The day was more pleasant than any other, the sun brightening the joyous morning of 2016.

  Children of the orphanage laughed and ran in every direction, clutching new toys.

  In one corner, Harinarayan stood with his walking stick, a tired yet proud smile on his face.

  Beside him was a table stacked with boxes of toys, clothes, and sweets.

  At the center of the orphanage hung a large banner: "Jindal Banks and Services."

  The orphanage was swarmed with TV reporters, a sight the place had never known before.

  Cameras zoomed in, questions flew, and the lights were blinding—at the center of it all stood two people.

  Ishita Jindal, draped in a red silk saree, carried grace in every step.

  Her words dripped with honey, her face glowing with a smile.

  But it was all fake—an attempt to gain public sympathy and support.

  Microphones thrust closer, and reporters began to fire questions.

  "Mrs. Jindal, why aren't Mr. Jindal and your daughter present for such an important occasion?"

  Ishita gave a soft laugh, awkwardly rehearsed.

  "Well… they're occupied with prior commitments that can't be disclosed. But I'm here, because helping these lovely kids is what matters."

  But the noise blurred into nothingness for one person— A boy stood beside Ishita, clutching her hand, wearing a stiff blazer.

  Harshit Jindal, seven years old, sucked innocently on a lollipop.

  His tired eyes and small face revealed boredom and quiet frustration.

  He tugged at his sleeves, rolling his eyes at his mother’s hollow answers, as if he wanted to vanish from the stage.

  While Ishita basked in the cameras, Harshit slipped away unnoticed.

  He walked down the silent hallways, until—

  He noticed a door ajar and stepped inside, away from the noise.

  The walls were plain white, but posters of rock musicians gave them life.

  Old, worn-out instruments cluttered the room, but Harshit’s gaze locked onto a second-hand bass resting on a cot.

  His eyes lit up faintly. He climbed onto the bed, lifted the bass with both hands,

  and stared at the strings like a hidden treasure, brushing them carefully.

  The sound was raw. His search for perfect rhythm made his pace stiff and lifeless, despite the concentration etched on his face.

  A voice cut in, interrupting the flow.

  "Do you even enjoy this?"

  "What?!"

  Harshit flinched, startled.

  Ronak stood at the door—messy hair, sparkling eyes, wide grin.

  "This is my room. And if you're going to play, enjoy it. It's not some homework."

  Harshit frowned, gripping the bass tighter.

  "Do something with perfection, not half-heartedness. Otherwise it's a waste."

  Ronak tilted his head, and began chuckling.

  He strolled to the old drum set, snatched up the sticks, and sat down.

  "Perfect? Let me show you how to feel the fun!"

  He plopped onto the stool, raised the sticks with enthusiasm—ready to strike.

  ——————————————

  By the time three years had passed, in 2019. Harshit and Ronak had grown closer— friends, yet rivals in ideologies.

  Harshit began to visit the orphanage frequently, and even Harinarayan knew about him very well.

  That day, he was sitting under Ronak's common spot, the tree at the center of the orphanage.

  He sat cross-legged, earphones on, and lost in nitpicking a live concert playing on his phone.

  But all of a sudden, his earphones were yanked off in a quick motion.

  Harshit was startled, he looked ahead with frustration, "Hey, what the— Oh…"

  But when he saw the person, his sharp voice came to a slow pause, softening almost instantly.

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  Ronak stood in front of Harshit, hands on his hips as if he was proud of a discovery he made.

  He was joined by Anaya and Farhan, equally close to Harshit and equally excited as Ronak in that moment.

  Without wasting time, Ronak threw out a proposal that Harshit didn't think of, in his wildest dreams.

  "Harshit! Join my band. Midnight Jam. All of our friends are in… we just need the bassist."

  Harshit froze, but he maintained his normal calmness on his face, lost in thought.

  He looked at the roots of the tree that mirrored the suffocating grip weighted inside him.

  Ronak couldn't control his excitement, like he knew that Harshit would definitely join.

  "Stop thinking. We can go crazy with this!"

  Harshit's jaw tightened, his mind spinning and consumed with the way his life turned in the year.

  His father was gone one fine day, leaving nothing but cold memories. No one knew how it happened, but his sister became the head of the family company.

  With power and authority in her hand, Harshit's sister had abandoned their family, leaving them far behind. Still, she occasionally sent them money for living.

