𝙀𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙
𝘼𝙧𝙘 𝟮: 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝘼𝙧𝙘
𝘾𝙝 𝟮𝟰 – 𝙍𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩.
𝟮 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝟭𝟬 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗼.
𝗔𝗹𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 had passed into the ether of time since the smoke had cleared from Jatin’s funeral pyre.
And in those three agonizingly long years, 𝗚𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗶𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆.
It hadn’t happened slowly, the way a person naturally evolves as they mature through their late teenage years.
It hadn’t happened gracefully, either.
Instead, it was an aggressive, violent internal shift— as if an unseen hand had reached straight into his chest, ripped a vital, glowing part of his soul away, and left him to piece together whatever hollowed-out fragments remained behind.
A mere few weeks after Jatin’s death, when the raw shock had crystallized into something cold and permanent, Garvit made a conscious decision to uproot his entire life.
He altered everything.
𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹.
𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘂𝘁𝗲.
𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰 𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗱𝘀 𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 to walk on every single afternoon.
Any geographical location, any corner alley, any market stall where people used to look at them and recognize “Jatin and Garvit” as an inseparable pair…
He simply stopped going there.
He erased those routes from his daily life entirely.
Because to a young mage with too much weight on his shoulders, memories were far more dangerous than monsters.
People always said that time and silence healed all wounds.
They said that if you sat quietly with your grief long enough, it would pass.
But for Garvit, that self-imposed silence didn’t heal anything—it became an active, slow-dripping poison.
Every single quiet moment he spent locked away in his head only served to fill his mind with a dark, burning hatred.
It wasn’t a hatred for the monstrous creatures that crawled out from the localized Gates.
Those creatures were simple; they acted on base, violent instinct.
No, Garvit’s hatred was reserved for 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀.
The ones who stood right beside you in the daylight.
The ones who smiled at you without a care in the world, shared their food, laughed loudly at your terrible jokes, and promised with bright eyes that they would stay by your side forever—
—and then turned around and disappeared into nothingness anyway, leaving you alone to carry the wreckage of their absence.
𝗗𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝘆 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗻.
A relentless, torrential rain hammered violently against the windowpanes of Garvit’s bedroom, matching the chaotic rhythm of his thoughts.
The room itself was small, intentionally kept dark, and filled with a suffocating, stagnant air.
The only source of illumination in the entire space came from the harsh blue glow of his smartphone screen.
He lay flat on the hard floor beside his unmade bed, his thumb mechanically scrolling back through a gallery of old, archived photos.
Most of them were terribly taken.
Blurry.
Out of focus.
There was a badly framed selfie taken at a chaotic street corner.
Another of Jatin making an absolutely ridiculous, twisted face while trying to stuff an entire, leaking 𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶 𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗶 into his mouth at the local market.
There was one particular photo where both of them had been laughing so hard at something stupid that the camera had shaken violently, leaving the image a smear of joy and bright colors.
There were barely any pictures at all.
Only a handful saved in the cloud.
And somehow, the small number of those digital files hurt far worse than a whole album would have.
Because now, in the grand scheme of his reality, those few pixelated photos were the absolute, definitive proof that Jatin had ever existed— that he had once been something alive, breathing, and profoundly important in Garvit’s isolated life.
Garvit stared blankly at the glowing screen, his thumb freezing over a photo of Jatin’s wide grin.
Then, the wooden bedroom door creaked open with a soft groan.
𝗛𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 stepped quietly into the dark space.
She stood by the threshold for a brief moment, her eyes adjusting to the dimness, before she slowly walked over and sat down directly on the hard floor beside him, smoothing her saree.
For a long while, neither of them spoke a single word.
Only the heavy, drumming sound of the monsoon rain filled the empty spaces of the room.
“𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘰?” she asked softly, her voice gentle but laced with a mother’s quiet worry.
Garvit didn’t look at her.
He locked his phone screen, plunging the room back into near-total darkness, and stared blankly up at the shadows dance across the ceiling.
“𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵… 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴.”
His voice sounded incredibly exhausted.
