Previously on NIRAYA: THE PAST:
Anandpur. 2 AM. Kabir counts fan rotations while his father's fists echo through walls. Morning erases it—stage lights, two hundred kids screaming, Avni on guitar. "We killed it." Vihaan grins—"When are you gonna admit you like her?" School blurs. History. Math. Throwball. Perfect aim. Perfect grades. Until the final bell. Home. His mother's bruised wrist. "Why don't you leave him?" She looks away. "This is our family."
The Walking Dead. Season 5 finale. "Absolute cinema!" Texts with Avni. Evening. Six seniors block the door. Rohan—"Does it hurt being so perfect?" Kabir doesn't flinch. Inside, Avni cracks on a high note. Kabir fixes it. Pani puri after class. Arguments about implied dog deaths. Bus ride home, sharing an earbud. "You okay?" "I'm good. Promise." She doesn't believe him.
Apartment empty. His mother—"You're fourteen. You don't understand how the world works." Upstairs. Walking Dead. Homework. Then—front door. Drunk voice. The slap. Kabir walks to his door. Hand on knob. Freezes. Stands there listening to his mother cry. Hating himself.
Morning. Prize money. Five hundred rupees. Hands it all to his mother. "Buy something for yourself." She cries. Window. His father's car. A stranger. Thick envelope. Stacks of cash. Duffel bag. Eyes meet through glass. Upstairs. Zipper gives. Bills hit floor. "I hope one day I'll tell you who I am. Or you'll figure it out yourself. You'll understand the business."
Studio. Rohan—"Not so perfect today, golden boy?" Forgot sheet music. Misses cue. Twice. Mrs. D'Souza stops class. Avni's hand on his arm. All Kabir hears—You'll understand the business.
Chaat stand. Untouched pani puri. Staring. Avni and Vihaan worried. He gives nothing. Home. Father's car same time. Dinner. No yelling. Almost normal. That's what makes it strange. Avni texts. Questions about Riya. Gets quiet. "Are you jealous?" "No." Smiles in the dark.
Lunch. She corners him. Vihaan watches. Bell saves him. Final bell. Father waiting. "Can't a father pick up his son?" First time ever. They drive. Grey building. Twelve minutes. Stranger. Leather jacket. Something small changes hands. Kabir writes it down. Chai stand. Father staring. Searching. Never finding words.
Rajesh. Second phone. "Route confirmed. Farooqi handled timing. Payment clears after delivery." Hangs up. Drives home.
Kabir. Gift from Aryan. Left 4 Dead 2. Plays for hours. Violence on screen easier than violence downstairs. Dinner normal. Then father asks—"Tomorrow. Same time, right?" Warmth drains.
Morning. No sleep. Thinks about Avni. Gets him moving. School. Vihaan—"Something's going on." Avni walks past without looking. "Can I sit here?" "No. Go sit with Riya." They argue. "I was waiting for you to ask. You never did." Walks away. Frozen. Vihaan—"You'll figure it out."
Final bell. Father's car. Gets in. Twenty minutes silence. Transport yard. Trucks. Diesel. Grease. Burnt metal. Sheds. Men smoking. "Stay here." Locks car. Walks away.
Kabir unbuckles. Window down. Diesel smell. Metal clanging. Dogs under trucks. Puddles with oil rainbows. Dirty. Old. Hidden. Alive. Dangerous.
Adjusts mirror. Watches father. Two men approach. Handshake. Paper exchanged. Kabir writes everything. Father—patient, calm, controlled. Trucks treated differently. Some ignored. Some checked. Seals. Nervous drivers. Father never touches anything. Just talks. Watches. Confirms. He's not labor. He's managing.
Old man arrives. Two men flanking. Father changes. Careful. Respectful. Measured. Cold professional smile. Old man leaves. Another truck arrives immediately. Timing matters. Chain system. Father walks back.
Kabir shoves diary in bag. Father gets in. Stares. Searching. Says nothing. Drives. Chai stand again. "Chai?" Same silence. Home.
Runs upstairs. Opens laptop. Searches. Transport yard. Trucks. Routes. Managing. Logistics. Freight. Then darker—Illegal transport. Smuggling. Black market. Clicks links. Reads about brokers. Middlemen. Never touch goods. Just connect. Arrange. Confirm.
AI chatbot: Smuggling broker facilitates illegal transactions without physically handling contraband.
