ARNA

OFFICIAL NOTICE — GOVERNMENT SECTOR ALLOCATION BOARD

Notice No. 1743-B

Subject: Personnel Reassignment — Sector 17 Deployment

In accordance with Central Allocation Directive 45/A, the following personnel adjustments are effective immediately:

    •    Rayan — Status: Unreturned from prior assignment (Sector 17)

    •    Arna — Status: Appointed as replacement operative for Sector 17

All replacements are final. Failure to report will be considered an act of defiance against the Central Authority.

I crushed the paper in my hands, the edges biting into my palms, and hurled it to the ground.

"Crushing the paper isn't going to change our destiny, Arna," Raha said softly, her voice soft as she stepped closer.

"One day I'm going to crush this entire government to dust," I spat, the words tasting like iron. This is absurd. This isn't democracy — it's a fucking monarchy.

"Calm down, Arna. You have a plan. Why worry when you know what you have to do?" Raha said, calm as ever, and pressed a paper cup into my hand. The coffee was hot - a small, useless mercy and the first sip steadied my hands enough that anger didn't swallow me whole.

I should have buried the notice and never seen it again. Instead, the worst part was waking to it in the morning. I was only looking for a note for class when my fingers brushed that stamped name and everything tilted. The one thing that pushed me here, staring back in black ink.

I hate this place. I hate every corner of it.

If I could go back just once I'd run straight to him. I'd throw everything away and fall into my brother's arms. I'd tell him I miss him more than anyone, that I never stopped loving him... that I never will.

But he's gone. And this system swallowed him whole.

I'll find him. I don't care what it takes. I'll tear through every wall, every system, every rule they built to keep people like me quiet. If I don't find him... then this whole place will burn. I'll make sure of it.

I remember the day I signed those marriage papers — my hands were trembling, my heart screaming not to. Maybe that was God's way of moving the pieces, setting me on this path. Maybe it was all meant to lead here.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through reels just to drown out the noise in my head.

My phone buzzes against my palm.

Kevin.

I swipe. A message, then a photo. My skin goes cold and hot at the same time. I didn't expect him to find it so fast. Kevin moves like the city's shadow: precise, privileged. Being "elite" meant he gets into places the rest of us only dream about. He can get into the locker room sooner than anyone. They said we might have to wait months. That was if we played by their rules. I can't wait.

The photo fills the screen: Kevin's grin in the foreground, half-shadowed, hair slick from whatever back-room light he's under. Behind him — metal lockers, a strip of flickering LED, and there it is: a brass nameplate stamped RAYAN. The padlock on the locker catches the light like a small, merciless eye.

My throat tightens.

"Can we open that?" I replied back.

His reply comes quick and clipped, the kind of calm that means danger's nearby. "No, Arna. It's completely prohibited. Cameras everywhere. You know that. We can't even touch the door. I've already started moving. We can't risk the plan."

He didn't say it in a soft way. He said it like someone who's counted the costs and decided they're not worth it yet.

I can feel the system breathing around us: the mechanical click of a guard's boot two streets over, the faint whine of a camera motor tracking shadows. My fingers curl into a fist. I type nothing. Instead I give him the only answer that isn't an order, a lie, or a plea.

I thumb the screen — a single, hard thumbs-up.

It's small. But it's all I have for now.

I kept zooming in on the photo, again and again, until the pixels bled into each other. His name glinted faintly under the harsh locker light — RAYAN.

A few drops of tears formed in my eyes before I could stop them. I just stared, the phone trembling slightly in my hand.

I'd missed him only twice before.

Once, when they threw him in jail.

And again, when they ordered him to Sector 17.

And now — this is the third time. The system has found another way to take him from me.

"Fuck the system," I whispered, voice low and cracked.

"Arna, check the message in the group," Raha called out from across the room.

I crushed the paper cup in my hand — plastic splitting under my fingers.

"What the fuck now?" I snapped. "Did they find some other pretty boy to ogle at for the class, or what?"

The words burned as they came out, dripping with venom. I couldn't help it.

I still remember the day Hridhan showed up. The entire class lost their minds especially the girls. Like he was some kind of hero. But to me, he was nothing special. Just another trained puppet in a perfect uniform.

They call them Mentors. I call them Monsters.

Trained to torture us. Programmed to obey.

And these people — blind, foolish — they admire him like he's something worth loving.

I hated Hridhan from the very first day I learned who he really was.

They call it training.

But what Hridhan does... is breaking.

He has broken people to the edge of madness — all in the name of discipline, loyalty, and order. They say they're building protectors, but protectors don't destroy. They don't shatter lives to prove control.

The government was supposed to keep us safe, to keep us happy. We weren't meant to die for the system or worse, because of it. They weren't supposed to take away the people we love and hide behind their rules while doing it.

Sometimes, I ask myself... why wasn't I born an Elite?

Why didn't I get that privilege to travel the world, to see beyond these walls, to breathe air that doesn't smell like iron and ash?

Was it my fault?

Was it my mistake to be born in a place where I'm not allowed to want anything?

Why can't the system make us all equal?

Why is fairness a luxury only the powerful can afford?

If everyone was treated the same... maybe I wouldn't have lost him.

Maybe someone else — someone stronger, someone chosen — could have taken his place. Maybe Rayan would still be here.

I don't even know anymore if I'm obsessed or just broken. All I know is — I can't give up on him. I won't.

I never realized how much I loved him until the day that letter arrived — my appointment, my assignment. The paper that changed everything.

They say you never know the value of something until it's gone. I knew I loved my brother. I just didn't know how deep that love ran until the world took him from me.

If I'd known he'd disappear — that he'd slip out of my reach forever, I would have held him tighter. Cried harder in his arms. Hugged him until he couldn't breathe. I would have never let him go.

