor, Geetanjali felt Bhag Kaur’s warning echo again in her mind.

But alongside it, another feeling emerged.

A question.

What exactly makes people change so completely?

When Bhag Kaur returned, she found Geetanjali still sitting there.

“You didn’t go to class?” she asked.

Geetanjali shook her head.

Bhag Kaur sighed and sat beside her.

“Geetu,” she said more gently now, “I’m not trying to control you. I’m just… worried.”

Geetanjali looked at her.

“I know.”

A pause.

Then Bhag Kaur added, “You’re not like others. You notice things. That’s why I’m scared you’ll notice too much.”

Geetanjali gave a faint smile.

“That’s not something I can stop.”

Bhag Kaur didn’t reply immediately.

Then she said, “Sometimes knowing too much doesn’t help. It pulls you into things you can’t step out of.”

Geetanjali looked away.

The wind moved lightly through the trees near the courtyard.

“I already feel like I’m halfway into something I don’t understand,” she admitted quietly.

Bhag Kaur turned toward her fully.

“Then step back,” she said firmly.

But Geetanjali didn’t answer.

Because stepping back wasn’t always easy when something already felt… unfinished.

That evening, as they walked out of college together, Bhag Kaur tried one last time.

“Promise me something,” she said.

Geetanjali looked at her.

“Don’t go near them.”

There was a long pause.

Geetanjali didn’t respond immediately.

Not because she didn’t hear her.

But because she wasn’t sure she could promise something her curiosity might break later.

Finally, she said softly, “I’ll be careful.”

Bhag Kaur didn’t look satisfied.

“That’s not enough,” she said.

But she didn’t push further.

They parted ways near the gate.

Geetanjali walked slowly home, Bhag Kaur’s words repeating in her mind like a warning bell she couldn’t silence.

And yet, beneath the fear…

There was something else growing quietly.

A need to understand.

Because somewhere deep inside her, she felt something Bhag Kaur didn’t.

Not just danger.

But inconsistency.

And inconsistency, to Geetanjali, always meant there was more beneath the surface.

That night, as she reached home, she placed her bag down and stood near the window.

The city outside was alive in its usual rhythm—lights, traffic, distant laughter.

Normality pretending everything was fine.

But Geetanjali’s thoughts weren’t calm.

She opened her notebook again.

And wrote one line slowly:

If smiles can hide danger… what else are people hiding without knowing it themselves?

She stopped.

Looked at the sentence.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel fear.

She felt pulled forward.

Somewhere, in a part of the city she couldn’t yet see clearly, Buta Singh’s world continued moving.

And Geetanjali Kaur had just taken her first step—not toward it…

But toward understanding it.

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