The first sign of the storm wasn't the sky darkening, or the thunder rolling in like a war drum. It was the silence.
One moment, the class was full of the usual dull scratching of pens and the occasional frustrated sigh—then nothing. As if someone had hit mute on the world.
Even Max stopped doodling.
I looked up from my mostly blank answer sheet and saw something weird.
The windows had darkened like someone had thrown a grey filter over them. The kind of heavy, looming dark that made it feel like dusk had dropped early. Way too early.
Outside, wind picked up, rustling the trees so hard they looked like they were trying to escape the ground.
A low rumble started—deep, guttural, like the earth was grinding its teeth.
"...the hell?" I muttered.
Mr. D'Souza paused mid-step, turning his head toward the window.
Then, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steady.
My phone buzzed.
Emergency Alert: Please evacuate the school premises calmly. This is not a drill.
Yeah. That never means anything good.
"Lucien," Max whispered. "Did you just get that?"
I nodded, holding up my screen. He held up his.
Same message.
Around the room, murmurs started to spread like wildfire. People checking their phones, looking out the windows. Mr. David was already pulling out his own phone, jaw tightening.
"We're probably just getting sent home early," Max said, attempting a grin. "Maybe the school roof's gonna fly off like in that anime episode."
"Max, we go to a government school. If the roof flies off, we're part of the debris."
He snorted. "Fair."
Mr. David clapped his hands. "Everyone, remain calm. Begin packing your things. We're evacuating the building. Quietly. No one runs."
Of course, the moment he said that, half the class jumped to their feet like it was a fire drill turned field trip.
"Idiots," I muttered.
Max grabbed his bag and slung it over one shoulder. "At least it's not the math exam."
"Yeah," I said. "Nature literally intervened to save us. We owe Mother Earth one."
We filed out into the hallway, the storm outside getting louder. Thunder rolled again—closer, heavier. It shook the floor a little.
That wasn't normal.
Students murmured nervously. Some laughed too loud. Some acted way too chill, scrolling through their phones like the building wasn't vibrating slightly.
"Hey, you think this is, like, a freak storm or something?" Max asked as we walked with the crowd toward the stairwell.
"I dunno," I said, glancing at a window.
The sky outside was nearly black. Clouds churned like they were boiling.
"Maybe it's a cyclone."
"But wouldn't we have gotten a warning or something? This came outta nowhere."
My gut agreed. This didn't feel like regular weather. But I shrugged. "Storms do that sometimes, right?"
Max raised an eyebrow. "You say that with the confidence of someone who's never watched the news."
He had a point.
We passed a classroom where a teacher was trying to maintain order, her voice shaky as she herded kids out the door.
"Stay calm! No running!" she called out, her voice rising over the growing hum of confused chatter and distant thunder. "Form a line—Rohan, get back in line! We are evacuating, not stampeding!"
Her hand trembled slightly as she held the door open, trying to manage a crowd of panicked students with a forced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. One of the younger kids clung to her sleeve, eyes wide and brimming with tears.
"It's just a storm," she added, more to herself than anyone else. "Just a storm… everything's fine. It's fine."
But the way she kept glancing out the windows said otherwise.
"Look there, bro," Max nudged me with his elbow, nodding toward the classroom across the hall.
I turned my head. The teacher was struggling to herd a bunch of kids out the door. Her voice was barely holding together, all high-pitched and frantic. She was trying to sound like she had everything under control, but her tone said the opposite.
"Stay calm! No running!" she yelled again. "Form a line—Rohan, get back in line! We are evacuating, not stampeding!"
Her eyes darted toward the window like she expected a dragon to crash through it any second. A little girl was latched onto her arm like a lifeline. The teacher awkwardly patted her head, muttering something like, "It's just a storm. Everything's fine," though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.
Max leaned closer. "Yo… she looks like she's five seconds from passing out."
"Can't really blame her," I muttered, frowning. "Even the teachers look like they're guessing their way through this."
He nodded slowly. "Man, when teachers panic, you know we're screwed."
We stood there a second longer, watching the chaos spill into the hallway. The students coming out looked freaked out or confused—some whispering, others just looking around like they were waiting for someone to yell 'prank.'
"I don't get it," Max said, scratching his head. "Storms happen all the time. Why the full-blown evacuation?"
"Maybe it's more than just a storm," I said. Didn't even mean to sound dramatic. It just came out.
Max looked at me, raising a brow. "Bro. Don't say stuff like that. You sound like the guy in horror movies who dies first."
I smirked. "Then stick close to me. If I die, so we can die together."
"Pfft. I ain't dying with you," he said, bumping my shoulder. "I'm leaving you to die alone, I'm too good looking to die."
