Vikram stopped pretending to be confused.
He worked quietly, swept floors, folded stacks, fetched water — and touched people. Three seconds each. A shoulder while passing a cup. A hand on the back when someone stumbled. Helping carry bundles. Each contact counted.
By the fourth night, six new threads pulsed in his head.
They didn't pull at him. They didn't speak. They just hovered — quiet, waiting. But when he reached for one, it opened like a page.
Each person had their own texture. Their thoughts flickered in different rhythms.
Ramu, the press foreman, always thinking about tobacco and coin. His thoughts were dry, gruff. Wary.
Gauri, the tea girl, thought in images — a dream of owning a stall, an old song stuck in her mind like gum.
Junaid, the quiet sweeper, thought in short bursts of fear. Hated the police. Had a secret under his floorboards. Vikram hadn't looked yet.
The thoughts weren't loud. They came only when he focused. But when he did, it was as if someone whispered them to him from across a thin wall.
And at night — that's when it truly opened.
The third night, he visited Gauri's thread while she slept curled under the stairwell.
He reached inside.
Her memories spilled like dye in water.
She was nine, hiding under a cart while a soldier beat her father. She was twelve, carrying hot tea to men twice her age. She was fourteen, running from a man in the alley.
He pulled back quickly.
He wasn't sure what he was looking for yet.
Later, he tried Ramu.
Inside, it was harder. His memories were clouded. Jagged. Full of shouting. Gambling. Lust. Lies. Vikram found one memory — Ramu bribing a constable to avoid taxes on a delivery.
He marked it. Didn't erase it. Not yet.
He was testing what stayed, what resisted.
Each time he entered, he left untouched footprints. But no one remembered.
The next morning, he asked Ramu a quiet question.
"You ever bribed police?"
Ramu froze for a breath, then scowled. "Watch your tongue, boy."
But his eyes flickered.
Vikram smiled faintly.
It worked.
More connections came. He didn't rush. He kept it steady — one or two a day. Always subtle.
By the end of the week, thirteen threads were tied to him.
And something was changing.
His mind felt… wider.
Faster.
Like silence had become larger. Like his thoughts had more space between them.
He remembered more. Not just theirs — his own. Even things from his past life. Names. Faces. Details he used to forget.
His reflexes were sharper. He noticed flickers in people's expressions. Smelled things he hadn't before. Reacted a beat ahead.
It wasn't dramatic. But it was real.
And it was growing.
Each mind he added brought more weight. More shape.
And none of them knew.
Vikram sat on the shed roof one evening, staring at the red horizon.
Below him, the city moved like it always had.
But inside, something new was building.
He wasn't just surviving anymore.
He was learning how to rule.