  But, most of the money was spent on Ishita, Harshit's mother's new addiction— high-dose sleeping pills. She barely noticed her only son.

  A lifetime of control, perfection, loneliness and neglect— all of it stacked on top of him.

  And now, he had a chance to escape. A way that would help him to get distracted and feel alive once again.

  He exhaled slowly, his hands relaxed and his mind was at ease,

  "Fine… I'm in."

  Ronak jumped with excitement, his arms flailing uncontrollably.

  "Yes! Yes! I promise you'll not regret it!"

  Harshit let out a faint smile when he looked at his three happy friends, the first crack of warmth he let out that year.

  In that moment, the others— Tara and Jay— joined the rest of the band members.

  Finally, under the orphanage tree, Midnight Jam was assembled— but so was the tension.

  ——————————————

  The orphanage courtyard was buzzing with excitement. The wooden benches creaked under the weight of dozens of children, their eyes glowing with anticipation.

  Staff members leaned against the walls, whispering with smiles and giggles. Harinarayan stood at the back, adjusting his spectacles.

  He cleared up his voice as he stepped onto the stage, holding a microphone to do the announcements.

  "And now… presenting our very own… Midnight—"

  Before the old man could finish, Ronak slipped forward with a screeching sound from his shoes.

  "Hold on, Baba Hari! Let me do it right!"

  The crowd erupted in cheers the moment they saw Ronak, and the staff stepped forward to control the chaos.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… tonight is the night! Brace yourselves to witness the storm!"

  One by one, the band members stepped in front— each one of them grinned ear to ear and waved towards the crowd.

  The childrens stomped their feet, already hyped.

  "You know me— your voice, your friend, Ronak! And we are the MIDNIGHT JAM!"

  The hall thundered and children jumped on their benches, chanting Ronak's name.

  All the members grabbed their instruments, Tara and Jay handled everything from behind, and the show began.

  Ronak's raw and untamed voice ripped through the room. His electric movements seemed to own the stage.

  Meanwhile, Harshit's gaze never left the strings of his bass. Every rhythm was flawless and every note was pristine. But his eyes darted towards Ronak— his face showed frustration.

  Ronak had stopped singing mid-performance. He jumped into the crowd, hyping the ocean of children who screamed the lyrics.

  The others played their instruments louder, giving more soul to the performance and compensating for the stopped vocals.

  But Harshit's brows furrowed— his hands gestured Ronak to return because he thought that's not how bands worked.

  As soon as the music ended, thunderous claps and applause took over, shaking the walls.

  Harinarayan climbed up slowly, his frail hand reaching Ronak's head, patting it.

  "You'll go places, son."

  The band roared in celebration— they achieved their first success.

  Harshit's chest swelled, just for a moment. His lips curved faintly, waiting to expect the same recognition.

  But Harinarayan simply walked past him, opening the office door to reveal new instruments.

  The band members rushed forward with joy and laughter.

  Jay followed them quietly, still traumatised from the shadows of the accident that had happened.

  Ronak laughed, hugging Harinarayan. Anaya squealed and Farhan knelt down in front of the guitar like it was his treasure.

  "Harshit! Come on, look at this!"

  Ronak called, but Harshit was in a different zone.

  The smile on his face cracked into disappearance. He grabbed the bass so tightly that the stings creaked under pressure. His jaw locked and lips pressed thin, trembling.

  He looked at Ronak, burning with a flicker of something different. His eyes were like a blade sharpening in silence.

  For the first time, anger drowned out of his perfection.

  ——————————————

  It had been some time, and the band played in many local shows.

  The band sat in a cramped green room before their show began, the air thick with both sweat and anticipation.

  Ronak was bouncing from one corner to another, humming random tunes with an energy that lit up the room like sparks.

  Anaya and Tara were fixing the makeup in the mirror, teasing each other about stage fear.

  Jay sat quietly in the farthest corner like a ghost in the noise, his hands on his lap anxiously.

  Farhan tuned his guitar strings, the sound of distorted metal riffs cutting through the chatter.

  But Harshit?

  He sat hunched in a corner, his earphones on.

  His eyes were closed as he replayed the last performance.

  His lips moved faintly, counting the beats. His fingers tapped out invisible bass lines.