"Arna, we have a class shift," Raha said, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

I blinked, groggy, reaching for my phone. The screen lit up — Guns of Sector 17 🗡️, our class group that never seemed to shut up. The notifications were endless, flooding the chat like a small digital tsunami.

Guns of Sector 17 🗡️

Sam: guys, theory class has shifted to practicals. Contact your mentors and follow them for practicals.

Raha: full day? 😩

Sam: unfortunately yes.

Kevin: ☠️ Someone bring me poison, I'll gulp it like Red Bull 😭😭

Sam: 😂 Walk to the nearest medical shop and die, Kev.

Kevin: do they provide glass? 🥴 or should I bring my fancy wine glass of death 🍷💀

Raha: I'll sponsor the glass. Just go and die already 😤

Sam: I'll contribute half the poison cost 💅

Kevin: plotting my murder?? 😳 Against the HANDSOME GUY™️? 😎 Not fair 😭 You all just can't handle my main character energy 💃

Raha: I just want to check if slippers fly 👠 Shall we test on Kevin?

Sam: 🤣🤣🤣 Raha, the queen 👑🛐

Kevin: SAMMYYYY 😭 you can't just support her!! 🥺🥺🥺 bro code violated 💔

Sam: Get lost, Kev 💀

Raha: Yes, die soon 😪 maybe we'll even request a leave in uni on your behalf 😌

Kevin: WHAT THE HELLLLL 😭😭😭 I can die single but my d!ck refuses to die single 😖🔥

Raha: KEVINNNN 😭 this is unofficial group not your personal chat 😤 BEHAVEEEE

Sam: 💀💀💀 bro's gone feral

Kevin: my legacy will live on 😎💋 if I die just don't forgot to add #RIPHandsomeLegend

I shut the group and tossed my phone aside. Not my timing being against me when I'm barely holding it together.

I should probably talk to Hridhan — though knowing him, that's going to be a pain in my ass. Maybe I can tell him I'm sick, ask for leave, and pray he doesn't chew me out.

My phone buzzed again — the unofficial group still flooding with messages. I didn't even bother to look. Raha had already texted her mentor and bolted to class; her mentor was terrifying, so she didn't risk being late. She waved a rushed goodbye before disappearing down the corridor.

Sam: ❌ COMPULSORY ATTENDANCE!!! ❌

I groaned, staring at the message. Perfect. Now even pretending to be sick wouldn't save me.

Sighing, I opened my contacts, scrolling for Hridhan's number and that's when it hit me.

I didn't even have his number.

Excellent. Absolutely brilliant.

What now? Maybe... I could tell him that's why I didn't attend. Yeah — "Sorry sir, I didn't have your number, couldn't contact you." That sounded half-believable, right? Right??

He was definitely going to slit my throat for this explanation. My excuse didn't even sound convincing to me.

Then it hit me — Insta.

A small spark of relief. My last lifeline.

I opened his profile. Thank goodness, he was already following me.

Where should I come? I typed and hit send.

No reply. Perfect timing, as always. The clock was already mocking me, so I grabbed my bag and started walking toward the grounds. From a distance, I could see groups already forming — mentors scattered across the field, voices raised, people jogging, the sound of sneakers scraping the track. Everyone looked like they knew exactly where to go. Everyone but me.

I sighed and tapped the Instagram call icon, half-hoping he wouldn't pick up.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Yes, wife?"

His voice had that lazy amusement in it, like he'd been waiting for a chance to annoy me.

I shut my eyes. He could better stop calling me that before I actually file for divorce.

"We have training..." I started, trying to sound professional until professor Gugan walked past. "Sir," I added quickly, pretending to sound all formal.

"Just behind you, Aru," he said, his tone dipped in that infuriating calmness.

I turned — and there he was.

Hridhan, dressed in black from head to toe, walking toward me like he owned the damn ground. The sun caught on the metal whistle around his neck, a sharp glint that made him look every bit the royal pain he was.

The other mentors barely glanced up, but somehow it felt like the whole place tilted a little when he moved — confident, unbothered, and annoyingly smug.

Gugan gave me a small smile as he passed. I smiled back automatically before turning to face Hridhan, who was closing the distance, looking way too calm for the chaos he'd probably unleash in the next two minutes.

"You could've replied to my text," I said as he neared me, voice edged with that irritation I didn't bother to hide. Because if he had time to pick up my call on the first ring, he definitely had time to reply.

He didn't answer. Of course.

Instead, he stopped just in front of me — close enough that I could smell his cologne, something dark and clean that made my stomach twist for absolutely no reason. He leaned down slightly, eyes locking with mine.

"You missed me?"

It wasn't even a real question. It was a tease — smooth, deliberate, and annoyingly confident.

"We're getting late," I said, ignoring the heat that crept up my neck.

I didn't miss him.

I missed him — my brother.

Not the so-called husband who apparently enjoyed watching me squirm.

He smirked a little, clearly entertained, while I tried to act normal  like I hadn't just spent the morning drowning in group notifications and bad decisions.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked finally, tugging the end of my dupatta into place.

I was in a pastel pink salwar, simple and soft — definitely not made for fieldwork. No makeup, just a swipe of lip gloss — my favorite one, the only thing saving my face from looking half-dead.

We usually wore track pants or at least something comfortable for practicals, but since today was supposed to be a theory class, I hadn't bothered to change.

And now, here I was — the only one dressed like I'd walked into the wrong scene.

He folded his arms, tilting his head slightly.

"Completed warm-ups?"

I shook my head, suddenly aware of how out of place I looked among the others jogging and stretching in the distance.

"This is my first class," I murmured.

"Then let's begin," he said, draping my dupatta over his shoulders with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times.

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