Chapter Text
"London city... God, how much I prayed to be here. But why does it feel painted in red instead of gold?"
Sofia thought London would be her dream. Imperial College. A white coat. A future carved from brilliance and prayers. But life here isn't golden — it's blood-stained, heart-crushing, and merciless.
Now she sits outside the ICU, uniform stained with tears and blood, whispering prayers into the sterile air. "Please, God... don't take him away from me. Not him. Not now."
She never asked for this city to test her faith, her strength, and her heart all at once. Between the weight of her career, the chaos of her personal life, and the enemies success seems to attract, Sofia finds herself in a battle far greater than textbooks or exams could ever prepare her for.
Because in London, dreams come with a price.
And Sofia is about to learn how much she's willing to pay.
{{Flashback}}
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The morning sunlight filtered through the half-open window, carrying with it the faint scent of rain on the earth — that crisp, clean smell that only came after monsoon showers. The Eid vacation had ended, and the city was stirring back to life. A lazy kind of excitement hung in the air: half reluctance to let go of the festivities, half eagerness to meet friends again after the break.
Sofia sat on the edge of her bed, uniform neatly laid out before her. The white orna, freshly washed and pressed, gleamed in the light. She reached for it first, pinning it to the shoulders of her green kamiz with steady fingers, checking in the mirror to make sure it sat properly. She tugged at the corners, pulling it close across her chest, and fastened the pins tight. She knew how wild mornings could be — the running for the rickshaw, the sprint up the stairs when late — and she wasn't about to let the orna shift an inch.
Next, the green belt. She looped it around her waist, adjusting until the lines were sharp and the fit secure, pressing the folds of the kamiz neatly into place. She inhaled deeply, and the belt made the fabric hug her frame with a kind of schoolgirl firmness — not flattering, not for style, but for discipline, for uniformity. For the feeling that she belonged to something larger than herself.
Her fingers smoothed over the cotton, the crispness of the starch still present from last night's ironing. She couldn't help but smile faintly. It was strange — how the same uniform she used to groan about wearing every morning now gave her a quiet sense of steadiness after the restless chaos of Eid.
Finally came the scarf. White, ironed flat, edges sharp enough to crease. She swung it gently over her shoulders, the triangle falling neatly down her back. She tied the knot at the front, quick and practiced, the way she had seen her mother do it a hundred times before on her first day of school. She looked at herself in the mirror: green and white, the school colors that had followed her through so many seasons of her young life.
For a moment, she paused — listening. Outside, her little sister was already arguing about missing crayons; in the distance, the hum of rickshaw bells and vendors are returning to the streets. Eid was over. The world was returning to its rhythm.
Sofia touched the edge of her scarf once more, making sure the knot was tight. Then she straightened her shoulders, gathering her books into her bag. Today, she would step back into the halls buzzing with friends comparing Eid clothes and sweets, teachers calling them to order, and the peculiar mix of laziness and excitement that always came after a holiday.
She didn't know what the day would hold, only that the familiar weight of her uniform made her feel ready.
"Allah hafeez," Sofia whispered softly, a little prayer tucked under her breath as she stepped into the lift. Her scarf fluttered as the doors slid shut with a metallic sigh, the fluorescent light overhead buzzing faintly. She tapped her foot impatiently, watching the red digital numbers count down each floor.
Ding.
The moment the lift opened, she bolted, shoes clattering against the corridor tiles. Her heart drummed in rhythm with her hurried steps.
Late, late, late! It's 6:31! The thought screamed in her head as her bag thumped against her back. She clutched the straps tighter, weaving through the familiar shortcut between buildings until the narrow path of her best friend's alley stretched before her.
And then she saw her.
Lanthe.
There she was, standing under the washed-out blue of the morning sky. Her blonde hair — her "goldielocks," as Sofia always called them — was gathered into a braid that wasn't done with its usual neatness. A few strands had slipped free, curling at the sides of her sleepy face. Sofia smiled instantly; she knew that kind of rushed braid meant Lanthe had been in a hurry, probably dragged out of bed at the very last minute.