Reads three times.
Mother calls. "Lunch! You'll be late for class!"
Downstairs. Birthday in five days. Registration today. Talks about auditions. Internal next week. Inter-school two weeks. Main show first week May. Eats. Washes plate. Kisses mother. Leaves.
Studio. Avni and Vihaan there. "Registration today." Avni—"Yes. Unfortunately." Warm feeling. Vihaan—piano, instrumental. Mrs. D'Souza writes names. Kabir & Avni - Duo. Like always. This time feels different.
Class. Duet. Their voices blend. Perfect. Halfway through he glances. She's already looking. Second. Looks away. Song ends. Walk back. She stares at guitar. Adjusting pegs that don't need adjusting. Then smiles. Just a little. Just a second. He turns away. She laughs. Quiet. Like an idiot. Like she'd been waiting.
This time felt different.
NOW
Morning.
The sun came up bright and warm, the kind of morning that made vacations feel endless. Kids were already outside—cricket in the street, football in the park, bikes racing past with bells ringing. Birds were loud in the trees. Dogs barked somewhere. TVs played through open windows—cartoons, news, music.
But inside one of the buildings, sixth-grade Kabir stood in his new room and it looked nothing like a room yet.
Dust everywhere. Boxes stacked against walls. The furniture from their old place was half-assembled—bed frame leaning sideways, desk missing a leg. New things were coming in through the door downstairs—his mother directing two men carrying a sofa, his father somewhere in the hallway shouting instructions about where to put what.
The noise didn't stop until night.
By dinner, the apartment looked almost livable. Boxes mostly unpacked. Furniture in place. Plates and glasses arranged in the kitchen cabinets.
They sat down together at the new dining table—first time eating in this house—and Kabir's father was... different.
Not strict. Not tense. Almost... cool.
He smiled. Made jokes. Laughed at things Kabir's mother said.
"So," his father said, scooping rice onto his plate, "new house. New school tomorrow. You ready, Kabir?"
Kabir shrugged. "I guess."
"You guess?" His father grinned. "Come on. Fresh start. New friends. It'll be good."
"What if nobody likes me?"
"Then they're idiots," his mother said immediately.
His father laughed. "Your mother's right. You're a smart kid. You'll be fine."
Kabir poked at his food. "What if the teachers are mean?"
"Then you be meaner," his father said.
"Rajesh!" His mother swatted his arm. "Don't tell him that!"
"What? I'm joking!" His father was still grinning. "Kabir, just be yourself. Do your work. Don't start fights. You'll be fine."
His mother nodded. "And if anyone bothers you, you tell us. Okay?"
"Okay."
They kept talking. His mother told a story about the neighbor downstairs who'd asked if they had any extra masala because she'd run out. His father joked about the movers almost dropping the TV. Kabir listened, half-smiling, feeling something close to... normal.
"Eat more," his mother said, pushing another roti onto his plate. "You need energy for tomorrow."
"I'm full."
"You're not full. Eat."
Kabir ate.
When dinner was finally over, he helped clear the plates, then went upstairs to his room. The fan was working now—slow but steady. He lay down on his bed, stared at the ceiling.
Pulled out his phone.
Opened Snapchat.
Riya still hadn't accepted his friend request.
He stared at it for a long moment. The little hourglass icon next to her name. Pending.
Then he deleted it.
Deleted the whole thing. The request. Her username. Everything.
He put the phone down on the nightstand.
New life. New start.
He watched the fan spin. Round and round. Same motion. Over and over.
And then he slept.
The alarm went off at 6:30.
Kabir's hand slapped it off. He groaned, rubbed his eyes, sat up.
Downstairs he could hear his mother moving around in the kitchen. Pots clanging. Water running.
He dragged himself out of bed. Brushed his teeth. The toothpaste tasted weird—too minty, like it was trying too hard.
Shower. The water was cold at first, then scalding, then finally settled somewhere in the middle. He washed quickly, got out, dried off.
Back in his room he pulled on his new uniform. The shirt was stiff. The pants were too long. His mother had said she'd hem them later but for now he just rolled them up at the ankles.
Downstairs his mother was waiting with breakfast. Parathas. Chai. A plate of cut fruit.
"Excited?" she asked, smiling.
"Nervous."
"That's normal." She poured him chai. "Everyone's nervous on the first day."