It wasn’t the voice of a teenager; it sounded like someone who had grown too tired, too worn down by life to even process or express their grief properly anymore.
His mother looked at him, a sad, knowing smile gracing her features in the gloom.
“𝘕𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸… 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘢.”
Garvit didn’t move an inch.
He didn’t turn his head.
But his breathing shifted slightly, signaling to her that he was listening.
“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘮,” she continued quietly, her eyes looking out the rainy window as she pulled from her own reservoir of memories.
“𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥… 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨… 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳.”
A tiny, breathless laugh escaped her lips as she recalled a distant memory.
Then, just as quickly, the warmth disappeared from her face.
“𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬.”
Garvit’s breathing hitched, stopping entirely for a fractured second.
“𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.”
The downpour outside suddenly sounded much louder, a deafening roar against the concrete walls.
Garvit slowly, stiffly turned his head on the floor to look directly at his mother’s profile.
“…𝘞𝘩𝘺?”
His mother blinked, turning her gaze back to meet his.
But Garvit’s eyes were no longer filled with the heavy sadness of a grieving friend.
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿.
“𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤?”
“𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 easily 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.”
His fists tightened against the floorboards until his knuckles turned white.
“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘺? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦?”
Garvit’s voice lowered into a dangerous whisper.
“𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳? 𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 stat𝘦us?”
His mother went completely silent, studying his tense expression.
She recognized that specific, volatile look instantly.
She had seen it many times before during her active years.
She had seen it 𝗶𝗻 𝗲𝘅𝗵𝗮𝘂𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱, battle-worn 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗿𝘀.
She had seen it 𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗲𝗻, bitter 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗼𝗿𝘀.
𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗲𝗹𝘀—the ones who allowed their unanswered questions to consume them until they eventually vanished from the mage society forever, leaving nothing but ghosts behind.
After a long, heavy pause, she finally spoke, her tone measured and calm.
“𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧, Garvit. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮.”
“𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘺. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝙝𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙬, 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙞𝙡 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡.”
Garvit looked at her properly now, processing the sheer geopolitical scale of the hidden world he belonged to.
“…𝘚𝘰 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 effectively 𝘵𝘩𝘦 absolute 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘴𝘪𝘢’𝘴 entire 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘊𝘭𝘢𝘯?”
She gave a single, slow nod of affirmation before gracefully pressing her palms against the floor to stand up.
“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 events of 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘵,” she said softly, looking down at her son.
She began walking slowly toward the bedroom door, her footsteps echoing faintly.
“𝘕𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧.”
Her slender hand rested gently on the cold brass doorknob as she paused, looking back over her shoulder.
“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴… 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢 foundational 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 as human beings.”
With that, she opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, and left him.
And once again, Garvit was left entirely alone in the dark.
But for the very first time in almost three long years…
The throbbing pain in his chest didn’t feel entirely suffocating.
𝗢𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝘆.
𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 𝗔𝘁 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘁𝘂𝘁𝗲
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗼𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁-𝗹𝗶𝘁 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 was absolutely buzzing with a chaotic wave of teenage noise and energy.
Groups of students were laughing loudly over inside jokes in the back rows.
Some were frantically scrambling to copy down last night’s chemistry homework from a classmate’s ledger in a state of sheer panic.
Others were aggressively arguing over the latest cricket scores, gesturing wildly with their hands.
Garvit sat completely isolated from the chaos, occupying a desk near the far window.
His head rested heavily against the cool wood of the desk, his eyes staring blankly at the wall.
He wasn’t sleeping.
𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗲𝘅𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴.
He was merely a ghost occupying a physical space, letting the vibrant life of the ordinary world wash right over him without ever letting it touch his core.
The stern mathematics teacher suddenly entered the room, and the chaotic classroom quickly settled down into an organized silence.
Desks creaked.
Textbooks opened with crisp snaps.
Pens clicked in unison.
Garvit slowly raised his head, opened his own notebook, and quietly began writing down the equations appearing on the blackboard, his hand moving automatically.
Then—
A girl sitting just two benches away from him glanced over in his direction.
It wasn’t a long look; her eyes lingered on his detached, quiet face for just a single fraction of a second before she quickly, self-consciously looked back toward the blackboard.
