CHAPTER ONE — ORDINARY DAYS
The city woke up before Ansh did.
Temple bells echoed faintly between buildings. A tea stall radio played an old song no one listened to anymore. Buses coughed smoke and pulled people toward routines they didn't question. The air smelled of dust, rain, and boiling milk.
Life moved forward without asking permission.
Ansh sat by the window of his house, one knee pulled close, watching the street below. From here, everything looked distant—people rushing, arguing, laughing, living. It felt safer to observe than to join.
This was his place.
"Ansh," his mother Asha called from the kitchen, already irritated,
"how long are you going to sit there?"
"I'm coming," he said softly.
He didn't.
His father, Ravi, adjusted his bag near the door.
"He'll miss the bus again," he said. "Like always."
Asha sighed. "He's always lost in his own head."
They weren't angry.
They were tired.
Ansh stood up, picked his bag, and walked past them without a word. Arguments in their house didn't explode. They piled up—unfinished, unresolved.
He was in 12th standard, the year everyone treated like a final judgment.
Teachers talked about careers like they were contracts already signed. Marks were compared. Futures were discussed loudly, carelessly.
Ansh sat by the window in class, as usual.
He had always liked sitting there.
Since 8th standard, he had felt drawn to things older than his textbooks. While others borrowed comics or novels, Ansh spent afternoons in the school library, reading books with yellowed pages—mythology, ancient stories, forgotten legends.
Stories where gods didn't shout.
Where power waited.
Where silence mattered.
He never told anyone why he liked them.
He didn't know himself.
"Ansh," Dev whispered, dropping into the seat beside him,
"did you finish the physics notes?"
"Yeah," Ansh nodded, handing them over.
From the bench ahead, Naina turned around.
"You always read the weirdest books," she said lightly, pointing at the one on his desk.
He glanced down at the worn cover.
"They're not weird."
"They're… old," she smiled. "But kind of interesting."
Dev leaned closer. "Bro, you read like you've lived before."
Ansh smiled faintly. He didn't answer.
During lunch, the three of them sat under the stairs—the quiet spot.
"What are you going to do after 12th?" Dev asked.
Ansh hesitated. "I don't know."
Naina looked at him. "Everyone's allowed to not know."
Before he could reply, a voice cut in.
"Of course he doesn't know," Kunal said, laughing with his friends.
"He barely talks. How will he survive outside?"
A few people laughed.
Ansh felt the familiar heaviness settle in.
"Leave him alone," Naina said, calm but firm.
"Not everyone needs to shout to exist."
Kunal shrugged. "Relax. Just joking."
But something had already shifted.
Later, while walking back to class, Ansh muttered,
"It's fine. I'm used to it."
Naina stopped walking.
"You shouldn't have to be," she said quietly.
"Being quiet doesn't mean being empty."
He didn't know how to respond.
No one had ever said that to him before.
That evening, the house felt tense.
Ravi's voice came from the living room.
"We can't keep pretending everything's okay."
Asha replied sharply, "And blaming me fixes it?"
Ansh stayed in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to words clash without resolution. He picked up an old book from his shelf—one he'd been reading since 8th standard.
Stories were easier than people.
At night, the city slowed. Lights dimmed. Sounds softened.
Ansh lay on his bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate endlessly. He liked that it moved without asking why.
Sometimes, he dreamed.
Not clear dreams. Just feelings. Vast silence. A presence that didn't speak, but made him feel less alone.
He always woke up before understanding it.
Morning came again.
Another ordinary day.
People would say his life was normal.
Safe. Predictable.
But as Ansh sat by the window once more, watching the city move without noticing him, one thought stayed quietly in his mind—
Something about his life felt incomplete.
Not broken.
Just unfinished.