"What if I mess up?"
"Then you mess up. And then you keep going." She sat down across from him. "Kabir, listen. You're a good kid. You're smart. You're kind. Just be yourself and everything will be fine."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I believe in you."
Kabir nodded. Ate his paratha. Drank his chai.
When he was done, he stood up. Grabbed his bag.
His mother walked him to the door. Straightened his collar. Brushed his hair back with her fingers.
"Best of luck for your new day, Kabir."
"Thanks, Maa."
She kissed his forehead. "I love you."
"Love you too."
He walked out.
The school wasn't far. Maybe fifteen minutes on foot. Kabir had walked the route with his mother a few days ago so he wouldn't get lost.
Left out of the building. Straight for two blocks. Right at the park. Straight again until the main road. Then left.
He walked slowly. Watched the city wake up around him. Shopkeepers opening shutters. Auto-rickshaws honking. Street vendors setting up carts.
Then he saw it.
The school.
Big. Grey. Three stories tall with long windows and a courtyard in front. Kids were already streaming in through the gates—some walking, some on bikes, some getting dropped off by parents.
Kabir stopped just outside the gate.
Took a deep breath.
Then walked in.
The courtyard was packed. Kids everywhere. Shouting. Laughing. Running. A group of older boys were playing football in one corner. Some girls were sitting on a bench near the entrance, talking and giggling.
Kabir kept his head down. Walked toward the main building.
Inside it smelled like floor cleaner and chalk. The hallways were narrow. Lockers lined the walls. A bulletin board near the entrance had a big sign that said WELCOME BACK STUDENTS in bright red letters.
He checked his schedule. Sixth grade. Room 6-B. Second floor.
He climbed the stairs. Found the room. The door was open.
He stopped in the doorway.
The classroom was half-full already. Kids sitting at desks, talking, laughing. A boy near the window was drawing something in a notebook. A girl in the front row was reading.
Kabir stepped inside.
Nobody noticed him at first.
He found an empty desk near the middle. Sat down. Put his bag on the floor.
"Hey."
Kabir looked up.
A boy was standing next to his desk. Tall. Messy hair. Big grin.
"You're new, right?"
Kabir nodded.
"Cool. I'm Vihaan." He stuck out his hand.
Kabir shook it. "Kabir."
"So...How long have you been living here?"
"Uh... we just moved here."
"Oh! That's nice." Vihaan sat down at the desk next to him. "You know anyone here?"
"No."
"Well now you do. Me." Vihaan grinned wider. "Don't worry, man. Everyone's cool. Mostly."
Kabir smiled a little. "Thanks."
"No problem."
The teacher walked in a few minutes later. An older woman with glasses and a no-nonsense expression. She clapped her hands.
"Alright, settle down. I'm Mrs. Kapoor. Welcome back. For those of you who are new—" She looked directly at Kabir. "—welcome to sixth grade."
Kabir sank a little lower in his seat.
"Now," Mrs. Kapoor continued, "we're going to start with introductions. Everyone stand up, say your name, and one interesting thing about yourself. Let's start in the front row."
One by one, kids stood up.
"I'm Abhishek. I like cricket."
"I'm Mohini. I dance."
"I'm Shrey. I play video games."
Then it was Kabir's turn.
He stood up. His throat felt tight.
"I'm Kabir. I just moved here."
"And?" Mrs. Kapoor prompted.
"And... uh... I like music."
"What kind of music?"
"Singing. And... listening. I guess."
Mrs. Kapoor nodded. "Good. Welcome, Kabir."
He sat down. His face was hot.
Vihaan leaned over. "You sing?"
Kabir nodded.
"That's cool. I play piano."
"Really?"
"Yeah. We should jam sometime."
Kabir smiled. "Yeah. That would be nice."
The introductions kept going. Then a girl near the back stood up.
"I'm Avni. I play guitar."
Kabir looked up.
She had long hair tied back in a ponytail. Wore glasses. Had a small smile like she was trying not to seem too nervous.
"And I like singing too," she added quietly.
Mrs. Kapoor smiled. "Wonderful. We have quite a few musicians this year."
Avni sat down.
Kabir kept looking at her for a second longer than he should have. Then he looked away.
But something had shifted. Just a little. Just enough to notice.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Math. English. Science. Kabir tried to pay attention but his mind kept wandering.
At lunch, Vihaan waved him over to a table near the window.
