It was the sound of a guitar, strummed lightly and carelessly, that echoed through the corridors of the otherwise silent school. The low hum of the strings bounced off the worn wooden shelves, the books they contained somehow untouched by time, while the boy who played them was anything but.

Ishaan Malhotra sat in the farthest corner of the library, his guitar resting comfortably against his body, as if he were in his element, effortlessly creating music. His fingers were a blur, and the tunes seemed to float through the air, mingling with the whispers of dust and forgotten pages. He had long learned to drown out everything around him—the stifling pressure to succeed, the expectations his family placed on him, the eyes that followed his every move. For once, he was free, and the music was his only escape.