"What a loyal friend i have," I said dryly, but couldn't help the little laugh that escaped.
We kept walking with the crowd, but that image of the teacher's pale face and the panicked kids stuck with me. Even if I told myself it was just a storm… something about it felt off.
The hallway buzzed with noise—shoes squeaking, voices overlapping, someone coughing way too close for comfort. A few kids tried cracking jokes. Others clung to their phones or backpacks like they were anchor points.
Up ahead, we passed a couple of girls—one of them was whispering to her friend, eyes darting toward the windows.
"I swear, the sky looked purple for a second," she said.
"You're just paranoid," her friend replied, clearly not convinced herself. "Maybe it's just a reflection from the windows."
"Since when does a reflection rumble the whole building?" Priya shot back.
Max leaned in. "Purple sky? That's new. Maybe the aliens finally decided Earth's on sale." I muttered.
We passed them. I glanced back once. That purple sky girl caught my eye for a split second. She looked genuinely worried. I looked away.
At the stairwell, we slowed down. Mr. David stood on the landing, waving everyone forward like we were boarding a plane.
"Keep moving! No need to panic!" he was saying, voice a little too sharp to be reassuring. "We've dealt with storms before. This is just a safety measure."
"Sir, is it true a tree fell in the parking lot?" someone asked.
"I said keep moving!" Mr. David barked, dodging the question entirely.
Max whispered to me, "Yo, what if this is like those movies where a storm is just the start of something way worse?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know, man. Government experiments gone wrong. Secret portals. That kind of vibe."
I rolled my eyes, but deep down, the thought sat uncomfortably well. Too well.
As we hit the second floor, we passed another class still filing out. The air smelled faintly of cheap deodorant and teenage anxiety. A guy from my class—Liam, I think—was laughing way too loud, pretending to slip down the stairs.
Then, the lights flickered again. A few students gasped. Someone dropped a water bottle that clattered down the stairs, bouncing all the way to the bottom.
"Calm down!" Mr. David called out, voice cracking just a bit. "It's just the wind! Let's keep moving!"
I glanced at Max. He wasn't joking anymore. His eyes scanned the fogged-up windows. Beyond the glass, all I saw was grey—concrete-thick clouds, swaying trees, and flashes of distant lightning. The rain hadn't started yet. But the air was charged. Heavy. Like it was holding its breath.
"Still think it's just a storm?" Max asked, quieter this time.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "But whatever it is, I don't like it."
The wind howled.
Glass rattled.
A loud metallic bang echoed through the hallway—maybe a gate or something slammed shut.
Some people flinched.
"Damn," Max whispered. "It's like the world's rebooting."
We kept walking.
By the time we reached the ground floor, rain had begun slamming against the windows with the fury of a thousand regrets.
The teachers directed us toward the auditorium—apparently, we had to wait until things calmed down before they let us outside.
Inside the auditorium, the energy was weird.
Not panic. Not yet.
But something close to it. That edge. That undercurrent.
Everyone was talking, phones out, scrolling social media or texting parents. Some were on calls with their moms. A couple of guys tried to livestream the storm.
I sat next to Max, who looked unusually serious.
"You ever seen weather like this?" he asked.
"Nope."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Feels like the beginning of a movie. You know, where everyone thinks it's just a normal storm before things go full apocalypse."
I gave him a look. "Dude. Why would you say that while we're in it?"
He shrugged. "I find comfort in genre awareness."
I rolled my eyes but couldn't deny the feeling. The storm outside sounded angry. Not chaotic. Not random. Just... angry. Like it had intent.
I pulled out my phone. No signal.
Of course.
The lights flickered again.
Someone shouted across the room, something about the power backup.
Rain continued to hammer the windows. Wind screamed. Thunder boomed.
And we waited.
An hour passed.
Then two.
The storm didn't stop.
But it wasn't getting worse either.
It stayed in this weird, intense loop of lightning, wind, rain, thunder, and that dark sky that felt like it had been pulled straight from a horror movie set.
Teachers huddled near the stage, talking in hushed tones. Students whispered theories. Some kid even claimed he saw lightning touch the ground and bounce back up.
Max was scrolling through his photos. "Yo, look at this."
He showed me a blurry shot of the outside. The rain fell in slanted sheets—but the weird part was a faint blue shimmer at the edge of the photo.
"What is that?"
"I dunno. Probably the light from the window reflecting weird."
"Probably."
Probably not.
I leaned back in my seat, staring at the ceiling.
The storm raged on.
And I told myself, over and over, it was just a storm.
Just a regular, freak storm.
Nothing else.
Couldn't be anything else. Right?
( Guys please comment, so i will know if any one is reading or not)