Anaya Sharma had a secret.
A very carefully hidden, highly unacceptable, and absolutely non-negotiable secret.
And at this very moment, it was tucked neatly inside a book titled—"Advanced English Grammar for Senior Classes."
A book she was supposed to be reading.
A book that was currently open on her lap.
A book that had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with what she was actually doing.
Her room was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional sound of pages shifting—more for effect than necessity. A warm yellow lamp cast a calm glow over her study table, her neatly stacked notebooks, and the open book in her hands.
Anyone walking in would have seen a responsible English teacher revising lesson plans.
Anyone walking in would have been completely wrong.
Because hidden between those pages was her phone.
And on that screen—
Chaos.
Pure, unapologetic, dangerously addictive chaos.
Anaya leaned back slightly against her headboard, adjusting her glasses as her eyes moved quickly across the glowing text. Her expression shifted every few seconds—focused, surprised, slightly scandalized—
—and then she froze.
"Okay," she whispered, blinking rapidly. "That escalated."
Her gaze darted toward the door.
Closed.
Good.
Still, she lowered the book slightly, listening for any movement outside. When nothing followed, she let out a breath and looked back at the screen.
"…I should not be reading this."
A pause.
Her thumb hovered.
"…definitely not at this hour."
Another pause.
She scrolled.
"Last paragraph," she muttered. "Control."
Three paragraphs later—
"NOPE."
She shut her eyes instantly, pressing the phone flat between the pages as if the words themselves might jump out and expose her.
"We are done," she declared firmly. "We are a responsible adult. We have dignity."
Silence.
…
"…just one more."
The screen lit up again.
And there it was—
The latest chapter from the anonymous author who had, quite literally, ruined her sleep schedule, her focus, and possibly her moral alignment.
Noir.R.
No interviews.
No face.
No identity.
Just words that felt like they knew exactly where to hit.
"I swear this person needs therapy," Anaya muttered, biting her lip as she continued reading. "Like… who writes like this?"
Her eyes softened slightly.
"…and why do I understand it?"
She shifted, pulling her knees closer as she got more comfortable, completely unaware of how invested she looked.
If her students saw her now, they would never recover.
Their strict, slightly sarcastic English teacher—blushing over fictional characters and questionable decisions.
"Disappointing," she murmured to herself.
"And yet…"
She didn't stop.
Her phone buzzed suddenly.
Anaya jumped, nearly dropping it.
"God—!"
She quickly switched tabs, heart racing, and opened her school group chat.
Principal Ma'am:Reminder: Submit tomorrow's lesson plan by 9 PM.
Anaya stared at the message.
Then slowly turned her head toward the clock.
8:42 PM.
"…I have ruined my life."
Ten minutes later, she was sitting at her study table, laptop open, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Focus mode.
Serious mode.
Responsible adult mode.
"Okay," she said under her breath. "Lesson plan. Tenses. Easy."
She typed:
Past Continuous Tense
Good start.
Safe.
Harmless.
Her fingers moved again.
"I was reading when—"
She froze.
…
"No."
Backspace.
She stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed her.
"This is harassment," she whispered.
Her brain, completely unhelpful, replayed a line from earlier.
Word for word.
Tone and all.
She shut the laptop halfway.
"I need help."
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn't even pretend to resist this time.
Within seconds, she was back on the app.
NoirR — Updated: 12 minutes ago
Her eyes lit up.
"Okay but THIS is important."
Time passed.
Unnoticed.
By the time she finally looked up again, her room felt quieter.
Later.
She stretched slightly, rubbing her eyes.
"Done. Finished."
She placed the phone aside and leaned back.
Silence settled again.
And then—
A thought crossed her mind.
Casual.
Unplanned.
"I wonder what kind of person writes like this."
She stared at the ceiling.
"Definitely not normal."
A pause.
"…maybe a little unhinged."
Another pause.
"…or just honest."
She shook her head immediately.
"No. We are not romanticizing this."
Somewhere else in the city—
In a quiet hospital corridor washed in white light—
Someone stood flipping through a patient file, his expression calm, unreadable.
"Dr. Malhotra?" a nurse called softly. "Room 203 is ready."
"I'll be there," he replied.
His voice was steady. Controlled.
Professional.
On a nearby desk, his phone lit up briefly.
A notification.
Ignored.
Anaya, meanwhile, had finally dragged herself out of her room and onto the street the next day, walking absentmindedly as her eyes stayed glued to her phone.
"…he actually wrote that," she muttered under her breath.
She shook her head.
"Insane."
A small smile tugged at her lips.
She stepped off the curb without looking.
A car slowed slightly a few feet away.
Not dangerously close.
Just enough.
Inside the car, Reyansh glanced up briefly.
His gaze landed on a girl standing at the side of the road, completely distracted, frowning at her phone like it had personally offended her.
He watched for exactly two seconds.
Long enough to notice.
Not long enough to care.
He looked away.
The car moved forward.
Anaya didn't even notice.
"…if I ever meet this Noir.R person," she muttered, continuing to walk, "I'm going to seriously question their life choices."
A pause.
"…after asking for the next update."
What Anaya didn't know—
Couldn't even begin to imagine—
Was that somewhere, not too far away, a certain someone had just finished writing that very chapter…
…and would find her words incredibly amusing.
Somewhere behind her—
Unseen.
Unnoticed.
Unimportant—
For now—
A story had already begun.