Morning vibes, but it already feels like eleven a.m.—hot as hell, annoying as fuck, and... the stench of sweaty kids pretending to be saints for the flag ceremony.
In the middle of the empty schoolyard, there's one figure... standing. Alone. Silent. But her aura? Sharp as hell.
Evana.
The student council vice president.
The scariest girl after all your childhood sins combined.
Pastel-colored hair, tied into twin tails like some anime loli—but her attitude? More like a street thug.
Black beanie covering half of her head.
Oversized glasses hiding half her face—but those sharp-ass eyes? Piercing right through your soul, like she just cursed her ex last night.
Slow steps, white Converse—already dirty.
Neat uniform, red ribbon on her chest. Pride glued to her forehead.
Evana stands still, one hand tucked into her hoodie pocket.
The other one...
Holding the student council's baton.
No one knows what for.
But usually... to smack dumbasses trying to sneak out of the ceremony.
Her eyes scan every corner of the school.
Like a sniper looking for a target.
Silent. Expressionless. But... terrifying.
"Five more minutes," he muttered, low.
His voice?
Calm.
But anyone who heard it would reconsider their life choices.
"If you don't show up..." he continued, exhaling slowly, "...I'll be collecting your shin bones."
A smile appeared. Thin.
Hard to tell if it was a smile of amusement or one from completely erasing his own humanity.
Then—
Footsteps.
From the end of the hallway, two silhouettes emerged.
Krish.
Srada.
Krish strolled in, chill as hell.
Denim jacket, half open.
Backpack slung over one shoulder.
Hair slicked back, but just messy enough to look effortless.
His gaze? Pure indifference. Like the world could explode right now, and he'd still be thinking about what to eat for lunch.
Srada followed behind.
Face all scrunched up like he just got scammed by a ghost.
Still traumatized from riding that fossil of a bike, coughing up smoke that made his lungs beg for a refund.
Krish stopped in front of Evana.
Silence.
Their eyes met.
No wind, no sound.
Just crickets.
"RIIIIINGGGG!!!"
Bruh, even the damn cricket got a phone alarm.
Krish? Unbothered. Just side-eying Srada.
Without warning, he grabs Srada's wrist.
Srada: "Oi, the hell you doin'!?"
But guess what? That grip ain't loosening.
A slight blush.
His heart? "HOLY SHIT, HE'S HOLDING ME!?"
Evana glances at their linked hands.
One brow up.
"...Sweet." Her voice? Flat. But those eyes? Full of mischief.
Srada? Wide-eyed panic. Oh, crap. BUSTED.
Krish? Still chill as hell.
His stare basically says, "What's your problem, Van?"
And right at that moment...
From behind Evana—A TERRIFYING FIGURE APPROACHES.
Heavy steps.
Heels clicking—TOK. TOK. TOK. Each step sounding like it's about to crack the freakin' earth.
TERRA.
Student council president.
The brutal beauty.
Cream bob hair.
Skin so clear, it's like a seven-star hotel mirror.
Gold bracelets jangling on her wrist—every move goes cling cling, straight-up rich kid SFX.
Her pride?
Taller than Mount Fuji.
Even Fuji itself would feel insecure.
She walks slow.
Sharp gaze.
Resting baddie face—elegant, but throw in a little smirk?
Boom. Every dude in the room suddenly wanna be her laundry rack.
"Krish." Just his name.
One word.
But it hits like an AC unit exploding in the North Pole.
Krish barely looks.
"Hmm?"
Cool.
Unbothered.
No cigarette in sight, but the vibe? Like he's puffing a Marlboro, chilling in the middle of a rice field.
Terra steps closer.
Eyes scanning Krish from top to bottom.
She ain't blinking. Locked in.
"Hurry up, get to the field. Don't make me wait."
Her tone was cold, firm—one of those student council seniors that make you move before you even breathe.
Srada, standing behind Krish, still pouting... but yeah, lowkey trembling.