Sofia cupped her hands around her mouth dramatically as she jogged closer. "There comes the girl~~ Hello~ Girl~" she chimed in a sing-song voice, imitating the tone from a meme they had laughed about endlessly during vacation.
Lanthe's lips curved into a small, lazy smile. Her pink eyes were still heavy with sleep, but they brightened just enough at the sight of Sofia. She didn't waste her breath on words — she just gave a tiny nod, as if saying, Yes, I survived waking up this early.
Without missing a beat, they climbed into the waiting rickshaw, their bags pressing against each other in the cramped seat. The driver adjusted his topi, gave the reins a flick, and the rickshaw jolted forward, wheels creaking rhythmically against the broken road.
The cool morning air whipped around them, carrying the smells of frying parathas from a roadside stall, the earthy dampness of yesterday's rain, and the faint sweetness of incense from a nearby shop. They passed by shutters half-open, grocers arranging vegetables, and children in uniforms just like theirs waiting by the roadside for transport.
The ride would take only five or six minutes, but in those short minutes the world felt alive, filled with the little hums of life returning after Eid — neighbors exchanging quick greetings, Men freshly setting the stores, women taking their kids to school and some kids going to school alone like them.
Sofia leaned slightly toward Lanthe, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "So... what's the bet? Who's going to be the first to ask us what we ate during Eid? My vote's on Samia."
Lanthe, eyes still drooping but amused, let out a small hum of agreement. Sofia laughed and tilted her face to the sky, the scarf fluttering as the rickshaw clattered on.
School was only minutes away. But in this little journey, with her best friend at her side and the city still waking up, Sofia felt a warm, simple joy in her chest.
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The rickshaw rattled to a stop at the wide, iron gates of their school. The sight before them was enough to stir a little pride in anyone who walked through: Vidyamayee Government School, or as everyone affectionately called it, VGS.
The palace of red.
Once built as a manor by the King of Mymensingh, the building still carried its old-world grandeur. Tall red-brick walls loomed high, their arched windows framed with fading white trim. Ivy crept across one corner, blending with the long shadows cast by the morning sun. It was less a school and more a vintage relic — a place where every staircase creaked with history, every corridor whispered of secrets long past.
The moment Sofia stepped down from the rickshaw, she tilted her head back to take in the familiar sight. She never tired of it. The place looked like something straight out of a storybook — part palace, part memory.
Lanthe adjusted her bag on her shoulder with her usual slow grace, still not fully awake. But Sofia? The adrenaline of being late shot through her like lightning.
"Let's go, let's go, LET'S GO!" she burst out, darting forward before Lanthe could even react.
Through the tall gates she went, the white scarf of her uniform trailing behind her like a flag of war. Her shoes clattered across the stone courtyard, dodging other students who were walking at a far more reasonable pace. A group of juniors squeaked as she swerved past them with a grin.
This is it, she thought, heart hammering, the race.
Her eyes locked on the old staircase that led to the second floor — tall, wide, the red stone steps worn smooth from generations of hurried feet. Without hesitation, she launched herself upward, the weight of her bag bouncing but her speed unbroken. Her orna stayed pinned tightly, just as she had prepared this morning.
Behind her, Lanthe sighed softly, shaking her head with a smile as she trudged at her own pace. She knew Sofia would never wait. She never did.
Up and up Sofia ran until at last she reached the second floor corridor — long, sunlit, its walls painted in that pale cream that smelled faintly of chalk dust. She skidded around the corner, the sound of her shoes echoing, and there it was: Room 14.
She burst through the doorway, breathless but triumphant.
And there, at the very front of the class, sat their bench. First row, first desk.
THEIRS.
No matter what.
She dropped her bag onto the wood with a victorious thud, running her palm over its surface as if claiming territory in some ancient battlefield. Her chest rose and fell with exhilaration, a grin tugging at her lips.
