I woke up to the sound of my mom's alarm tone blaring like it was having a breakdown. The irony? It wasn't even my alarm. But as usual, her chaotic morning rituals had side effects—like dragging me out of bed against my will.
The air in the room was weirdly cold. Not "crisp summer morning" cold. More like "our roof almost collapsed last night" cold. The storm had hit hard—rains crashing like a war was happening in the clouds. And with our house being just one floor and the terrace barely holding together, it basically flooded the living room.
Still, I wasn't thinking about the apocalypse above my ceiling. I had one mission: survive orientation day.
Today wasn't an ordinary school day. No, today was the day. Our school was hosting a massive cultural program—dance, music, skits—and of course, me and Insha had somehow been roped into it all. I had a dance performance to survive. My sister had a singing competition. The entire school was operating like a Broadway production on low budget and high stress.
I rolled out of bed like a human burrito, grabbed my two bags—one for my costume, the other full of snacks, deodorant, backup socks, and pure anxiety—and stumbled into the bathroom. My sister was already brushing her teeth like she was in a race against time. She was always faster in the mornings. Not because she liked it—because her school van left early, and if she missed it, I'd be the lucky one delivering her forgotten stuff across the school like a part-time courier.
"Don't forget your water bottle!" Mom shouted.
"I'm not a toddler!" my sister snapped.
"You literally forgot it yesterday," I reminded her, mouth full of toothpaste.
We got ready in a world-record-breaking 20 minutes. A miracle in itself.
6:50 a.m.
My sister bolted out the door, van honking, while I triple-checked my bags. Costume? Check. Snacks I won't eat? Check. Backup top because I sweat like a sponge under stage lights? Check. Emotional support chocolate bar? Check.
Just then, Insha's call came in.
"Sarah, if you don't hurry up, we're gonna miss everything!"
"I'm coming, calm down! One more second—"
"You've been saying that for TEN minutes. I'm leaving in two."
I didn't have time to argue. I grabbed my bags and ran out like I was escaping a burning building.
The metro station was already filling up. We checked in and found a seat somehow, both panting, half-laughing, half-terrified.
Insha looked at me and grinned. "Hey. If we get kicked out for being late, at least we'll get kicked out in style."
"I've got two bags full of snacks and shame. Bring it on."
But then... we noticed something.
Everyone on the train looked unusually tense. Heads buried in phones. Eyes wide. Whispering. A woman clutched her child close. A man near the door was muttering into his phone like he was calling someone he hadn't spoken to in years.
"What's with the mood?" I whispered.
Insha leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Feels like everyone's at a funeral."
We glanced at the screen on the wall—usually playing cheesy ads or metro updates. But today? It was just a blank blue screen with a spinning loading icon.
We exchanged looks but said nothing.
7:30 a.m. — SCHOOL
The moment we stepped into school, the vibe snapped back to familiar chaos. Students were everywhere—practicing lines, adjusting microphones, fixing costumes, panicking about forgotten props. Teachers were shouting like drill sergeants in a musical.
We slipped into class unnoticed—thankfully.
The room was buzzing. I could see dancers stretching, a group in the corner working on a skit about saving trees or saving aliens or both, and someone doing vocal warm-ups that sounded suspiciously like a goat having a breakdown.
Insha nudged me. "Guess we're not the only ones running late."
I looked out the window. Six more students were sprinting through the school gate like action heroes. At least we weren't alone in our chaos.
We did our last checks—costumes ready, script memorized (kinda), nerves barely hanging on. The final announcement came. Time to move.
8:15 a.m. — Departure
The bus ride to the venue was short but tense. Not because we were late—because of the news on the driver's radio.
"…military presence has increased near the airport due to ongoing civilian unrest…"
"…rumors of unknown illness spreading in—"
The driver turned it off before we could hear more. Insha and I looked at each other.
"What illness?" I asked.
"Probably just the news being dramatic again," she replied, but even she didn't sound convinced.
9:00 a.m. — VENUE ARRIVAL
The venue was amazing. Big stage, proper lighting, a decent sound system—not bad for a school event. We got ready, warmed up, joked around with other performers. But there was still something weird in the air. Like the world outside had shifted slightly and no one had noticed yet.
Our teacher handed out the final instructions, gave the classic "Make the school proud!" speech, and told us we were on in 30 minutes.
I looked around the backstage hallway. Quiet. Too quiet.
...........................................................
After our performances, we were allowed to either head home to rest or stay at the venue for clean-up. Most of us chose to chill there, eat snacks, post on social media about how "lit" our acts were.
Then we saw it—outside the venue gates.
A group of people. Not teachers. Not parents.
Running. Limping.
Some dragging others.
Covered in blood.
And that's when everything changed.