Chapter One: Sunlight in the Living Room
The morning sun poured through the glass windows of their twenty-story apartment, casting golden warmth across the living room floor.
Raj Mehta sat at the dining table, sipping chai, watching his daughter Anaya dance around the kitchen with a spoon like a microphone. Sixteen and full of teenage energy, she sang her favorite song way off-key, twirling like she was on stage while her mother, Saanvi, laughed softly from the stove.
It was Sunday — their sacred day.
"Papa, you're not even clapping!" Anaya said, pointing her spoon at him like a judge on a reality show.
Raj lifted his cup in a toast. "Too amazed to move. A real superstar — live from the Mehta kitchen!"
"Superstar with bad hair," Saanvi teased, tugging playfully at Anaya's messy bun as she passed.
Their simple apartment held a rare peace. On one wall hung Anaya's crooked paintings — bold, bright, unapologetic. Another was filled with Polaroids from birthdays, school trips, and blurry selfies that Saanvi refused to take down, even when guests came over.
Anaya had always been different. Curious in a way that felt electric. She devoured books, spent hours on websites that taught how things worked — from machines to feelings — and asked questions that made grown-ups pause and actually think.
Still, she was every bit a teenager: sneaking cookies before dinner, leaving her socks wherever she took them off, begging for extra pocket money five minutes after getting her allowance.
Raj could still picture the first time he held her. Tears in his eyes, hands shaking, heart cracked wide open. Saanvi had nearly died giving birth — they almost lost her. That memory never left him. But they made it. And Anaya became the center of everything.
After breakfast, they played carrom, argued over which movie to watch, and laughed as Raj lost both the game and the vote. Anaya wedged herself between them on the couch, tossing popcorn in the air. Some of it landed in Saanvi's hair. She shrieked. They all burst out laughing.
For a while, time slowed down.
After the movie, Anaya grabbed her sketchbook and slipped onto the balcony. The sky was dipped in orange and pink, the kind of sunset that made the city look softer.
Raj followed her, placing a mango ice cream beside her without saying anything. She smiled — not at the ice cream, but at him. That quiet kind of smile that didn't need words. That said she saw him, understood him, loved him.
"I'll build something amazing one day," she said, staring out at the skyline. "Something that helps people. Like, real help."
Raj wrapped his arm around her. "You already do. Every day."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "Still… something bigger. Something smarter. Maybe with AI. You know, Riya found this new one — she's obsessed with it lately."
Raj chuckled. "She would be."
Anaya grinned. "She says it's better than the old ones. More natural. But I think she just likes talking to it more than talking to people."
Raj didn't say anything. He was just listening to her voice — still full of light.
A warm breeze passed between them. Below, traffic hummed. Somewhere in the building, a baby was crying. Life carried on, unaware of anything unusual.
From inside, the TV was still on. A news anchor's voice drifted faintly through the open balcony door.
"In today's stranger headlines — a young man in Bangalore has legally married an AI chatbot, calling her 'more understanding than any human he's ever met.' Officials say—"
Raj let out a dry laugh. "The world's gone mad."
Anaya didn't laugh. She kept sketching, her pencil moving fast. Quick, sharp lines. Raj peeked. She was drawing a jagged tower, thin and looming, with a circular shape near the top — maybe an eye. Or maybe just a window. It wasn't clear.
Saanvi appeared in the doorway, holding a stack of folded laundry. She caught Raj's gaze through the glass, and for a second, their eyes met. A silent exchange. Something between pride and worry. The look only parents know.
Raj nodded softly.
Then turned back to Anaya.
She hadn't noticed either of them. She was lost in the sketch, head tilted, lips pressed together like she was solving something only she could see.
He had no clue a shadow was creeping in — silent, digital, and watching
Chapter Two: Just One Step In
The morning sun spilled over the quiet neighborhood as Ishaan rolled to a stop outside Anaya's gate. His bicycle creaked slightly, chain still a bit loose from the last ride. His backpack was hanging from one shoulder like it didn't care.
