Chapter 3: Poison, Betrayal, and the Game

02

The classroom fell into a suffocating silence.

Not even a throat was cleared; only the ceiling fan’s whir and the distant honk of an auto rickshaw broke the hush. For the first time in years, nobody dared move or speak.

Three years had gone by; no one had spoken Sneha’s name in all that time.

She was a whispered warning in the girls’ hostel, but otherwise, Sneha faded from assemblies and gossip circles alike.

"No one wants to speak?"

Arjun’s voice was almost mocking now, the way an invigilator taunts when he suspects a hidden chit in your pencil box.

A sharp, mocking laugh—"hehe"—crackled through the loudspeaker.

It was an ugly sound, made worse by static. People jumped, startled, as if someone had just put a curse on us.

"Then I’ll add a little something for you, how about that?"

A chill swept through us. Someone murmured, "Bas, kya chahiye isko?" but no one knew the answer.

Just like last night, words flickered in my mind like a WhatsApp group gone mad—messages I couldn’t block, no matter how hard I tried.

[Barrage]

"Sofa, sofa, the good show is starting."

"The poison gas Arjun prepared isn’t enough to kill everyone. How many do you think will die in an hour?"

"I bet ten."

"Only ten out of forty-seven? Boring. At least half should die—then the opening will be exciting."

[End of barrage]

As my panic spiked, a pungent odour began to spread.

The smell was sharp, a burning mix of rubber and rotten eggs. People started covering their faces with hands, dupattas, or whatever they could find, but the panic only deepened.

Amit, by the teacher’s table, was the first to shout, "Kuch toh jal raha hai!"

Chaos erupted.

Within seconds, the classroom was a mess—classmates snatching for handkerchiefs, pressing books to their mouths, a chair toppling over in the rush. Someone yelled, "Find water, wet your dupatta, cover your nose and mouth!" Meera’s Didi-voice cut through the din, and a couple of girls quickly followed her lead, as if it were an answer key.

But the lab’s taps were bone-dry—no water, no hope.

Ramesh twisted the handle desperately, but only a hollow groan answered. The faucets had already given up.

Two girls managed to pull out bottled water, but classmates snatched them away before they could be opened.

A scuffle broke out—elbows jostling, angry mutters, the slap of someone’s chappal breaking.

Most of the water spilled onto the cracked floor, leaving almost none for anyone.

The puddle glistened mockingly. Someone started to cry, and their sobs blended into the growing chaos.

I instinctively clutched my backpack, stepping back, recalling the bottle I’d brought from the reunion. Amma’s voice echoed: "Don’t show your cards, beta. Duniya bahut kharaab hai." I pressed my bag tighter to my chest, heart pounding, and dared not make a sound.

At least for now, I could hang on.

[Barrage]

"It’s started, it’s started, they’re fighting each other now."

"I love watching this kind of infighting. If I’m going to hell, I’m dragging you all with me."

"Hahaha, upstairs, I’m rooting for you."

[End of barrage]

The big, athletic games captain—Bhaiya—finally snapped.

He stood tall, fists clenched, jaw set like he was about to lead the Sports Day march-past, but the image twisted by horror. "Damn you, Arjun! Wasn’t it all because of what happened between you and Sneha? Sab kuch toh tum dono ki wajah se hua tha, na?"

"You made such a big scene just to ask this? She’s already dead, why didn’t you do something earlier? Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you!"

He kicked a broken chair, eyes wild. "Ab kya faayda? Woh toh gayi!"

"Let us out! What time is it now? The building’s getting demolished in the morning, you want us all to die with your little girlfriend?"

Someone gasped, "Bas karo, Bhaiya!"

Before he could finish, an ear-splitting "SCREECH—" blared from the loudspeaker…

The shriek was so loud, I thought my eardrums would burst. I dropped to my knees, hands clamped over my ears. For a moment, the world was nothing but noise.

We all clutched our ears, reeling in pain.

Someone screamed, "Hai Ram, bandh karo yeh!" but the screech dragged on, echoing in our bones.

"Giving you face, huh? Let us the hell out..."

Bhaiya’s voice was hoarse but defiant.

He banged his fist on the table, like demanding justice at a local panchayat.

Actually, the gossip about Arjun and Sneha only started after her death.

By the next day, the whole school and half the teachers had their theories. Our colony aunties would have gossiped for weeks.

No one knew who leaked it first.

But like any Indian secret, it seeped into every staffroom, every chai stall.

People said the pure, innocent girl had been too close to a rich businessman’s son.

Sneha’s dignity became the talk of the town—her name twisted into stories she never even lived.

As for how Arjun’s father suddenly became wealthy six years ago, nobody could say.

Whispers of black money, shady deals, or lottery luck floated around, but no one dared ask directly.

Bhaiya spat into his palm and marched for the iron door, sleeves rolled up like a filmi hero.

The biology lab had two doors—one wooden, one iron.

We’d always used the wooden one. The iron door was rumoured to be for 'emergencies only'—just another unused Indian school feature.

He opened the wooden door, but as soon as he touched the iron one, a spark flashed and his arm turned black—he collapsed, writhing in agony.

A scream ripped out of him, so raw I felt it in my teeth. The smell of burnt flesh mingled with the gas; a few people nearly fainted. I pressed myself into a corner, terrified.

[Barrage]

"Damn, idiot. If they locked you all in, there must be traps. If you’re this reckless, how can we keep playing?"

"Upstairs, you lost. Hurry and transfer the money. Everyone keep guessing—what trap will trigger next?"

"I bet the next one will definitely kill someone. Who wants to bet with me?"

[End of barrage]

Arjun’s voice softened on the loudspeaker, almost gentle.

He sounded like he was reading out exam results: "Does anyone else want to leave?"

He asked the remaining forty-seven of us: "Does anyone else want to leave?"

Some shuffled their feet, eyes darting, but no one dared move.