The name trended for exactly twelve minutes.
That was all it took.
By the time Arav saw it, the story was already complete—wrapped, labeled, and accepted.
LOCAL STUDENT CAUSES PANIC AT BUS STOP
Witnesses report disruptive behavior. Authorities confirm mental health intervention.
The photo beneath the headline was grainy but unmistakable.
A boy. Second-year student. Same college.
Not Arav.
Ira stared at the screen, jaw tight. "They didn't even try to make it convincing."
Tiku leaned over her shoulder. "Oh wow. They gave him a whole backstory. Troubled home. Stress. Attendance issues."
Arav felt something cold settle in his chest.
"They needed a container," he said quietly. "They found one."
The boy's name was Rohit Mehra.
Arav recognized it.
Quiet. Sat near the back in lectures. Never caused trouble.
He'd seen Rohit once last semester—hands shaking before an exam, breath shallow, eyes fixed on nothing.
Residual pressure.
Now it had a label.
"They're saying he hallucinated," Ira said. "That he scared people."
"They're saying he created the incident," Tiku added. "That's efficient."
Arav didn't respond.
He was already moving.
The counseling wing was closed to visitors.
Of course it was.
Security at the desk smiled politely. "Patients aren't allowed outside contact right now."
"What about journalists?" Ira asked.
The smile tightened. "Especially journalists."
Arav stepped back.
This wasn't a door he could force.
Not yet.
As they turned away, he caught a glimpse through the glass corridor—
Rohit sat alone on a bench, shoulders hunched, staring at his hands like they no longer belonged to him.
No restraints.
No visible distress.
Just confusion.
Arav stopped walking.
Tiku touched his arm. "Bade Baba. No. This is exactly the kind of thing that gets you erased."
"I know," Arav said.
"But you're still thinking about it," Ira said softly.
"Yes."
Because the shadow hadn't belonged to Rohit.
It had attached to him.
And now the system had decided that was close enough.
That night, the article changed.
Not retracted.
Refined.
The word incident disappeared.
Replaced with episode.
The comments vanished.
The discussion ended.
Rohit Mehra became a footnote.
Arav sat on the edge of his bed, jaw clenched.
Inside him, something pushed—not heat, not fear.
Guilt.
This wasn't a fracture.
This was a transfer.
The system hadn't failed.
It had adapted.
Containment method : Attribution Shift
Civil Stability : Maintained
Arav closed his eyes.
This was worse than force.
Force could be resisted.
This couldn't.
Because it worked.
Ira broke the silence. "If you act now, they'll say you're the same as him."
"Yes," Arav agreed.
"And if you don't," she continued, "this happens again."
"Yes."
Tiku swallowed. "So… either way, someone pays."
Arav looked at the dark window, at the reflection staring back at him.
"I won't let it be random," he said finally.
Ira's breath caught. "Arav—"
"Not tonight," he said. "Not publicly."
"But soon."
Because the system had just taught him something important.
It wasn't afraid of Gates.
It wasn't afraid of shadows.
It was afraid of patterns connecting.
And that meant the next move couldn't be reactive.
It had to be deliberate.