"Come sit with us."
Kabir walked over. Sat down.
Vihaan introduced him to a few other kids. "This is Kashyap. Daksh. Shruti. And that's Avni."
Avni looked up from her lunch. Met Kabir's eyes for half a second. Then looked back down.
"Hi," she said quietly.
"Hi," Kabir said back.
They ate in silence for a while. Then Vihaan started talking about some movie he'd seen over the summer. Ishan argued about cricket scores. Shruti complained about her older brother.
Kabir just listened. Picked at his food. Tried to figure out where he fit in all this.
Then Avni spoke.
"You said you sing, right?"
Kabir looked at her. "Yeah."
"What kind of stuff?"
"Uh... I don't know. Just... songs. Whatever I like, I guess."
"Do you know any instruments?"
"Not really. I tried learning guitar once but it didn't stick."
Avni smiled a little. "Guitar's hard at first. You have to push through the part where your fingers hurt."
"Yeah, I didn't get that far."
She laughed. Quiet. Almost shy.
Kabir felt something warm in his chest. He didn't know what it was.
After school, Mrs. Kapoor made an announcement.
"For those interested in music, we have a singing and instrumental class that meets twice a week. Mrs. D'Souza runs it. If you want to sign up, see me after class."
Kabir's ears perked up.
After the bell rang, he walked up to Mrs. Kapoor's desk.
"I want to sign up. For the music class."
"Good. What's your name again?"
"Kabir."
She wrote it down. "You'll start next week. Tuesdays and Thursdays. 6 PM."
"Okay. Thanks."
He turned to leave—and almost ran into Avni.
She was standing right behind him.
"Oh. Sorry."
"It's okay." She smiled. "You signing up?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
They stood there for a second. Neither of them saying anything.
Then Vihaan appeared out of nowhere. "Oh, you guys are doing music class too? Nice. I signed up for piano."
Avni nodded. "Cool."
"Alright, let's go. I'm starving." Vihaan started walking toward the door.
Kabir and Avni followed.
Outside, the sun was still bright. Kids were everywhere—some waiting for parents, some walking home in groups, some hanging around the courtyard.
Vihaan waved at them. "See you guys tomorrow!"
"Bye," Avni said.
"Bye," Kabir echoed.
Vihaan ran off.
Kabir and Avni stood there. Alone. For the first time all day.
"So," Avni said. "You live far?"
"Not really. Like fifteen minutes walking."
"Same. I'm that way." She pointed left.
"I'm that way." Kabir pointed right.
"Okay." She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. "See you tomorrow, then."
"Yeah. See you."
She started walking.
Kabir watched her go. Watched the way she walked—slow, steady, like she wasn't in any hurry to get home.
Then he turned and started walking the other way.
And he smiled.
NOW
Class started.
Mrs. D'Souza clapped her hands twice. "Alright, let's warm up. Everyone up."
Chairs scraped against the floor. Twenty kids stood, stretched, yawned.
"Deep breath in through the nose."
Everyone inhaled.
"Hold it. Two, three, four. And out through the mouth."
Exhale.
"Again."
They did it five more times. Kabir's shoulders started to relax. The tightness in his chest from earlier—from the yard, from his father's silence—loosened just a little.
"Good. Now scales. Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do. Ready?"
Mrs. D'Souza played the starting note on the piano. The class followed.
"Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do."
"Again. Higher this time."
"Do-re-mi-fa-sol-la-ti-do."
Kabir sang on autopilot. His voice blended with everyone else's—Avni's somewhere to his left, Vihaan's behind him, Rohan's off-key in the back.
They ran through exercises for twenty minutes. Breathing. Pitch. Rhythm. Mrs. D'Souza stopped them every few bars to correct someone's posture or tell someone to open their mouth wider.
Then she clapped again.
"Alright. Now let's work on the group number. Everyone who's performing at auditions, stay up. Solos, sit down for now."
Half the class sat. Kabir stayed standing. So did Avni, Daksh, Rohan and his crew.
"We're doing the chorus of the main theme . You all know it. Let's run through it once, then we'll break into sections."
Mrs. D'Souza played the intro. Everyone came in together.
It sounded okay. Not great. A few people were flat. Someone came in late on the second verse.
Mrs. D'Souza stopped. "No, no. Listen to each other. You're all singing your own song. Blend. Again."