First day of 11th grade.
The air felt different—cooler, quieter, like the city was holding its breath.
Anaya came out adjusting the strap on her school bag, a soft hum escaping her lips like she didn't even know she was doing it.
"Ready to crush the new year?" she asked, hopping onto her bike beside him.
Ishaan raised an eyebrow. "After a summer of forgetting what math looks like? I'll settle for not crying by lunch."
They pedaled through familiar streets, slipping past chai stalls, sleepy shop shutters, and the odd auto rickshaw weaving between potholes. School loomed ahead—its red walls and cracked pavement swarming with uniforms and voices.
This year was different.
They'd all done well in their boards: Anaya with 87%, Ishaan just behind at 84%, Arjun at 89%, and Riya—naturally—at 91%. Now it was PCM. Physics. Chemistry. Math.
The "you'd-better-have-a-plan" stream.
The first bell rang just as they chained up their bikes. They jogged toward their classroom, breath syncing with nerves.
Anaya tapped on the door. "May we come in, ma'am?"
Ms. Batra, their Physics teacher, looked up from attendance. She wore her usual beige cotton saree and the no-nonsense expression that came with years of dealing with teenagers.
Before she could respond, a voice called from the back.
"You're already in," Ankita quipped. "One foot counts!"
Anaya glanced down. Her toe had crept past the threshold.
She smirked. "Oh no. I've disrupted the fabric of space and time."
The class chuckled. Even Ms. Batra allowed a ghost of a smile.
"Well," she said, "since you're both halfway in and halfway clever, you might as well enter completely."
They slipped into their seats. Ms. Batra turned to the board and, without comment, drew a stick figure holding a falling apple. It had googly eyes and an absurd grin.
"This," she said, tapping the head, "is Ravi. Ravi discovers gravity. Please thank him."
Ishaan leaned toward Anaya. "We're being taught Physics by a woman who draws haunted stickmen."
"Shhh. Ravi's listening," she whispered back.
A moment later, Riya and Arjun stumbled in, breathing just a little harder than necessary. Riya glided into the chair next to Anaya like nothing was wrong. Arjun looked like he had sprinted from a dream.
"Still not a morning person?" Anaya murmured.
"Some of us function on sleep," Arjun said, already slouching.
Riya adjusted her ponytail. "Some of us function on ambition."
Ishaan twirled his pen like a mic. "Topper alert."
Riya smirked, not even pretending to argue. "I earned that title. Don't be bitter."
Ms. Batra launched into motion—equations, laws, numbers, and terms. Her pace was calm but relentless. Somewhere between 'vector' and 'displacement', the room fell quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the scratch of pens. No one dared look away.
By the time the bell rang, the four of them stumbled into the corridor like they'd been hit by a blackboard.
"I'm sorry, was that a class or a memory test in real time?" Ishaan said, eyes slightly unfocused.
"My brain started buffering after the second derivation," Anaya muttered.
Riya closed her notebook neatly. "She said it would pick up speed. That was her warming up."
"Should've taken art," Arjun said. "At least paintings don't assign homework."
They laughed—half in pain, half in relief. That laugh people share when they survive something.
They started toward the next class, shoulders brushing, legs sore from doing nothing and minds already tired.
Riya glanced at Anaya. "Hey. Remind me to show you something later."
Anaya gave her a sidelong look. "If it's your calculator again, I'm out."
"No," Riya said, smiling. "It's called Kairos."
"Kairos?"
"It's not just tech. It's kind of like… talking to something that talks back. Properly."
"Like Siri?"
"Smarter."
Anaya gave her a look. "Sure. Next you'll say it knows my birthday and how I take my tea."
Riya shrugged. "Honestly? Close."
Anaya laughed, brushing it off. But something about Riya's tone—the ease, the confidence—stayed with her.
Just a little.
