Chapter 3: Trapped

My heart pounded—hammering like a temple bell. I clutched my dupatta, knuckles white.

Yes, everything had gone too smoothly. The realization hit me—tonight felt staged.

I stared at my phone. Ritu’s message from earlier was still there:

[Students, today is Diwali Eve. Tomorrow is a new year. Unfortunately, there’s no holiday—no one can go home.]

[Let’s spend Diwali Eve together. Dinner tonight, then the Diwali Special.]

It was too formal, too controlled. Not the usual chatty Ritu Didi. And no one protested. That was odd.

No other teacher would keep students from families on Diwali. “Yeh toh kuch zyada hi ho gaya,” someone whispered.

We all knew—Diwali meant family, not night duty. Ritu was the only one who stayed back, fussing like an elder sister.

But everyone still replied: Received. Like sheep, we’d all typed it. A chill swept over me.

I remembered typing it, but the memory felt distant, dreamlike. Did I reply, or was I just a puppet?

I tried to recall the moment. Nothing. Just a blank in my memory, as if the power had gone out and come back.

Thinking about it made my skin crawl. I wiped my palms on my kurta, heart thudding.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my arm—a clammy hand clamping on my wrist. I jerked in terror: Meera’s ghost!

I screamed: “Aah!”

My shout made several classmates stiffen. Some girls burst into tears.

A chorus of wails broke out. Girls hid their faces, Priya hugged her knees, rocking. Someone in the back started chanting “Om Namah Shivaya.”

The boys panicked, knocking over chairs in a rush for the back door.

Shoes scraped, chairs toppled, a water bottle rolled under a table. Chaos erupted instantly.

But when they gripped the doorknob and twisted, it wouldn’t budge.

Kabir suddenly stood, voice stammering: “Who locked the door?”

His words were a slap. Everyone froze, staring at the door as if it would open by itself.

Silence fell. Even the TV seemed to pause.

All eyes were on the doorknob, twisted desperately.

The handle rattled, but wouldn’t turn. It looked loose, but wouldn’t open—as if locked from outside.

Someone banged on the door, the hollow thud echoing. “Open up! Oye, koi hai?”

A girl raised her trembling hand: “Class prefect... we’ve all been sitting here, no one left...”

No one had left, no one had locked the door.

It was true. All thirty-four of us—present and accounted for, yet trapped.

So how was the door locked?

That question hung, heavy as monsoon clouds.

Sneha’s eyes widened. She covered her face and wailed: “There’s a bhoot! Help!”

Her cry sent everyone into panic.

The hysteria spread. Boys banged on the front door. Feet pounded the floor.

Other classmates hurried to the front door—locked too.

They yanked, twisted, even kicked. “Kya bakwaas hai yeh!” one boy yelled.

Someone eyed the windows, stacked desks, and tried to climb out. A lanky boy scrambled up, face pressed to the glass.

But the windows were welded shut.

No matter how hard he pushed, the panes wouldn’t budge. “Yeh kaise ho sakta hai?” he muttered.

Even after banging on the glass, it wouldn’t move.

Now, everyone was truly desperate. Some slumped against the wall, others hugged themselves, eyes wild. The only sound was heavy breathing and distant fireworks.

Ritu forced herself to calm down, straightening her kurta and coughing: “Students.”

She raised her hand, palm outward—a familiar assembly gesture. But her fingers quivered.

“Students, quiet down, listen to me.”

Everyone ignored her, voices blaming the counsellor. “Aapki wajah se sab hua, Didi!” Priya sobbed, pointing.

Each face seemed to say: ‘If not for you, we’d be home, safe.’

Kabir slammed his fist on the table. The class fell silent.

He snapped: “What, you’re all panicking now? Running around like headless chickens—will that solve anything?”

He glared, trying to act brave. “Yeh sab drama band karo!”

“Ritu is our counsellor. We should listen. If you keep panicking, you’re just being stupid.”

Some boys grumbled. “Kabir, why are you acting all high and mighty? Just because you’re Ritu’s boyfriend?”

Amit snickered: “Haan, boss ban gaya hai aaj!” The accusation hung awkwardly.

A few girls exchanged looks. Even the silent backbenchers sat up, eyebrows raised.

Ritu blushed, eyes darting to Kabir.

Kabir grew angrier, lunged at Amit. Chairs crashed, fists flew, the room erupting into shouts and curses.

“Teri toh, abhi dikhata hoon!” Kabir’s voice was raw. He grabbed Amit’s collar.

Amit spat back: “Tu toh chamcha hai! Sabko pata hai.”

Kabir, furious, shouted: “Chup kar, kameene!”

The rest of the class watched, some in horror, some with secret delight.