They started over.
This time it was better. The harmonies clicked. Rohan's voice—rough but strong—anchored the lower register. Avni's lighter tone wove through the middle. Kabir's voice found the spaces in between.
When they finished, Mrs. D'Souza nodded. "Better. Much better. Now duos, come up. Let's hear what you're working with."
Kabir and Avni stepped forward.
"What are you two singing?" Mrs. D'Souza asked.
Kabir glanced at Avni. "Uh... we haven't decided yet."
Mrs. D'Souza raised an eyebrow. "Auditions are a week away!."
"We know. We will figure it out tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Cutting it close, don't you think?"
Avni spoke up. "We'll have it ready."
Mrs. D'Souza sighed. "Fine. But pick something soon. And make sure it's something you can actually pull off. Don't go for flashy if you can't land it."
"We won't," Kabir said.
"Good. Sit down."
They went back to their seats.
The rest of class blurred. Mrs. D'Souza worked with Rohan's group on their arrangement. Then the solos ran through their pieces. Vihaan played something on the piano—some classical piece Kabir didn't recognize but sounded impressive.
By the time Mrs. D'Souza clapped for the final time, Kabir's throat was tired and his brain felt fuzzy.
"Alright, that's it for today. Good work, everyone. See you next week."
People started packing up. Guitars going into cases. Sheet music getting shoved into bags.
Vihaan walked over to Kabir and Avni. "Hey, uh, I gotta head out early today."
"Why?" Kabir asked.
"My dad. He's picking me up in like five minutes. Some family thing." Vihaan made a face. "Cousin's engagement party or something. I don't even know the guy."
Avni laughed. "Fun."
"Yeah, super fun." Vihaan slung his bag over his shoulder. "You guys heading out too?"
Kabir shrugged. "Yeah, probably."
"Cool. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Later, bro." Vihaan clapped Kabir on the shoulder, waved at Avni, and left.
Kabir finished packing his stuff. Avni was still putting her guitar away, carefully wrapping the strap around the case.
"You walking?" she asked without looking up.
"Yeah."
"Okay."
They walked out together. Down the stairs, past the bookstore, onto the street.
The evening air was cooler now. The sun was low, painting everything orange. A few auto-rickshaws rattled past. Someone was selling roasted peanuts on the corner, the smell drifting down the block.
Avni adjusted her guitar case on her back. "So, tomorrow we need to actually pick a song."
"Yeah."
They walked in silence for a bit. Then Avni stopped.
"I'm going this way," she said, pointing left.
"Oh. Yeah. Okay."
She started walking.
Kabir stood there. Watched her go.
Then Vihaan's voice popped into his head. Just talk to her, man.
His mouth opened before his brain caught up.
"Avni."
She stopped. Turned around.
He had no idea why he'd said her name. No plan. No script. The words just... weren't there.
She walked back toward him. "Yeah?"
He stared at her.
She tilted her head. "You gonna say something?"
"Uh..."
"Kabir?"
"Yeah. Uh." His brain was scrambling. Why did he call her? What was he supposed to say?
Avni crossed her arms. Waited.
"So, uh... you know my birthday's coming up, right?"
She blinked. "Okay?"
"Yeah, so... my mom was saying I should, like... invite some friends."
"So?"
"So... yeah. That's... that."
Avni stared at him. "Your mom knows how to reach me, right?"
Kabir nodded.
"Okay then." She turned around. Started walking again.
And laughed.
Not loud. Just a quiet sound, like she was trying not to let him hear it.
And she was still smiling when she looked back for half a second.
"Wait—Avni!"
She stopped. Turned back around. Walked toward him again. "What now?"
"What about... practicing tomorrow? Early? Before class?"
She thought about it. "Yeah, we can. Why?"
"So we can ask Mrs. D'Souza for the keys right now."
"Oh." She nodded. "Yeah, okay. What time?"
"Five-thirty?"
"Okay. Fine. I'll talk to her."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I'll go ask her now." She turned again. Started walking back toward the studio.
Still smiling.
Kabir just stood there. Watched her go. The way she walked—bouncing a little on her feet, like she was enjoying this. Enjoying making him stumble over his words.
He was so lost in watching her that he didn't move until she disappeared inside the building.
Then he blinked. Shook his head.
And a new thought hit him.
What if his father comes tomorrow?
