"Then how did it come to our school?"
Ahad asked, frowning.
"Hari Singh wanted to renovate it, but during that time, tribal invaders from Pakistan entered. As if God didn't will for this place to open. And once more, it was locked behind the lock. Then, in the same period, Kashmir merged with India through the Treaty of Accession."
Sir picked up a book from a nearby table, dusted it off, and placed it on a shelf, continuing as he walked toward a large walnut door.
"Hari Singh, Sheikh Abdullah, militancy—everything got shattered. The Maharaja no longer remained—and during the time of militancy, who would care about a hundred-year-old library?"
He opened the heavy door, revealing a massive hall.Mine and Ahad's jaws dropped.
"Nevertherless,people in Kashmir only care about medical and non-medical fields," he said.
Sir continued, "No one is much invested in history and a years old library's casually shrugged
---
AHAD'S POV
The door creaked as we stepped into the forgotten hall.
Dust floated in the air, catching the sunlight that broke through a cracked stained-glass window high above. For a second, I imagined how this place must've looked in its prime — chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, wooden panels polished to a rich mahogany glow, a faint scent of parchment and ink trailing the scholars who once filled the room. Now, there was only silence… and echoes.
"This used to be the library?" Iman's voice broke the hush, quiet but awed.
I nodded slowly, though even I couldn't believe it. The room felt… haunted, not by ghosts, but by time. Vines had crept in from broken shutters, embracing the walls like they were trying to keep them from crumbling. Bookshelves stood half-tilted, many of them empty. Some still held books swollen with age, their titles worn out.
"People just left this here?" I asked aloud, though I wasn't sure who I was talking to — myself, Iman, or maybe… the ghosts of this place.
Almeida didn't answer immediately. He stood by the far wall, fingers grazing the spine of a forgotten tome, a soft smile on his lips.
He looked… younger, somehow.
"You know," Almeida finally said, eyes still fixed on the shelf, "Josh and I… we were about your age when we became buddies in yoga classes,the classes had not lasted,but our friendship has"
Josh?
Yeah Principal Josh
My head was spinning with all the things that happend only today.
The fight with haffiz,our sneekinv in library,Prof Almeida sharing the space with us.
I glanced at him, startled. This wasn't a history lecture. His voice had dropped, thick with memory.
"He came to me during the height of the militancy, when hope was something people laughed at. Said he wanted to build a school. A real one. Not just a building — a place where the valley could breathe again."
I felt Iman shift beside me. Her brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted. She was listening as closely as I was.
"We built it slowly, stone by stone. People laughed. Then they joined. Then they donated. And then… St. Paul's became something more than our dream." He smiled, eyes scanning the rotting ceiling beams above. "Fame came later. But we never did it for that."
I swallowed. The silence that followed felt like reverence.
"This building, this old library…" Almeida continued, "Back then, it was just abandoned land. No one cared what it had been. It was outside the school's original walls. But as we expanded, we bought the land too — and this place became ours."
I turned slowly, trying to picture it — this very hall, once filled with life, then swallowed by silence, and now… breathing again through us.
"Last record says the only person who ever came in here after we got the place was Raza." Almeida said, brushing dust from an old table. "That was years ago. No one's stepped in since."
That made my skin crawl — not from fear, but awe. We were the first to enter since then.
I looked over at Iman. Her eyes were wide, lips parted. "You okay?" I asked quietly.
She nodded, but barely. "It feels like we're not supposed to be here."
I knew what she meant. The room didn't feel cursed. Just… like it had been waiting. For someone. For something.
And maybe, just maybe — it was us.