The journalism club had become a minefield for Mia — every meeting a test of her willpower not to look too long at anyone, not to linger after sessions, and not to let anyone get close enough to ask the questions she feared answering. Sara’s abrupt absence had left a quiet, aching void in her days, but the seniors filled that emptiness with constant, suffocating surveillance. One of them was always “happening” to pass by the club room window during meetings, or texting her mid-discussion demanding immediate proof that she was alone. Location checks had become hourly. Any deviation earned swift punishment.

Then Vikram joined the club.