A year had passed since the horrifying events shook our school. Slowly, life began to return to normal—or at least, that's how it appeared on the surface. Many students and teachers tried to forget the past, clinging to the hope of a brighter future. But for those of us who had lost someone, the wounds remained fresh.
My name is Walid, and I've just entered Class 7. This year started off well—or so it seemed. But deep down, something still felt wrong.
It was February 1st.
Bappi and I had become close friends with a new student named Rahul. He was cheerful, energetic, and—truthfully—a bit of a weirdo. His curiosity bordered on obsession, and he seemed far too interested in the events that had haunted our school last year.
After hearing everything we told him, Rahul offered a theory that chilled us to the bone.
"What if the killer is still among us?" he said one afternoon.
We paused. The idea didn't sound so crazy.
The school guard was definitely involved in the killings—and he was murdered before he could be interrogated. And then there was the man who had surrendered to the police, claiming to be the culprit. But why would he kill his own partner, then turn himself in without a fight?
And even after that man's confession, another strange figure had appeared on school grounds. Out of all the schools in the area, why were the murders centered around ours?
Maybe—just maybe—someone from our school was involved. A student. A teacher. Someone still walking among us.
Rahul's theory made an uncomfortable amount of sense.
So we started investigating.
We created a list of suspicious individuals and began tailing them during lunch and after school, watching for any signs of abnormal behavior.
"Look at how Teacher Sakib is eating that meat," I whispered to Bappi. "Doesn't it seem… off?"
"What's weird about it?" he asked. "I eat like that too sometimes."
"Guys, quiet," Rahul cut in. "Look at that older kid in Class 9."
"Oh, I know him," Bappi said. "What about him?"
"His body language. He's eating like he's being forced. If he was a cannibal—like some of the killers—we've heard about, normal meat should make him uncomfortable."
"That's just a theory," Bappi scoffed. "I love beef, but that doesn't mean I can't eat chicken."
"You're comparing yourself to a psychopath now?" Rahul grinned. "These people get pleasure from killing. I've watched enough documentaries and movies to know the signs."
"Maybe the boy just has a stomach problem," I added.
"Still," Rahul said, "I'm giving him four stars of suspicion."
We didn't know whether to laugh or take it seriously—but we were starting to act like amateur detectives, convinced we were onto something bigger.
Then, one Friday, something happened that changed everything.
I was home alone that day—no school, no parents. Around noon, the doorbell rang.
Standing there was a tall, imposing man in a dark coat. His face was calm, serious.
"Hello, you must be Walid. I'm Tihsan Jakoan, a private detective working on an active case. May I come in?"
His voice was deep but polite. Without thinking, I let him in. In hindsight, that might've been a really dumb move.
Luckily, he was exactly who he said he was.
Detective Tihsan had been hired by a wealthy man whose daughter had been murdered last year. Though the incident occurred far from our town, the confessed killer had admitted to that crime too. Something didn't add up, and Tihsan believed the true killer—or killers—were still at large.
"I'm retracing the threads," he explained. "I need to speak to every witness."
He asked basic questions:
"What did you see the day the school guard was caught?"
"Who else knew about the body before the police were called?"
"Who did you talk to about the incident?"
I answered everything honestly. But at some point, I snapped.
"You're asking the same stuff the police asked a hundred times! Can't you do something actually useful?"
"I'm sorry," I added quickly. "I shouldn't have yelled."
"It's alright," he said with a faint smile. "I'm used to it."
He stood up and handed me a sleek black card.
"Keep this. You may need it."
He leaned in slightly.
"I know you have your suspicions about someone. Don't ignore them. If you see anything—anything at all—call me. Help me catch this monster, and there'll be a reward in it for you too. But don't tell anyone about this meeting. Not even your friends."
He gave me one last nod and walked out.
I stood there, stunned. A real detective was relying on me. The card in my hand suddenly felt like a lifeline—proof that I wasn't crazy, that something bigger was at play.
I slipped the card into my drawer and locked it.
Not even Bappi could know.
Not yet.