What if he shows up at school again? What if there's another errand, another building, another yard?
His stomach dropped.
He started walking home. Faster now. Head down. Hands in his pockets.
By the time he reached his building, the worry had settled into his chest like a stone.
He climbed the stairs. Unlocked the door.
His father's shoes weren't there.
Relief. Just a little.
"Kabir?" His mother called from the living room. "Is that you?"
"Yeah."
He walked in. She was folding laundry on the couch, some soap opera playing on the TV in the background.
"How was class?"
"Good."
"Just good?"
"Yeah. It was fine." He sat down next to her. "We registered for auditions."
"Oh, that's exciting! When are they?"
"Next Wednesday."
"So soon!" She smiled. "Are you nervous?"
"A little."
"You'll do great. You always do."
Kabir nodded. Watched her fold a shirt. Then another.
"Maa?"
"Hmm?"
"Is Papa coming home tonight?"
She paused. Just for a second. Then kept folding. "I don't know, beta. He didn't say."
"Oh."
They sat in silence for a bit. The TV droned on. Someone on screen was crying about something.
"I'm gonna go do homework," Kabir said, standing up.
"Okay. Dinner in an hour?"
"Yeah."
He went upstairs. Closed his door. Dropped his bag on the floor.
His phone buzzed.
He pulled it out.
Avni:talked to mam
Avni:she said she'll give us the key
Avni:she says she trusts us
Kabir smiled. Typed back.
Kabir:nice
Kabir:thanks for asking
Avni:np
Avni:so 5:30 tomorrow?
Kabir:yeah
Avni:ok
Avni:dont be late
Kabir:i wont
Avni:you better not
Avni:ok im gonna go eat
Kabir:ok
Avni:see you tomorrow
Kabir:yeah see you
He stared at the screen for a moment. Then set the phone down.
That feeling again. The one he couldn't name. Like everything pressing down on him—the diary, the yard, his father's secrets—all of it got a little lighter when he was talking to her.
He didn't understand it. Didn't try to.
Just sat there. Staring at his phone. Smiling like an idiot.
Homework came next. Math problems. History reading. He worked through it quickly, his handwriting messier than usual because he kept glancing at his phone.
No new messages.
An hour later, his mother called him for dinner.
He went downstairs. The table was set. Just two plates.
"Papa's not coming?" he asked.
His mother shook her head. "He texted. Said he'll be late. Some work thing."
"Oh."
They sat down. Started eating.
"So," his mother said after a few bites. "What time do you need to leave tomorrow?"
"Five-Thirty."
"We're practicing before class. For the auditions."
"That's good! Kabir."
"Yeah!"
She nodded. "Okay. I'll make your lunch early then."
"Thanks, Maa."
"Who are you practicing with? Vihaan?"
"No. Avni."
His mother smiled. "Avni. The girl with the guitar?"
"Yeah."
"She's nice."
"Yeah."
"You two work well together."
Kabir didn't respond. Just kept eating.
His mother's smile got wider. "She's very pretty too."
"Maa—"
"What? I'm just saying."
"Can we not—"
"Fine, fine." She laughed. "I won't tease."
They finished eating. Kabir helped her clean up, then went back upstairs.
Opened his laptop. The Walking Dead. Season 6.
Episode 4. Then 5. Then 6. Then 7.
By the end of episode 7, his eyes were barely open. The screen blurred. His head kept drooping forward.
He closed the laptop.
Lay down.
And was asleep before he even realized it.
The alarm went off at 6:30.
April 2nd. Friday.
Three days until his birthday. Six days until auditions.
Kabir stared at the ceiling. Didn't move.
Two things in his head. At the same time.
The song. He and Avni needed to pick one today. Which key? Which arrangement? Safe or risky?
And the yard. The trucks. The old man. His father's face—calm, patient, controlled. Never touching anything.
Chord progressions and truck route numbers.
His brain kept jumping. Back and forth.
He sat up. Rubbed his face.
Shower. The water was cold at first. He stood under it, letting it wake him up.
Brushed his teeth. Got dressed.
Downstairs, his mother was already in the kitchen. Parathas on the stove. Chai steaming.
Kabir sat down. Watched her move around—flipping the paratha, pouring chai, setting his plate down.
And saw them again.
Bruises.
On her wrist. The new one's.
He didn't say anything. Just watched.
She sat down across from him with her own chai. "Sleep okay?"
