Its been a month since then,
[Null Craft Mastery: 86%] , the Archive reported
My feet, when I swung them off the bed, no longer felt like they were borrowing strength from the floor. When I stood, the room tilted––but only a little.
[Interesting] the Archive murmured. [Vertigo incidents reduced by 72 percent over the last ten days. You are, statistically less suicidal than before.]
I rolled my shoulders. The ache across my ribcage had settled into something solid, like muscles that had finally remembered their job.
The Virtual lung .
By now, I didn't have to think through the whole sequence. On the inhale, the Null Craft caught automatically, a network of bronchioles, alveolis and a covering coming into existence flaring into place around my ruined left lung like a second, transparent organ.
Inhale—The New Virtual lung replaces the old structure line by line preventing the full momentary collapse which may cause internal building.
Exhale—the frame held for the count of three, then dissolved strip by strip, making room for the next one.
It wasn't healing, It was habit.
My body had learned the pattern the way it once learned how to hold a pen through six hours of UPSC mains without cramping: badly at first, then mechanically, then instinctively.
[Risk of collapsing on public stairs marginally less humiliating.] the Archive chimed in before adding-
[You are still medically fragile, Do not confuse improved statistics with immortality.]
"Noted," I muttered, reaching for my clothes.
The grey T-shirt was as washed-out as ever, the shoulders a little less baggy now that I'd put on some weight. Black trousers, knees thinned from wear. They were still the best I had. I smoothed the front automatically, then caught myself and snorted.
The Academy wasn't marking dress code for the written exam.
From the stove, the smell of reheated dal drifted over. Ma moved around the cramped room with practiced efficiency, tying her hair back, checking the gas, counting coins in her palm.
"Ma," I said.
She glanced up. "Hmm?"
"I'm going to the library today."
The silence that followed wasn't loud. It was heavy. She set the coins down carefully, as if they might explode.
"Why?" The word came out flat, almost level. Her voice only dropped like that when she was balancing fear and anger on the same line.
"I finished the compendium," I said. "Cover to cover. I need more material. Past papers. Reference texts." I hesitated, then added, "If I stay on the same book, I'm just circling. The exam won't."
Her eyebrows rose for a heartbeat before they settled again, as if her face had betrayed her thoughts and hurried to fix it.
"It's only been a month," she said under her breath.
[A month of not dying] the Archive offered helpfully in my peripheral vision.
I ignored it. I held her gaze instead.
"I can walk now," I said. "Without the world flipping every ten steps. I'll be careful. You can drop me there. I'll call someone from the staff if I feel—"
I broke off, searching for the right word.
[Like you did last time?] the Archive supplied.
"—if I feel unsteady," I finished.
She watched me for a long moment. I saw her remembering: the call from the library staff, the rush back, the doctor, the prognosis that had come with an expiration date instead of guarantees.
Then she let out a breath.
"Get ready," she said. "I'll drop you on the way to the factory."
[Parental resistance: bypassed.]
[Outcome: conditional approval.]
Shut up, I thought at it, and reached for my shoes.
The city smelled of wet dust and old dye. Last night's rain had rinsed some of the chemical taste from the air, but the factories had already started repopulating it.
We took the bus this time. Not a Voyage-branded luxury capsule, just a rattling public line that wheezed over potholes and announced its stops two beats too late. Ma stood, one hand looped around the overhead rail, the other braced lightly on my shoulder whenever the driver braked too sharply.
"You sit," she'd said at the stop, in the tone that ended arguments.
So I did.
Every few minutes, I checked in with my body. Old habit. Inhale—the frame rose cleanly, wrapping my left lung, forcing the breath to distribute more evenly. Exhale—the frame dissolved, leaving a fading imprint like a muscle memory. The Archive muttered tiny updates in my peripheral vision: Oxygen saturation, heart rate, instability markers.
By the time the bus rolled to a stop near City Central Public Library, my legs ached with that now-familiar deep soreness. But when I stood and stepped down onto the pavement, the world stayed in its proper orientation. Sky above, ground below, library ahead––sandstone and glass and blue-lit circuitry humming softly under the mid-morning light.
"It looks bigger in daylight," I said.
Ma followed my gaze. Her mouth compressed.
"Call me if you feel anything wrong," she said. "Anything. Do you hear me?"
"Yes."
"And don't argue with the staff. If they say enough, it's enough."
"Yes."
"And no running."
I stared at her.
"Have you ever seen me run?"
She snorted despite herself, the sound half a laugh, half a sigh.
"Exactly. Don't start today." She squeezed my shoulder once, hard. "Go. I'll be back after my shift."
She hesitated as if she wanted to say more, then turned and walked toward the factory bus stop, shoulders squared against the day.
I stood at the bottom of the library steps for a moment.
No spin. No black at the edge of my vision. Just the steady thud of my heart and the faint hum of the security gate above.
[Progress], the Archive noted. [Do try not to spectacularly erase it.]
The security guard at the top of the steps looked different in daylight too. Less like a barrier, more like a man whose feet hurt.
He glanced up as I approached, his smart-glasses flickering once as they registered my civic card before I even tapped it.
"You again?," he said.
His tone wasn't hostile, just surprised. The last time he'd seen me, I'd been sliding toward unconsciousness on his steps.
"Me again," I agreed.
He studied me openly, taking in the same grey T-shirt, the same black trousers, the way I was standing upright without clinging to the railing like a drowning man.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, but it sounded more like a reflex than a decision.
"I need to be here," I said. "I want to read."
"It's twenty rupees for three hours," he began.
"I know," I said. "I also know I don't have it."
His mouth tightened. "Then we are back where we were."
"In a way," I said. "But I'm not asking the same question."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Last time," I said carefully, "I asked if there was a labour exchange program. Cleaning, shelving, sorting, in return for access. You said it wasn't your decision."
"I remember," he said slowly.
"I'm asking you now," I continued, "to take me to whoever it is that can decide, Please."
For a moment, he just looked at me. Then his gaze flicked, almost involuntarily, to my hands. They were steadier than last time, fingers curled but not white-knuckled. Sweat dampened the back of my neck, but I was still vertical.
[Last syncope event on these premises: 29 days, 17 hours ago] Archive threw out it's logs helpfully or so it seemed.
"Delete that," I muttered.
"I heard you", the guard said.
"Not you," I corrected quickly. "I mean. Yes. I mean—"
He held up a hand. "Stop. You're worse at lying than you are at walking."
He sighed, the sound long-suffering.
"Look," he said. "If you pass out again on my watch, the admin will have my salary for breakfast."
" Come inside before you do something dramatic on the stairs."
He tapped his wristband against the side of the gate. The hum shifted pitch. The barrier flickered and parted.
"Three minutes," he warned as we stepped through. "If they say no, you walk out. Slowly. No heroics."
"Deal," I said.
Inside, the air was cooler, filtered. The noise of the city dulled to a background murmur. Rows of shelves marched into the distance, their spines forming uneven lines of text and color. Light spilled down from skylights and hidden fixtures, turning dust motes into slow, lazy stars.
A woman at the front desk glanced up as we passed, giving the guard a questioning look.
"Rao-ji inside?" he asked.
"In his cave," she said dryly. "Where else."
The guard grimaced.
He then led me down a short corridor to a corner office whose glass walls were half-obscured by tall stacks of books. A small sign on the door read:
CHIEF LIBRARIAN – R. RAO
The guard knocked once.
"Come," a voice called. Male, older, threaded with a dry patience.
[Get Ready]
"I know" I took in a deep breath
The guard opened the door-