The sun poured through the high, arched windows of the 11th-standard corridor, catching the dust motes dancing in the air and casting long, golden boxes across the polished stone floor. The casual banter of the group drifted over the general roar of the recess crowd-the slamming of locker doors, the distant scuffling of juniors playing corridor football, and the sharp laughter of girls walking past in tight-knit groups.

Kabir stood immovable, his frame supporting the casual, heavy weight of Ayaan's arm across his shoulders. Siddharth remained anchored to Kabir's right side, his smaller hands gripping the strap of his school bag, his bright blue eyes looking up at the older boys like they were giants walking the earth.