It was Friday, 28th August 2012. Everything felt normal that morning.
The streets were quiet, the air cool, and the golden sunrise stretched lazily across the sky.
A boy named Riku rode his scooty toward school, his helmet slightly tilted as he listened to music through his headphones. The song was calm, matching the rhythm of the morning breeze. He wore his school uniform — a neatly tucked shirt, simple trousers, and his favorite old shoes that had seen better days.
It was around 6:30 a.m. when he stopped at a red light and looked at the bright horizon.
“Another day… another ride,” he muttered to himself, smiling faintly.
A few minutes later, he reached the school gates.
“We’ve done it again — 7.8 kilometers completed,” he whispered as he parked his scooty and took a deep breath. The school grounds were still half-empty, filled with the faint echo of morning chatter.
He walked to his classroom — Class 9C — and slipped quietly inside.
As usual, he took his place on the last bench, stretching his arms and dropping his bag beside him. The classroom was silent except for the soft ticking of the wall clock. For a moment, everything felt peaceful — like time itself was holding its breath.
Soon, footsteps filled the corridor.
One by one, students poured in, filling the room with laughter and noise.
Riku’s two close friends arrived and sat beside him, joking about homework they hadn’t done.
I watched them from the front bench, quietly smiling.
That’s how it all began — a simple morning, a normal day…
completely unaware that it was the calm before the storm.
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