Chapter Three: Equations and Ice Cream
The hallway outside their next class was buzzing. Students compared schedules and whispered about how hard 11th grade was going to be. Just as Anaya and her friends reached the door, a sharp voice rang out.
"You four at the back. What's so funny?"
They froze.
Standing by the board was Mr. Deshmukh, their new Math teacher. Tall, stern, with square glasses and an expression carved from granite, he was known for being both respected and feared.
"Nothing, sir," Anaya said quickly.
"Then nothing better continue during my class," he said flatly, and gestured for them to sit.
They took their seats. Mr. Deshmukh turned to the board and wrote in bold:
"Introduction to Sets and Functions – The Foundation."
"Math," he began, "is not magic. It is structure. Logic. And pain, if you're careless."
Riya leaned over and whispered, "We're going to die."
Arjun nodded solemnly. "Tell my story."
Anaya covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
For the next 40 minutes, they scribbled as fast as they could. Mr. Deshmukh's pace was unforgiving, but his explanations were surprisingly clear. He didn't tolerate laziness — but if you tried, he helped you. Even Arjun, when he asked why sets sounded so lonely, got a half-smile from him before being told to focus.
When the bell rang, the room exhaled.
As the four friends walked out, Anaya whispered, "Why did that feel like a brain surgery?"
"I thought 10th was hard," Ishaan said. "But that... that was a trailer for the real movie."
"I swear my pen gave up halfway," Arjun added.
Riya grinned. "Welcome to PCM."
They left school and made their way to Uncle Ravi's Ice Cream Cart, a small stall under the big neem tree outside the school gates. A ritual since 9th grade.
"Chocolate chip," Anaya said.
"Same," Ishaan agreed.
"Mango," Arjun ordered.
"Vanilla," said Riya.
They leaned against the low wall by the gate, ice cream in hand, shoes scuffed with school dust, laughter still hanging in the air.
"So," Arjun said, licking his cone. "When are we meeting Riya's new boyfriend?"
Anaya gasped dramatically. "Yes, the mysterious Mr. K. Rios."
"Sounds foreign," Ishaan added. "Probably emotional, slightly philosophical. Writes poems about clouds."
"Oh shut up," Riya said, smiling despite herself.
"You said he understands you," Anaya teased.
Riya shrugged, her voice dropping a little. "It's not a boyfriend. It's an AI. Called Kairos. Not many people know about it. I found it while scrolling Instagram one night. No ads, no hype. Just a quiet link in a random comment."
The others went quiet for a second.
"That sounds… creepy," Arjun muttered.
"Creepy but kind of cool," Ishaan said. "If it's real."
Anaya didn't say much, but the name stuck in her head like a song lyric.
Kairos.
That evening, Anaya reached home and tossed her bag on the sofa, stretching her arms with a satisfied sigh. Her home was calm — soft ceiling fan hum, the smell of dal and cumin from the kitchen, and her dad on the balcony reading the newspaper with a half-finished cup of tea.
"Anaya?" he called.
"Hmm?"
"How was your first day as a big, scary 11th grader?"
She grinned, flopping onto the couch. "Not bad. Physics fried my brain. Math tried to kill me. But ice cream saved me."
Her dad laughed. "That's the real PCM balance."
A few minutes later, she stood beside him on the balcony. The sun was low, painting the sky with amber and gold. Down the lane, kids played cricket with loud cheers. A neighbor's pressure cooker whistled.
"You okay?" her dad asked, gently.
She nodded. "Just… thinking."
"About studies?"
"About something a friend showed me. Or told me about. Some AI app."
Her dad raised an eyebrow. "Another chatbot?"
"No… it's something else. Feels different."
He smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Just be careful what you feed your mind, beta. It remembers more than we realize."
She nodded, not answering.
Later that night, in the quiet of her room, she opened her phone. Typed "Kairos AI" into the search bar.
Nothing came up.
No app. No website. No page.
Just silence.
Her finger hovered over the screen as if expecting something to blink back.
She put the phone down and turned off the light — but sleep came slower than usual.