He side-eyed Terra, who was radiating pure ice-cold energy.
But Krish?
Dude was chillin'.
He smirked a little. "Aww, were you waiting for me?"
Boom.
TERRA'S INTERNAL TIKTOK ALARM WENT OFF.
Her cheeks turned red... for a split second. Then—back to her usual cold glare.
"Don't flatter yourself." Classic response.
But her steps? Yeah, wobbly.
Srada side-eyed her. "Yo, jealous much, ma'am?"
He held back a laugh.
Krish was still holding Srada's hand. "C'mon, Ra."
He walked slowly.
Srada, still sulking, but yeah, he followed.
Evana stayed quiet.
Watching their backs as they walked away.
"...Love is... weird, huh?" she muttered.
He pulled out his baton—real slow.
"Too bad... no love for truants."
His eyes flickered.
He adjusted his glasses.
"Time to HUNT."
Evana stepped forward, spinning the baton around his fingers—like a fidget spinner, but the "one hit, and your head gonna self-slam" edition.
His eyes scanned every inch of the corridor.
His breathing was slow, but every exhale carried the weight of past sins ready to be avenged.
"...They're here..." he whispered, eyes darting around.
His Converse scraped against the floor, making a ceek ceek sound—like some horror movie background music.
His hand gripped the classroom door handle. Slowly.
"Assalamu'alaikum..."
His voice? Soft.
But the kind of soft that, if your mom used it, meant YOU'RE SCREWED.
BAM!
He kicked the door open.
The classroom? Empty.
Except for one slightly open chair.
And two holey flip-flops.
A stale, cheesy stench floated in the air—like the scent of past school crimes.
Evana closed his eyes for a second.
"They think they can escape?" He tilted his neck—crack, crack!
Like an old wooden door, ready to break.
"...Just wait."
He kept walking, passing through the hallway.
Behind the wall, THREE BORED BASTARDS were hiding.
Pale faces.
One was digging his nose, one was crying, and the last one looked like he was waiting to get circumcised again.
"Bro, shit... EVANA! We gotta dip, man!!!"
"SHUT UP! Your breathing's too damn loud!"
"Not me, bro, I swear!"
"Then who? A ghost?"
"Uhh... I think... it's..."
That heavy breathing?
Yeah...
It was right behind them.
EVANA WAS STARING FROM THE VENT WINDOW.
HER EYES? SHARP.
HER TEETH? SLOWLY GRINDING ON SANDPAPER. (Not really, but damn, she got the vibe.)
"What are you guys doing here?" Her voice was like a school counselor reading your report card—but with every single sin listed.
They froze.
"SORRY SIS! WE WERE JUST—UH—GETTING READY FOR THE FLAG CEREMONY! WE JUST HID FOR A SEC TO... TO... CHASE OUT A BAT!!!"
"A BAT?! BRO, THIS IS A HALLWAY, NOT A FREAKIN' CAVE!!!"
"SHUT UP, DUDE!!!"
Evana took a deep breath.
Slowly.
Morning workout.
Baton raised.
BOINK! — one dude got stuck on the ceiling.
THUD! — one face-planted into a trash can.
CLOMP! — the last one... disappeared. God knows where.
She kept walking.
Looking for another target.
She was almost at the back corridor.
A red zone.
Usually where kids ditched school to hit the internet café.
Or...
Krishna's hiding spot.
Evana was chilling in the corner.
She crouched down.
Her eyes reflected the sunlight.
She pushed up her glasses a little.
"Krishna... Krishna..."
A smirk played on her lips. "The stray cat of this school..."
Her voice was low, but full of menace.
"We're like Tom and Jerry at this point... But if I catch you, I ain't biting you." She lifted her baton, kissed the tip. "...I'm throwing your ass in detention 'til your mom pulls up with a damn hammer."
The sun climbed higher.
The schoolyard was packed with students standing in neat lines.
Or at least, pretending to be neat.
One dude had his elbow all up in his friend's face.