𝗙𝗲𝘄 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 𝗢𝘂𝘁𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗕𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴
The evening bell rang, and students flooded out of the concrete facility in massive, loud groups.
They were laughing, talking animatedly about their upcoming weekend plans, and actively organizing food stops at the nearby street stalls.
Garvit walked entirely alone through the center of the crowd.
His hands were buried deep inside his jacket pockets.
His eyes were empty, focusing on nothing.
People moved seamlessly around him like water flowing around a solid rock in a stream, acting as if he wasn’t even occupying the same dimension as them.
Then, completely out of nowhere—
“𝘖𝘪! 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘰! 𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱!”
Garvit blinked, the unfamiliar words breaking through his internal monologue.
He slowly stopped and turned around on the pavement.
A girl was actively sprinting through the departing crowd toward him, her backpack bouncing wildly against her shoulders.
It was the exact same girl who had been looking at him from two benches away during the lecture.
𝗦𝗵𝗮𝗸𝘀𝗵𝗶.
She finally ground to a halt right in front of him, bending over slightly with her hands pressed against her knees as she caught her breath.
“𝘏𝘢𝘢𝘩… 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵…”
Garvit merely stared down at her blankly, his expression unreadable and distant.
Shakshi straightened herself up, dusting off her uniform skirt, and offered him an awkward, incredibly bright smile.
“𝘔𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦’𝘴 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘴𝘩𝘪. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 actually 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦 from class, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵?”
He gave a single, slow, reluctant nod.
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵?”
His tone was completely hollow.
Cold.
It was the voice of someone speaking strictly because social protocol demanded a response, carrying absolutely zero warmth or interest.
But strangely enough, Shakshi didn’t look discouraged or uncomfortable by his freezing demeanor at all.
Instead, her smile widened into a full-blown grin.
“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.”
She threw her hands together in a dramatically exaggerated, prayer-like gesture, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰. 𝘋𝘰 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺.”
Garvit blinked once.
Twice.
He was entirely caught off guard.
Confused by her sheer eccentricity, he muttered, “…𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?”
A short while later, Garvit found himself standing near the scenic walkway of Kishore Sagar Talab, awkwardly holding four incredibly heavy, overstuffed plastic grocery bags.
Meanwhile, Shakshi was casually walking from vendor to vendor at a nearby fruit and supply stall, completely unbothered as she kept pointing at items and buying more things.
𝗝𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘅𝗲𝘀.
𝗕𝘂𝗹𝗸 𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗶𝘀𝗰𝘂𝗶𝘁𝘀.
𝗙𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗵 𝗳𝗿𝘂𝗶𝘁𝘀.
𝗔𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗻𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀.
And like a clockwork routine, every single newly purchased item immediately ended up being piled directly into Garvit’s straining hands.
“𝘞-𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 here?” he finally questioned, his voice cracking slightly under the sheer absurdity of the situation.
“𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 tightly 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵,” she replied casually over her shoulder, inspecting a bunch of bananas.
“𝘠𝘰𝘳’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨.”
Garvit stared blankly at the back of her head, completely dumbfounded.
“…𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?”
“𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢, 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺.”
She shrugged her shoulders proudly, handing a stack of rupee notes to the stall owner.
After completing the transaction, she turned on her heel and walked briskly toward her parked scooty.
Garvit stood there for a second before silently adjusting the heavy bags and following her like a hired porter.
𝗛𝗮𝗹𝗳 𝗔𝗻 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿
The small scooty ground to a halt in front of a modest, gated concrete building located away from the main commercial center.
Shakshi hopped off the vehicle first, kicking the stand down with a sharp click, before turning back to look at him.
“𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘦? 𝘊’𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴!”
Garvit stepped down from the passenger seat slowly, his muscles slightly stiff.
As he adjusted the plastic bags in his grip, his eyes naturally drifted toward the weathered metal signboard hanging directly beside the main entrance arches.
𝗨𝗻𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶 𝗢𝗿𝗽𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲.
He froze entirely in his tracks, his feet gluing themselves to the pavement.