"That's it," she whispered to herself, voice low but proud, "home base."
Outside in the hall, Lanthe's footsteps finally reached the door, far more leisurely, as if to balance out Sofia's wild energy.
The day had only just begun.
First came Samia.
Her smile was the kind you couldn't escape — wide, constant, almost like a toy whose face had been painted on with permanent cheer. Her dupatta was folded neatly, her books hugged tightly to her chest as she breezed inside. The moment her eyes landed on Sofia already parked at their bench, she let out a soft laugh and raised her brows as if to say Of course you beat everyone again.
Sofia only grinned wider. Victory always tasted sweeter when Samia noticed.
Next came Audrey. Calm, composed, every step measured and deliberate. Her dark brown skin gleamed softly in the morning light streaming through the windows, and her hair brushed neatly at her neck. Don't let that serene expression fool anyone, Sofia reminded herself — Audrey was chaos disguised as control, a quiet storm in the guise of poise.
Then came Eva.
A burst of energy with every step, her curly hair pulled high into a ponytail that bounced like a spring. She didn't walk into the class — she bounded. With her usual flourish, she threw one hand out, palm open, and without breaking stride smack! high-fived Sofia as she passed the front bench. "Back in business!" she declared, loud enough for half the class to hear.
Sofia chuckled, shaking her stinging palm. Same Eva, never quiet, never subtle.
Ahona slipped in next, her pace unhurried, her eyes still heavy from the morning rush. She adjusted her scarf absentmindedly, letting out a yawn she tried — and failed — to hide. She gave Sofia and Lanthe a faint smile, the kind that said, I'm happy to see you, but I'm too tired to show it properly.
Behind her, with a little more swagger, came Nondini.
The second captain of the class — and the school's most notorious rule-bender. Her uniform never out of rules but just after the 1st period ends- "She'll go furrrrrrrrr~" Sofia said teasing her habit of bunking the classes.
And then, as if the air shifted, came Anuva.
Their sworn enemy. Her entrance wasn't dramatic — it never was. She just glided in with her chin tilted ever so slightly, the faintest smirk playing on her lips when her eyes met Samia's. No words exchanged, no greeting. Just the silent tension of a rivalry sharpened over months, maybe years. Samia felt her chest tighten, but she didn't give Anuva the satisfaction of breaking her smile. Not today.
The noise of the classroom swelled — bags dropping, benches scraping, Eid stories bubbling in bursts of chatter. The lazy energy of the morning was quickly being replaced with the chaos of school life, as if the palace walls themselves were shaking off the holiday quiet.
And just as the teacher entered — register in hand, glasses perched low on his nose — the final one rushed in.
Chahat.
Hair still damp from a hurried wash, scarf tied unevenly, her expression caught between apology and mischief. She slipped in with a small laugh, breathless, sliding into her place just as the teacher cleared his throat.
"Present, sir!" she announced in advance, earning a ripple of chuckles across the room.
The roll call began, voices echoing one by one. And there they all were, together again in the red palace of Vidyamayee, the classroom alive with old rhythms and new stories.
The last rays of the afternoon sun slanted through the dusty classroom windows, throwing golden streaks over the rows of worn wooden desks. Samia sat at hers, hunched forward, the tip of her pencil flying as she tried to finish the last page of math homework before the teacher's round. Her lips moved silently with the numbers, her brows furrowed, but there was that calm determination about her that always made everyone trust her to get things done.
On the opposite side, Sofia leaned in close to Eva, Ahona, and Chahat, Audrey whispering with that bright spark in her eyes. "I swear if the next episode doesn't give us at least one confession, I'm dropping it," she hissed dramatically. Eva laughed so loud she almost got shushed by a prefect passing the door, her high ponytail bouncing with every giggle. Ahona gave her soft, hesitant chuckle, while Chahat covered her mouth, pretending to look innocent but just as invested in their BL drama discussions as the others. Audrey would've preferred if the discussion was about Enhypen or other k-pop fandoms but friends are friends after all.