Another was flicking pebbles at the shoes in front of him.
Some stood still, but their eyes darted around like damn chicken thieves.
Up in the front row, the girls were unusually quiet.
Some were barely holding in their yawns.
Some were already spilling tea in the group chat.
But there was ONE person who stood out.
She was at the very front of the girls' line.
Back straight.
White-grey uniform, red ribbon on point—like, actually neat, not just fake neat.
Long hair tied in a half-bun, soft brown like Starbucks caramel.
Skin? Fair, thin as morning mist.
Her face... man, it's the definition of "future daughter-in-law every mom's dreaming of."
That's her. The HALF-BUND GIRL.
Her name?
SSSTTTT...
Not yet.
Gotta make y'all think so hard you start scratching the walls.
She stays quiet.
But her eyes?
They move.
Searching.
Looking for someone.
Her gaze sweeps across the boys' row.
She scans them one by one like a barcode scanner at Indomaret.
"Where is he..." she wonders.
Those clear eyes keep searching.
Searching for KRISHNA.
Meanwhile, Krish? He's just standing there, looking effortlessly cool in front of the line.
Half-bund girl turns right, scanning the boys' section.
But all she sees is...
Hamada—digging his ear, like a true menace.
Ucup—locked in on his phone, grinding that ninja chicken game.
Bradon—pretending to focus on the ceremony, but bro's one blink away from knocking out.
Tadashi—chewing on his pen, looking like he ain't had a proper meal in days.
Adit—clapping a mosquito, then casually flicking it onto Bradon's shoe.
"...Wait. Where the hell is he?" he muttered under his breath.
His eyelashes fluttered slightly.
Then—tap.
A light pat on the shoulder from behind.
Srada.
Still rocking that signature pissed-off look.
"Heh." Srada leaned in a little.
"The hell's up with you?" His tone sounded like he was holding back the urge to smack someone. But hey, for Srada? That was considered polite.
Halfbund flinched.
Blushing.
Damn. Dude's cheeks turned pink—like someone went overboard with the blush, but... nah.
"Ng... n-no, it's nothing." His voice was soft. Gentle. Like a Japanese Google Translate voice-over.
He sneaked another glance at the boys' line.
Still... no sign of him.
Krish was still focused, occasionally glancing at Srada, who had been pouting like he just chugged a whole bottle of citric acid.
Halfbund went silent for a moment.
Then, the inner monologue kicked in.
"Yo, where the hell is that kid?"
"Dude's usually the loudest one during ceremonies..."
"Everyone else stands still, but he's out here doing backflips..."
"The whole school sings the national anthem, and this dude belts out the Ultraman theme instead!"
He took a deep breath.
"Wait... no way..."
"No way he... ran away?"
His eyes widened slightly.
His thoughts went off the rails.
"HOLY SH*T—WHAT IF HE DISGUISED HIMSELF AS THE FLAGPOLE?!?!"
He turned to look at the flagpole.
Nothing.
Just metal.
But his brain wasn't done cooking up nonsense.
"WAIT—WHAT IF HE TURNED INTO A PASKIBRA UNIFORM?!?!"
His eyes darted toward the Paskibra team.
Still nothing.
Srada was still standing behind him, eyeing him suspiciously.
"...You looking for Krishna?" he asked casually, but his face was giving full-on gossip forum admin, just waiting for the tea to spill.
Halfbund:
"Eh? N-no! Not at all!"
His cheeks turned one shade redder.
At this point, dude looked like a strawberry drowned in Marjan syrup.
Inner monologue:
"SH*T, BUSTED!!!"
"SHOULD I BS MY WAY OUT? OR JUST FAKE PASSING OUT?!"
He coughed lightly. "...Hehe, hot day, huh?"
Srada smirked. "Bruh, it's literally seven in the morning."
His inner monologue was still going strong:
"Stay cool. I gotta stay cool."
"Don't think about her too much, or they'll notice—SH*T."
"If I slip up, Srada's gonna roast me alive."
Suddenly...
That demon Srada dropped the bomb. "Oi, you like her, don't you?"
Casual tone.
But it hit straight to the bone.
Halfbund? Frozen.
Blood rushed straight to his skull.
"Eh? N-No, bro! For real! The hell you on about?!"
He forced a smile.
The kind of smile that looked like a badly molded plastic chair.
Inner monologue exploded:
"I'M SCREWED!!! SCREWED, DAMN IT!!!"
Meanwhile, outside, everyone was already lining up for the morning ceremony.
But at Krish and Krishna's house?
Dead silence.
Peaceful.
Serene...
Inner monologue:
"SH*T, BUSTED!!!"
"SHOULD I BS MY WAY OUT? OR JUST FAKE PASSING OUT?!"
He coughed lightly. "...Hehe, hot day, huh?"
Srada smirked. "Bruh, it's literally seven in the morning."
His inner monologue was still going strong:
"Stay cool. I gotta stay cool."
"Don't think about her too much, or they'll notice—SH*T."
"If I slip up, Srada's gonna roast me alive."
Suddenly...
That demon Srada dropped the bomb. "Oi, you like her, don't you?"
Casual tone.
But it hit straight to the bone.
Halfbund? Frozen.
Blood rushed straight to his skull.
"Eh? N-No, bro! For real! The hell you on about?!"
He forced a smile.
The kind of smile that looked like a badly molded plastic chair.
Inner monologue exploded:
"I'M SCREWED!!! SCREWED, DAMN IT!!!"
Meanwhile, outside, everyone was already lining up for the morning ceremony.
But at Krish and Krishna's house?
Dead silence.
Peaceful.
Serene...
BUT THIS SH*T'S STRAIGHT-UP CREEPY.
Inside Krishna's room—
Lights flickering like they're on life support,
Curtains shut, AC blasting cold as hell.
Not the angelic kind of cold.
More like demonic vacation resort kinda cold.
And Krishna?
Dude's dead asleep, sprawled out like a lizard stuck to a blanket.
Hugging his bolster like it's his last lifeline, legs all twisted up.
Mouth wide open. Drool dripping.
Peaceful... but disturbing.
There's this tiny smirk on his lips.
A sinister one.
His left hand...
Slowly... stroking the surface of his bolster.
And then—he whispers, soft, almost too gentle:
"Srada... don't go anywhere, okay? I got you..."
Soft.
Smooth.
But CREEPY AS HELL,
Like a horror show host tryna sell you vegetables.
And then—
He kisses the damn bolster.
"Mmm... smells good... like gasoline mixed with jasmine flowers..."
Meanwhile... at school...
Srada, standing in the middle of the schoolyard...
Suddenly...
GOOSEBUMPS.
His lips pouted at maximum level.
And then, out of nowhere...
"BRRRRRR!!!"
Hair standing on end.
He mumbled, "...Eh? Why does it feel like a ghost just licked me?"
Back home.
Krishna...
Still rockin' that devilish grin.
Hips swayin' a little,
For no damn reason.
Like a rooster tryna pull off a TikTok dance,
Or a possessed dude who's made peace with his demons.
And then, outta nowhere...
Something dropped from the ceiling.
Plop!
SOFT.
WARM.
A LITTLE SLIMY.
Stuck to his cheek.
Krishna, half asleep:
"Hmm... what the hell is this?"
He touched it gently.
"Damn, this feels mad soft..."
Pulled it a little.
"Eh? Why does it smell kinda weird?"
Brought it to his nose.
SNNNNIIIIIFFFFFFF—
EYES WIDE OPEN.
"OH HELL NAH, LIZARD SHIT!!!"
He SCREAMED like a cow getting butchered with a spoon.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHH SHIIIIII—!!!"
Yeeted that biological bomb straight at the door—
SPLAT. Stuck to the wall.
Left a mark.
The kind that made the damn wall paint GIVE UP AND QUIT.
Krishna straight-up YEETED himself off the bed.
Breathing heavy.
Dude looked like he just took a deep whiff of a truck's exhaust pipe.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" He wiped his face with his sleeve—
Which, by the way, was ALSO covered in his own drool.
Meanwhile, in the living room, life went on like nothing happened.
Takashima was chilling on the couch.
Barefoot.
Sarong rolled up.
Legs stretched out on the table.
One hand holding a cup of coffee,
The other gripping a cigarette.
Puffing away while watching a soap opera blaring at full volume.
The title? "LOVE WITH A BOAR'S FUR."
Takashima took a slow sip.
Cigarette smoke curled above his head like a damn storm cloud.
Krishna stepped out of his room,
Still gasping for air.
Walked past Takashima.
Dragging his feet to the bathroom.
One hand on his forehead,
Water splashed.
Krishna straight-up dunked himself into the bathtub.
Rubbed his face.
Slapped on some soap.
Shampooed like he didn't give a damn.
Used the dipper like he was watering a plant,
Then lightly knocked his head against the tiles.
Finally, he stepped out of the bathroom.
Still dripping wet.
Towel hanging around his neck.
Feet dragging.
Shuffling his way to the living room.
"Unc... what time is it?" his voice came out deep and rough.
Takashima was chilling on the couch.
Cigarette lit, smoke drifting up to the ceiling.
One hand holding the remote, flipping through some random soap opera called "Ghost Goes Home".
The other hand casually stroking his legendary black coffee mug—some ancient relic from the Majapahit era.
Takashima barely turned his head. "Seven twenty."
Chill as hell.
Like the world wasn't even moving.
Krishna rubbed his chin.
His lips instantly pouted.
"Shit... I'm late... damn!"
He turned around, ready to head to his room—
Then suddenly, Takashima dropped a bomb:
"Oh yeah. Srada was here earlier."
Flat tone.
Like it was nothing.
Padahal, that was the kind of news that felt like a damn meteor about to crash into Earth.
Krishna froze.
Dude turned stiff like the Pancoran statue.
Slowly, he turned his head...
"...HUH? WHO??"
Eyes wide open—like he just saw his electricity bill.
Takashima raised an eyebrow.
"Srada. Came over." Sips coffee.
Steam rose.
That sluuuurp sound?
Felt like the soundtrack to his own funeral.
Krishna:
"SRADA... CAME HERE??"
Brain loading...
Then it hit him.
"OH SHIII—!!!"
Dude zoomed straight to his room.
Inside, Krishna was panting.
Eyes still bugging out like a broken neon sign.
"THE BOOK! SRADA'S BOOK!!!"
He started tearing through his desk—
Papers flying everywhere,
Found some old test sheets,
Even a cheat sheet scribbled on a damn Relaxa candy wrapper.
"WHERE THE HELL DID I PUT THAT BOOK?!"
Dude was flipping the whole room upside down.
Check under the bed.
All he found was a crusty sock, stiff like his mom's last warning.
His inner monologue exploded:
"F*CK! IT'S BEEN A WEEK AND I STILL HAVEN'T RETURNED IT!!!"
"BRO, I ONLY BORROWED IT TO TAKE NOTES—DIDN'T EVEN OPEN IT ONCE!!!"
Krishna scratched his head.
He was about to roll on the floor,
But in the end...
He gave up.
Squatting in the corner like a dude who just got punished to stand for five hours.
He wiped his face.
"Screw it, I'll just use the classic excuse... 'The book got eaten by Uncle Takashima.'"
He nodded to himself.
"Yeah. That'll work."
But deep down:
"It won't work at all, YOU IDIOT!"
A few minutes later, Krishna stepped out of his room.
Fully dressed... but missed a button on top.
Tie crooked.
Pants still half-wet.
Mismatched socks.
Threw on whatever jacket he found.
Sling bag barely holding on.
He walked to the living room.
Takashima was still on the couch.
Cigarette smoke thick in the air—
Like Bandung fog at 5 AM.
Takashima glanced at him, "Ready?"
Krishna nodded lazily. "Hmm."
Takashima reached for some coins,
From under the couch pillow—
The one patched up with dried Alteco glue.
He handed Krishna a wrinkled two-thousand rupiah bill.
No envelope.
No fancy handout.
Just a wrinkled hand and a crumpled bill.
Krishna stared at it.
For a long time.
Silent.
Didn't even touch it.
Krishna squinted. "...You serious, Uncle?"
Takashima stayed chill. "For snacks."
Krishna glanced at the quarter in his hand.
No way.
Still 25 cents.
Not 20 bucks.
Not even 5 dollars.
Just. A. Freakin'. Quarter.
2 5 C E N T S.
Krishna's inner monologue:
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! YOU EXPECT ME TO SURVIVE ON AIR?!"
Krishna clutched his chest. "Twenty-five cents... You sure, Uncle?"
Takashima winked. "If I gave you a hundred bucks, you'd run straight to the internet café."
Unbothered.
Took another drag,
Exhaled.
The smoke spelled out "GO PRAY FIRST."
Krishna bit his lip.
Facepalm.
"And what about my bus fare, huh?"
Takashima went silent.
Eyes squinted. "Oh."
He inhaled deeply,
Exhaled slow,
Like some martial arts master teaching the ultimate breathing technique.
"Listen," Takashima said.
"If I give you ten bucks..." He turned to Krishna.
"You'd run straight to the internet café, wouldn't you?"
A small smile.
But it hit like a nail dipped in antiseptic.
Krishna froze.
Eyes wide.
"N-NO! No way, Uncle! I swear I won't!"
He stepped forward,
Hand on his chest,
Striking a heroic pose, like he was about to sign up for The Avengers: Kramat Jati Division.
"I PROMISE! SWEAR ON WHAT, THO..." He looked around. "Oh! On your beloved ancient motorbike, Uncle!"
(Which, to be fair... nobody would even bother betting on anymore.)
"I WON'T GO TO THE CAFE! SERIOUSLY! I'M A GOOD KID, UNCLE!"
He pulled out The Look™.
The same look he used to beg for discounts on street food.
Big, round, helpless kitten eyes,
Brows drooping,
A forced grin like he just swallowed a whole cherry pit.
Takashima squinted.
Scanned Krishna from head to toe.
From his messy hair to his mismatched socks.
And in his mind, he muttered:
"Tch. Damn kid's got a scammer face."
Krishna went all in.
"Uncle, please! I'm late! You want me to WALK?! My legs gonna look like a Thanksgiving turkey, man!"
He hunched over,
Bag slung over one shoulder, standing with a ridiculous half-squat.
"Look! I'm already late! By the time I get there, the assembly's over, and they'll think I'm some random homeless dude!"
Takashima sipped his coffee.
Took a slow drag off his cigarette.
Then, in a low voice,
"If I give you this... you swear?"
His eyes gleamed a little,
Like a PlayStation rental guy watching a kid trying to sneak in without paying.
Krishna nodded furiously.
"I SWEAR! Cross my heart! I'm a righteous kid! Straight to school, straight to assembly, straight home! NO STOPS! NO INTERNET CAFÉ! AND DEFINITELY NOT PLAYING WITH ASEP!"
A nervous chuckle.
Takashima took a deep, long breath.
Long enough for mosquitoes to bite Krishna three times.
Finally,
Takashima pulled out the cash.
Fifteen bucks.
Wrinkled.
But filled with nostalgia.
Folded.
Tossed.
Krishna caught it with both hands.
"I'M TRUSTING YOU ON THIS," Takashima said.
His eyes peeked through the cigarette smoke.
"But if you go to the café... tomorrow's lunch is just boiled leaves."
Krishna bowed.
Krishna bowed so low his head almost kissed the floor.
"YES, UNCLE! I'M A GOOD KID! STRAIGHT TO SCHOOL! NO DETOURS!!!"
He stepped out of the house.
Casual steps.
Shoulders back.
Bag swinging.
Nostrils flaring.
Wallet stacked—fifteen bucks plus a crispy extra two.
Heart at peace.
Smile wide.
BUT...
Deep down, a tiny voice whispered:
"After school, maybe swing by the internet café... watch Asep be toxic for a bit."
He grinned.
But then—
"Sht. If I get caught, tomorrow's lunch is straight-up boiled leaves."*
He patted his chest. "Bismillah. Good kid mode activated."
Krishna hit the streets.
Casual strides,
Bag slung sideways,
Feet dragging,
Looking like a retired thug searching for one last crime.
His fifteen bucks and two-dollar bill clenched tight in his fist.
Eyes half-closed,
Mouth still stuffed with the last chunk of stale bread—tough as a recycled metal sheet.
But his mood?
MOOD WAS IMMACULATE.
Because Uncle Takashima actually trusted him.
"Such a good kid," he thought.
...Even though his breath reeked of skipped classes and shady internet cafés.
Five steps out—
Takashima's voice shot from inside the house:
"Oi! You forgot to say assalamu'alaikum?!"
Krishna turned halfway,
Flashed his best innocent smile.
"Wa'alaikumussalam, Uncle! My bad!"
Then, he slid to the roadside.
Waiting for the bus.
Checked the time.
Damn. Time was NOT on his side.
"Sht, I'm so late."
Eyes darted around,
Dust blowing straight into them—
If this was a slow-mo shot,
He'd look like an Indian drama protagonist battling a sandstorm.
From a distance, a green minibus.
Slow.
Moving like a cat that just headbutted a frying pan.
Krishna sprinted.
Fast steps,
Bag swinging behind him.
"WOOOY, STOP, BRO!!!"
Hand raised,
Foot skidding a bit.
"Yo, man! Hold up for a sec!!!"
But the driver?
Ignored him.
Light press on the gas.
Krishna ran harder.
Then—
He passed by some bushes near the sidewalk.
Left eye caught something weird.
Slow...
A sound.
Indistinct.
Like the wind whispering through wild grass.
Krishna kept running.
But—
His eyes darted back to that spot.
The bushes.
Dense.
A tiny gap.
And in that gap—
A PAIR OF EYES.
GLOWING.
BLUE.
COLD.
PIERCING.
No movement.
No flicker.
Nope.
That ain't normal.
Krishna sped up.
But the eyes were still locked onto him.
Still.
Blank.
Watching from behind the leaves.
The glow was BLINDING.
Krishna, breathless,
Finally slammed into the minibus door.
"BRO! STOP! I'M GETTING IN!"
The driver glanced at him.
"Damn, kid, why you in such a rush? Got the IRS on your tail?"
Krishna grinned.
"Nah... just chasing deadlines."
The driver just nodded towards the backseat.
"Get in."
He climbed in.
Chest rising and falling.
Eyes flicking to the window.
The bushes.
Empty.
No one there anymore.
But...
The feeling lingered.
Something.
Still watching.
Krishna sat still.
Shoulders heaving.
Fingers gripping spare change like it was some sacred anti-demon talisman.
"Sh*t... what the hell was that?"
Inside, his gut churned.
"Those eyes..." He forced a grin.
"Pfft, nah, nah, nah. You're just sleep-deprived, bro. Stop thinking about weird sh*t."
Slap.
He smacked his own cheeks.
"Focus. Focus on the assembly. No dumb thoughts."
But...
Outside,
Beyond the now-empty bushes,
A sound.
Soft footsteps.
Light.
Effortless.
Under the morning sun,
A small shadow moved.
Light steps.
And those eyes...
Still glowing.
Still blue.
Still locked onto Krishna.
Silent.
cliffhanger? Sure. But don't worry, We're still good... right? 😜
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