  Every now and then, his face twisted on something— the mistakes only he found.

  Finally, Farhan slammed a chord loud enough to grab everyone's attention.

  "Enough, Harshit! You've been at this before every gig. Let it breathe, man."

  Harshit slowly pulled out one earbud, glaring.

  "You don't get it. We need perfection. Every not matters, every single one."

  Ronak leaned against the wall, smirking at the nuisance in the room.

  "And what about the fun? The crowd's vibing, we're vibing— what else do we need?"

  That smirk and witty tone made Harshit's jaw clench. His fingers dug into the earphone cords, as if he was about to tear them.

  He muttered under his breath, but it was loud enough for others to hear.

  "If I would lead this band, it would have all been right. Not like how you do it."

  The room felt awkwardly silent, until—

  THUD! THUD! THUD!

  There was a loud banging at the door. Before the band could react, the door barged open.

  A swarm of fans, breathless and shouting, stormed in the room, dodging past the helpless security outside.

  And in seconds, Ronak was engulfed in the crowd. The echoes of his name grew louder and louder.

  Hands reached out towards him— some wanted autographs, and some wanted to touch his jacket.

  The band was silent and confused at first, but soon began to laugh and smile. Tara and Anaya couldn't stop giggling. Farhan strummed a loud riff as a celebration. Jay walked forward, smiling faintly, but genuine.

  But Harshit just witnessed the chaos unfold. His nails left crescent scars on his skin out of rage.

  His eyes twitched every time Ronak's name reached his ears.

  Despite this, he said nothing.

  He nodded like he was happy too. Yet, beneath this mask, his teeth ground together.

  For everyone, it was the band's victory.

  For Harshit, it was simply his loss.

  Ronak laughed, wild and untamed, the crowd alive with him.

  Harshit played perfect notes—silent, unseen—watching everything slip through his hands.

  ——————————————

  Anaya had told someone to Ronak, out of trust, "Just shut up, fool. I… like girls."

  But next year, in 2020, those words spread like poison.

  "Anaya doesn't even like boys."

  "She's disgusting."

  "Isn't that why she's always with Tara?"

  Cruel and sharp laughter exploded all around, and reached the corner that held Anaya shedding her tears.

  All of a sudden, she raised her head to see a hand— Ronak's hand.

  But Anaya's eyes were gleaming with hatred.

  Her eyes were red and the voice was trembling with rage and betrayal.

  "You told them, Ronak! You were the only one who knew all of it!"

  Harshit hadn't joined them yet— he didn't belong to the orphanage.

  But by the time he reached, the situation was to tense to handle with peace.

  Anaya's shoulder shook, tears spilled freely and uncontrollably.

  Tara arrived, concerned. She didn't hesitate— she moved Ronak aside.

  "Give her space. She needs it."

  She guided Anaya to a room in a corner.

  Her words, in an attempt to comfort her, barely reached the surface of Anaya's storm.

  Ronak stood frozen, like a statue carved out of guilt and disbelief.

  Jay and Farhan lingered in another corner— Jay was quiet, his usual silence masking his trembling arms, and Farhan shifted awkwardly, unsure where to stand.

  Harshit stepped closer, joining the two boys.

  He saw the aftermath of Ronak's betrayal and the weight of the shattered trust.

  "What's going on here? Did Ronak do something crazy again?"

  Harshit questioned, breaking the ice between both the silent boys.

  Farhan turned, speaking with pauses,

  "Um… I heard that Ronak told everyone… Anaya likes girls."

  Minutes passed. Tara emerged out of the room alone, her face set but eyes stormy.

  "She needs time alone," she announced, her voice stern, "Let her be."

  Harinarayan nodded weakly, taking all the children to their rooms, but Ronak stood frozen.

  Tara walked past Ronak, towards her own room.

  And Harshit noticed it—

  A flicker of it, a glimpse in her eyes.

  An essence of hate. Sharp, clear and dangerous.

  It was the feeling that even he could recognise.

  The moment everyone dispersed, Harshit stepped quietly, following her.

  As he entered Tara's room, the door creaked open slowly.

  Tara tilted her head as the shadow at the doorway of her dim room, and all she was able to see was the devilish smirk fitted across Harshit's face.

  The room held its breath.

  Something dark was stirring, and it had found its face— it was Harshit's.