The chaos of the market was still in full swing—colors, noise, heat, and humans colliding like particles in an overexcited atom. But even in the thickest part of the crowd, there was something oddly invisible.
Shankar's ring.
It was a bulky golden thumb ring—ornate, shiny, definitely something that should have grabbed attention. If anything, it screamed "I am important!" like a character from a mythological epic. But no one seemed to care. Not one look. Not a curious glance. Not even a sales guy trying to sell him a matching bracelet. It was as if the ring simply… wasn't there.
Shankar looked at it. Again. Still there. Still heavy. Still glowing slightly under the bazaar lights. A part of him whispered that it didn't belong here. Not just to this place, but maybe to this world. He shook off the thought. Now wasn't the time for riddles or revelations.
He caught up with his gang again—everyone still busy being themselves.
Then came the book trap.
Savitri had wandered off into a small, crammed bookstore tucked between two lamp shops. The signboard was so faded it could have said anything, but the inside was alive with the scent of old pages, forgotten stories, and a silent kind of magic. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, stacked with books that looked like they had their own personalities.
Shankar entered and found her standing in a small aisle, eyes darting from spine to spine like a kid in a candy shop—if the candy shop was full of dusty hardcovers and quiet mysteries.
He smiled and leaned casually against the shelf.
"So," he asked without much thought, "which one attracts you the most?"
It was the kind of question he genuinely wanted an answer to, even if it sounded casual. Something about the way Savitri looked at the shelves made him curious—he wanted to know what drew her in.
Savitri was thoughtful, reserved—she rarely shared her true likes openly. But this time, she didn't blink.
"The Firefly," she replied instantly, almost too instantly.
Shankar raised an eyebrow. "The Firefly?" he echoed with a surprised grin. "Didn't take you for a fiction person."
Savitri's eyes widened like she just realized what she said. "Sorry!" she laughed, a little red creeping up her cheeks. "That came out way too fast."
Shankar chuckled, amused and weirdly delighted. "No need to apologize. You've got taste."
They walked back out into the busy streets, rejoining the rest of the group. But Shankar felt something… off.
A faint heat wrapped around his thumb.
He looked down at the ring—it wasn't glowing, not obviously, but it was definitely warmer. Not painful, just noticeable. He touched it with his other hand. It was subtle. Maybe the heat was just from the crowd. Maybe.
He shrugged. Too much over-thinking for one day.
The group finished their evening wandering, stomachs full, hands slightly heavier with souvenirs. Back at the hotel, exhaustion finally caught up with the excitement. Everyone scattered to their rooms.
Shankar lay on his bed, fingers absentmindedly grazing the ring.
The Firefly, he thought.
Varun sat on the edge of the hotel bed, looking oddly quiet for someone usually full of energy. He let out a sigh.
"I'm really gonna miss this… the trip ends tomorrow. Day after, we're heading back."
Shankar, who was scrolling through his gallery, looked up, surprised.
"What? Already?"
They exchanged a look—part disbelief, part reluctant acceptance. The trip had flown by faster than they'd realized.
They chatted a bit about the places they'd seen, the chaos, the laughter, the unexpected turns. Then Shankar, in a half-teasing tone, raised an eyebrow.
"Wait, you're really sad just because the trip is ending? Or is there another little reason?"
Varun smirked, looking away—but then, to Shankar's surprise, answered without a hint of awkwardness.
"No... I'll miss the random chitchats and all those funny little moments with Meena."
Shankar blinked. Pause.
Then both of them froze in the silence of that totally unexpected confession. A second later, Shankar exploded into laughter.
"You serious right now!?"
Varun immediately tried to backpedal, flustered.
"Hey! I didn't mean it like that! I mean—not like that that! You know what I mean!"
But the damage was done. Shankar couldn't stop laughing, and Varun's ears were practically glowing.
Their trip might have been ending, but the memories clearly weren't.
As the lights dimmed and the city outside began to quiet down, Shankar lay on the hotel bed, still chuckling occasionally at Varun's accidental confession.
But the laughter faded fast. His eyes drifted to the ring.
There it was—sitting bold and golden on his finger. Bulky. Shiny. And warm. Not hot, not burning… just warm in a way that didn't match the room's cool air.
First, in the bazaar… now here again.
He raised his hand, staring at it. The glow of the bedside lamp reflected softly off the ring's smooth curve. It didn't look threatening. It didn't look magical either. But the warmth—it wasn't natural. Not from the environment. Not from friction.
And definitely not from his imagination.
It wasn't painful. Just… persistent. Like the ring was reminding him of something. Whispering without words.
He slowly pulled it off and set it on the side table beside his bed. The moment it left his skin, the warmth faded. The room felt normal again. Just a ring, lying innocently by his pillow.
Still… his thoughts refused to sleep.
Could it really be that simple? he wondered, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Does the ring react when I ask questions? When someone answers truthfully? Is that why it gets warm?
He thought about the bazaar. About Savitri's sudden, honest answer. Her usual hesitation hadn't been there. And now, that moment with Varun…
Was it all a coincidence?
Or was the ring—somehow—peeling back the layers of people's words?
Shankar frowned, rolling onto his side. He wanted to believe he was over-thinking it. Just tired. Just imagining things.
But a knot twisted in his stomach. It wasn't fear exactly. It was the not knowing that clawed at him.
"I'll test it tomorrow," he muttered to himself, half-asleep. "Properly."
The ring lay still on the table. Silent. Innocent. But Shankar couldn't shake the feeling that it had heard him.
And maybe, just maybe—it was waiting.