Shakshi was already inside the entrance lobby, comfortably chatting with the elderly female receptionist as if she were a regular visitor.
She turned around, noticed him lingering by the door, and vigorously waved her arm at him.
“𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘰! 𝘍𝘢𝘴𝘵! 𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘨𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴!”
Garvit took a slow, deep breath and reluctantly walked into the facility.
The moment he crossed the threshold, two young workers smiled warmly at him, immediately taking the heavy bags from his aching hands and carrying them toward the back kitchen facilities.
The orphanage definitely wasn’t fancy or well-funded.
The concrete walls were old, showing structural wear, and the pastel paint had noticeably faded and peeled away in several areas.
But despite the physical constraints, the entire atmosphere of the place felt… incredibly warm.
Loud, joyful children were running around the main courtyard, laughing loudly as they played a game of tag.
One particularly small boy, who was sprinting blindly around a corner, accidentally slammed full-force into Garvit’s sturdy leg.
The child stumbled back, looked up at Garvit’s massive height and intense expression, and immediately panicked.
“𝘚-𝘚𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘺𝘢!” the boy squeaked, bowing his head quickly.
Before Garvit could even process how to respond to a child, Shakshi suddenly dropped to her knees beside them and playfully pinched the kid’s chubby cheeks with both hands.
“𝘈𝘸𝘸~ 𝘸𝘩𝘰’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰?” she cooed dramatically.
“𝘋𝘪𝘥𝘪! 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘪𝘵!” the child complained, though a massive grin broke across his face as he laughed, trying to squirm away from her grip.
Within seconds, a dozen more children noticed her presence and completely surrounded her, cutting off any escape.
“𝘋𝘪𝘥𝘪! 𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵! 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘴!”
“𝘋𝘪𝘥𝘪! 𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬, 𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵!”
One smaller girl tugged on Shakshi’s sleeve, pointing a tiny finger up at Garvit.
“𝘋𝘪𝘥𝘪… 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘺.”
“𝘖𝘪! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶,” Shakshi gasped, putting a hand over her heart in mock offense.
Then, she turned her bright eyes up and pointed dramatically at Garvit.
“𝘏𝘦’𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦.”
“𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵?” Garvit muttered, his brow furrowing as a faint flush hit his cheeks.
The gathered children immediately burst into a chorus of bright, musical laughter at his confused reaction.
And for the very first time in nearly three agonizing years—
Garvit felt a completely unfamiliar sensation blooming inside his chest.
It wasn’t a sudden rush of overwhelming happiness.
It wasn’t absolute, permanent peace, either.
But it was something undeniably lighter than the crushing pain he had grown accustomed to carrying every day.
He quietly looked around the bustling room, observing the scene with a fresh perspective.
These were children who literally had nobody in the world.
Children who had never known the warmth of their biological parents, or had them taken away by the cruelty of life.
And yet, despite everything they lacked, they still found the strength to laugh so easily, so genuinely, at the simplest things.
Then, his gaze naturally shifted back toward Shakshi.
She had sat down directly on the colorful floor mats, completely surrounded by three young girls as she gently helped one of them open a stubborn juice box with a straw.
She was smiling softly, listening intently to another boy’s rambling story about his school day.
She acted as if every single child in that room was the most important person in the world to her.
And suddenly—
A profound, unbidden thought crossed straight through Garvit’s mind before his mental defenses could stop it.
*”…𝘚𝘩𝘦… 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙮 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘑𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯.”*
He frowned immediately, shaking his head slightly.
Why would his mind draw such a comparison?
They were completely, fundamentally different people.
They had completely different personalities, different backgrounds, and they had never even crossed paths in life.
So why did her presence evoke that memory?
Then, as he watched her laugh along with a little girl, the realization hit him like a physical wave.
It wasn’t because of the specific jokes they told.
It wasn’t about surface-level personality traits.
It was because both of them carried the exact same rare, beautiful trait within their souls.
𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗲𝘁, unconditional 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱 that inherently thought about the happiness and well-being of other people long before it ever considered itself.
And for the very first time in almost three long, shadow-drenched years—
𝗚𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗶𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲.