POV: Ananya Iyer / Ishaan Malhotra / Wishakha Bhalla
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PART 1: THE CAMPUS THAT KNEW TOO MUCH
POV: Ananya Iyer
Stanford was too perfect.
That was the first lie.
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Perfection isn't real.
It's curated.
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I walked through the campus pathways, sunlight filtering through tall trees, students laughing like their lives weren't carefully constructed equations.
Everything looked… effortless.
But I knew better.
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Because Delhi had taught me something most people never learn—
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If something looks flawless…
It's hiding something ugly.
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My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Again.
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I didn't pick up.
I never did.
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But today—
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Something felt different.
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The air was heavier.
Like it was waiting.
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I answered.
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"Hello?"
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Silence.
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Then—
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A voice.
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Soft.
Calm.
Familiar in a way that made my skin crawl.
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"Stanford suits you, Ananya."
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I froze.
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"Who is this?"
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A pause.
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"You like asking questions."
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My grip tightened on the phone.
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"And you like hiding behind anonymity."
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A soft chuckle.
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"Not hiding."
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A whisper.
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"Observing."
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My heartbeat slowed.
Dangerously calm.
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"What do you want?"
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A pause.
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Then—
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"To see what you become… when you realize you were never free."
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Click.
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Call ended.
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I stood there.
Still.
Silent.
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Then—
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My phone buzzed again.
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A message.
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A link.
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No sender.
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I hesitated.
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Then tapped it.
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The screen loaded.
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A live feed.
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My breath stopped.
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It was me.
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From ten seconds ago.
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Walking.
Standing.
Answering the call.
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Someone was watching me.
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Right now.
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Not past footage.
Not stored data.
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Live.
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My fingers went cold.
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This wasn't just a system.
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This was surveillance.
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And I was already inside it.
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PART 2: THE SHOT THEY WANTED
Gsx
POV: Ishaan Malhotra
Pressure doesn't break you.
It reveals you.
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The scoreboard glared down at me.
Final seconds.
We were losing.
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Coach's voice echoed in my head—
"Remember the play."
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Rishi's message echoed louder—
"Play the game."
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My jaw tightened.
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This wasn't a match anymore.
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It was a decision.
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Lose on purpose.
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Or risk Ananya.
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The ball landed in my hands.
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Time slowed.
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Teammates shouting.
Crowd screaming.
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None of it mattered.
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Only one thing did—
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Her.
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I jumped.
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Perfect form.
Perfect angle.
Perfect shot.
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And then—
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At the last second—
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I tilted my wrist.
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Just slightly.
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The ball hit the rim.
Missed.
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Buzzer.
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Game over.
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Crowd groaned.
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Coach stared at me.
Disbelief.
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But I didn't look at him.
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I looked at the stands.
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Rishi Varma stood up slowly.
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And smiled.
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Approval.
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Like I had just passed a test.
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My phone buzzed.
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Message:
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"Good boy."
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Something inside me snapped.
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Not loudly.
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Not violently.
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Just…
quietly.
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And that scared me more.
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Because it meant—
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I was starting to play along.
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PART 3: THE STORY THAT WASN'T WRITTEN
POV: Wishakha Bhalla
Truth isn't found.
It's uncovered.
Layer by layer.
Lie by lie.
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I stared at the screen.
At the blinking cursor.
At the file that shouldn't exist.
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LEDGER_02
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It hadn't closed.
Not since I opened it.
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Even when I shut my laptop—
It came back.
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Like it didn't need permission.
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Like it had access.
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Kabir wasn't in the room.
For the first time in years—
That felt wrong.
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I clicked deeper into the files.
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Patterns.
Connections.
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Then—
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A new tab opened.
On its own.
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Text appeared.
Typing itself.
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"You're getting closer."
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My breath hitched.
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"I'm not playing this game," I muttered.
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The cursor blinked.
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Then replied.
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"You already are."
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My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
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"Who are you?"
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A pause.
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Then—
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"Someone you made stronger."
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My mind raced.
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Vartan.
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No.
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This was bigger.
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Way bigger.
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"What do you want?"
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The reply came instantly.
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"The same thing you do."
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A pause.
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"The truth."
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I laughed.
Cold.
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"No. You want control."
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The screen glitched.
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For a second—
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Just one second—
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A face appeared.
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Blurred.
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But familiar.
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Too familiar.
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My heart skipped.
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No.
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That's not possible.
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The image disappeared.
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Like it was never there.
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But I had seen it.
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And now—
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I couldn't unsee it.
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Because somewhere deep inside me—
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A terrifying thought formed—
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What if…
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This wasn't a new enemy?
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What if—
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This was someone who never left?
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FINAL LINE:
Some games are played on courts.
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Some are played on screens.
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And some…
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Are played inside your head.