The chalk screeched across the board.
For some reason, that high-pitched sound was the first thing I truly heard.
Everything else—the teacher's voice, the pages turning, the quiet murmur of students jotting down notes—was all distant. Faded. Like I was watching the world through a glass window. Not part of it. Just… floating outside of it.
I blinked, slowly.
No, really. I had to manually remind myself to blink. That's how surreal this all was.
My body sat upright in a desk I didn't recognize, inside a classroom that felt like it belonged in a crossbreed of a Renaissance painting and a Miyazaki film. The ceilings were vaulted wood beams with ivy creeping through the joints. The windows—massive and arched—poured in light that felt too golden to be natural. There was no humming of AC units. No flickering fluorescent buzz. Just birdsong and the faint whistle of wind.
This was not Earth.
I looked around.
Everyone wore uniforms—white shirts, soft navy vests, matching skirts or pants, and polished black shoes. The normalcy of it clashed horribly with the otherworldly architecture, like Hogwarts had decided to enroll kids from the modern world and made them dress for an English prep school.
And then there was me.
Still slightly damp from the sweat clinging to my skin, heart hammering like it was auditioning for a symphony. My fingers twitched against the desk. My legs felt stiff, like they weren't entirely convinced they were supposed to exist in this reality.
Somewhere between grief and adrenaline, I was hanging by a thread.
I must've looked insane.
Because the girl sitting next to me leaned in and whispered, "You okay?"
I turned my head slowly.
She was gorgeous in that effortlessly charming way that only fictional best friends in books and anime usually are. Ash-blonde curls bounced around her shoulders, and her big hazel eyes looked at me with the kind of concern you usually reserve for people you actually know.
I stared at her. Blankly.
Because I absolutely did not know her.
"Did you hit your head or something?" she whispered again, this time leaning closer. "You're spacing out for the whole class."
Say something, Sneha. Anything.
I blinked again.
My eyes dropped down to her open notebook.
Silvia Rowe.
Thank God for people who write their names on their stuff. Bless you, Silvia.
"Sorry," I said slowly, trying to arrange my face into something casual. "Just… rough night…. Looking through the internet."
Silvia raised a brow. "Yeah, no kidding. You looked like a zombie when you walked in."
Gee, thanks.
"Well," I said, fishing for more clues, "what else is new, right, Silvia?"
She narrowed her eyes for a split second, suspicious. Then she grinned. "Right? Ugh. These elf studies are frying my brain."
Elf studies.
Not "algebra," not "geography." Elf studies.
I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Totally. Elves."
Please don't ask me anything about elves.
I let out a weak laugh.
She seemed convinced, for now.
"Right…Yeah. Watching elf reels till 3am is so you." Silvia laughed softly. "Classic Sneha. Thank God I muted you in Elfstagram… or else I would've been bombarded by the amount of reels you share!!"
Wait. She said my name.
Did that mean I hadn't changed identities entirely? Was I still me? Ah… Thank heavens she muted me…as I didn't watch any reels….
Then, I glanced at my own notebook, placed neatly on my desk.
Sneha Snowheart.
The handwriting was mine. Or close enough.
My chest constricted.
Snowheart?
The name looked wrong. Too neat. Too elegant. Like it belonged to someone who wore silk gloves and sipped tea from porcelain.
But it was mine now.
Sneha Snowheart…..
It sounded like the name of a girl from a fantasy drama who wore braids and had an ice affinity.
But the only affinity I had was with misery. Ugh…I was o the verge of having a migrain.
The bell rang. Or at least, something close to a bell—like wind chimes fused with a harp.
The teacher—a tall woman with a sharp, ageless face and silver-rimmed glasses—closed her book and nodded once. "Class dismissed."
And just like that, the hum of activity broke the air. Chairs scraped. Bags rustled. Students murmured to one another as they gathered their things and shuffled out of the room in small, casual groups. It was oddly normal—despite the glowing symbols on the board and the word elves being thrown around like it was just Tuesday.
I sat still.
Too still.
"Hey, you coming?" Silvia stood up beside me, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
I glanced up at her. She paused, eyes searching mine.
"You sure you're, okay?"
I forced a small smile. "I just… need a second."
Her brows furrowed, but she nodded.
"Alright. I'll wait outside in case you need me."
She walked off, and I felt a stab of guilt in my stomach.
I didn't even know her, but somehow, she was already kinder to me than most people had been back in my world.
Once the last student left, silence fell over the classroom like a fog.
I sat there, unmoving, as the light shifted on the wooden floorboards. The sun now filtered through tall glass, casting golden patterns on the floor.
And suddenly, the grief came back.
It crept in through the cracks. Wrapped itself around my spine. Slithered up into my lungs.
Mom...
Pipsqueak...
My hand clenched the edge of the desk.
I was still the same soul. The same mind. Same pain. My mom and brother were still gone. Whether this was a dream or a new world or some twisted afterlife—none of it brought them back.
And none of it answered the question hammering in my chest:
Why am I here?
I stood up, slowly, and walked to the window.
Outside, the sky was painted in brushstrokes of peach and amber. The clouds were delicate, as if made of spun sugar.
And then I saw them.
Not birds.
Not really but different with more designs.
They flitted across the sky—their bodies like soft crystal and red wings like threads of gossamer light. Each beat of their wings left trails that shimmered briefly, like stardust in their wake. Their colors shifted subtly as they flew, blending with the afternoon sky like chameleons dipped in melting sun.
I had never seen anything like them.
Beautiful. Alien. Enchanting.
This world was too soft. Too strange. And too full of wonder I didn't ask for.
I rubbed the back of my neck. My shirt clung to my skin—not from rain, but from nervous sweat that had built up since I first opened my eyes here. I felt like I was overheating, even in this otherwise serene environment.
I wanted to disappear again.
My legs gave out before I could stop them. I slumped into the chair nearest the window and buried my face in my hands.
How do you even grieve when you're not sure if you're dead?
How do you survive when your whole reason for surviving is gone?
No answers came.
Only silence.
And the dull light from the sun that slipped through the window.
And a stupid name I hadn't asked for.
"Sneha Snowheart," I muttered bitterly.
It still felt like someone else's dream. I didn't want it.
I didn't want to be here.
Tears stung my eyes before I could stop them. I tried, but they just spilled—angry, silent sobs that curled my fingers into fists and made my shoulders shake.
I didn't want to be this person. This character. This survivor of nothing.
And then—
Footsteps.
Soft. Approaching.
I froze.
Wiped my face quickly, smearing tears across my cheek. I sat up fast, trying to look composed, even though I knew I looked like a raccoon that lost a fight with life.
The footsteps came closer. A shadow fell across the doorway.
My breath caught.
Someone was there.
But everyone had left.
Who would come back?
The door creaked.
And then—
"Sneha?"
I looked up sharply.