Meanwhile, Lenche sat two benches away, lost in her own quiet world. Her notebook, open on the desk, looked like it had equations scribbled across it—but on the last page, her pencil carefully shaded the cheekbone of a boyish character she had been sketching. She smiled faintly at the lines coming alive, the background noise of chatter and laughter fading into something soft, like distant rain.
Anuva's voice cut sharply across the room, as she tossed her hair and leaned back in her chair. She was surrounded by her small gang of "too-smart-for-everyone" girls, exchanging witty remarks and mocking others under their breath. Their laughter had a smug edge, the kind that made heads turn—but also the kind that made most avoid getting too close.
The room felt divided yet alive: groups wrapped in their own little worlds, stories unfolding side by side.
The clock ticked towards dismissal, and outside, a crow cawed, as if announcing the last stretch of the day. Samia finally dropped her pencil with a sigh of victory, "Done!" she whispered to herself. Sofia and her circle burst into quiet laughter about some ridiculous plot twist, their voices overlapping with Eva's energetic rambling.
And still, Nondini was nowhere to be seen—no doubt hiding somewhere on campus, breaking yet another rule while everyone else carried on.
As the bell rang, a wave of relief and chatter swept the classroom. Books snapped shut, benches scraped, laughter spilled. Some hurried for the door, others lingered. For a fleeting moment, the room was a portrait of youth—messy, chaotic, divided, but undeniably alive.
The day ended not with a single voice, but with many—threads of conversations, secrets, and stories—blending into the fading light.
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Samia slammed her notebook shut with a sigh of relief, leaning back on her chair. "Finally done..." she muttered, letting her pen drop dramatically as if she had just written a hundred pages instead of four.
Lenthe, who had been sprawled half-asleep over her desk, lifted her head. Her voice was always soft, but it carried a certain heaviness that made every word sound like a judgment. "You act like your life depends on it," she said, her eyes half-lidded, hair spilling down her shoulders like she hadn't bothered with the world since morning.
Samia groaned, "It was! You know how Sir is. If I don't do it, he'll give me that look—" she straightened her back, deepened her voice in a mocking imitation of their English teacher— "'Here, look at him! Didn't he do it? He doesn't even live in his own home and still manages.'"
At that line, Sofia's ears perked. She wasn't even pretending to work anymore—her pen froze mid-word, her eyes sharpened with a sudden interest. She didn't need to hear the name; she already knew who Samia was talking about. And then, slowly, a little victorious smirk tugged at her lips.
Samia noticed immediately. Her brows pinched, and she snapped her notebook against the desk. "Oh no. Don't you dare."
But Sofia only leaned back, her smirk widening. She wasn't going to waste this moment.
Samia's tone grew sharp with mock annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, now you feel proud over a random boy instead of sympathizing with your bestie who's dying over homework."
"Why shouldn't I feel proud?" Sofia said sweetly, though her eyes glittered with triumph. "It's because of me, he's getting good in English."
Lenthe, who had been silently observing like some quiet judge on a panel, suddenly chimed in. "Saif, am I right? Roll no. 2 of Zilla School?" she asked in that calm, steady tone of hers.
Sofia's only answer was a nod—firm and without hesitation. She almost glowed with it, the kind of glow you can't hide no matter how hard you try.
"He's far from home..." Lenthe's words carried no teasing, just a simple statement, yet there was weight behind them, "...but not outside."
For a moment, none of the girls spoke. The sound of distant laughter from the courtyard filled the silence.
Sofia pressed her lips together, trying not to look too obvious, but inside her chest there was a small flutter, almost like a secret she carried.
Samia broke the silence with a groan, flopping down on the desk. "Great. Just great. Now instead of hating Sir, I've got to deal with you two romanticizing homework. I swear, one day you'll both drive me insane."
Sofia laughed, brushing off her friend's complaints with that same proud little smile, while Lenthe just hummed, resting her chin on her palm, her dark eyes unreadable.