"Yeah."
"Not too early for you?"
"No, it's fine."
They ate in silence. The TV was off. The house was quiet.
When he finished, he stood up. Walked over to her.
Kissed her forehead.
Hugged her.
Longer than usual. Tighter.
"I love you, Maa."
She squeezed him back. "I love you too, beta."
He pulled back. Looked at her.
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
He grabbed his bag. Walked to the door.
His father's shoes were there. Muddy. Still from yesterday.
Maybe he came home when he was asleep.
Kabir didn't look back. Just walked out.
School passed in flashes. Morning assembly. Math. English.
Then History.
Mr. Sharma stood at the front. "Alright, listen up. We're starting a project. Group work. Researching a historical event. Presenting to the class."
Groans.
"Partners will be assigned randomly." He held up a box full of folded papers. "No complaining. No switching. Pick a paper, read the name, that's your partner."
He started calling people up.
"Shruti."
She walked up. Pulled a paper. "Mohit."
"Daksh."
"Priya."
"Rohan."
Rohan walked up. Pulled a paper. Unfolded it.
"Avni."
Kabir's head snapped up.
Rohan grinned. Walked back to his seat. Avni looked... neutral. Maybe a little annoyed. But she nodded.
Kabir's jaw tightened.
It's just a project. Just school. Normal.
But still.
"Kabir."
He walked up. Pulled a paper.
"Ananya."
A girl near the back waved. He waved back.
Fine. Whatever.
Mr. Sharma explained the requirements. Two weeks. Research. Presentation. Bibliography. Blah blah blah.
Kabir barely listened.
Lunch.
Kabir sat with Vihaan and Avni at their usual table. Vihaan was complaining about his cousin's engagement party last night.
"Three hours, man. Three hours of uncles asking me what I want to be when I grow up."
Avni laughed. "What did you say?"
"I said I don't know. Then they all started giving me advice. 'Be a doctor.' 'Be an engineer.' 'Be a lawyer.' Like, thanks, super helpful."
Kabir picked at his food. Not really eating. Not really listening.
Then Avni said it.
Casual. Like it was nothing.
"Rohan's actually not that bad when he's not showing off."
Vihaan's eyebrows shot up. He glanced at Kabir. Then back at Avni. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. We talked after class. About the project. He's just competitive, you know? But he's not mean."
Kabir shrugged. Took a bite of his sandwich.
Vihaan smirked but didn't push it.
The conversation moved on. Avni talked about needing to meet with Rohan to divide up the research. Vihaan complained more about his family. Someone at the next table dropped their tray.
Kabir just sat there. Nodding when he was supposed to. Not hearing any of it.
The final bell rang.
Kabir walked out through the gates.
Stopped.
Looked around.
No car.
His father wasn't there.
The spot where the car had been yesterday—empty.
Kabir stood there for a full minute. Just waiting. Watching the traffic. Auto-rickshaws. Bikes. Parents picking up kids.
But no car.
He realized something.
He'd been bracing for it. Ready for another errand. Another yard. Another building.
And the absence of it felt worse than the presence.
Like the floor had dropped out from under him and he didn't know where to land.
He started walking. Slowly. Took the long route through the park.
Found a bench under a tree. Sat down.
Pulled out the diary.
Flipped through it. Read everything from the beginning.
March 31st. Father picked me up from school. Drove to unknown building. Went inside for 12 minutes. Came out with unknown man—tall, thin, leather jacket. Man gave father unknown object (small, couldn't see clearly). They shook hands. Father stared at me in the car. Didn't say why.
He read it like someone else had written it.
He's hiding something. I'm going to find out what.
A careful, patient boy. Building something. Without knowing what yet.
Then he wrote one new line.
April 2nd. He didn't come today. I don't know if that's better or worse.
He closed the diary. Put it away. Kept walking.
When he got home, his mother was on the couch. Watching TV. Some game show.
She looked up when he walked in. "You're early."
"Yeah. No... extra stuff today."
"Good." She smiled. "I made lunch early like you said. It's in the kitchen."
"Thanks."
He dropped his bag. Went to the kitchen. Rice and dal were covered on the counter.
He pulled out his phone. Started to text Avni.
But she was already typing.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.
Nothing came through.
He waited.
Still nothing.
He typed after waiting for a while: you coming right?
The reply came immediately.
Avni:yes
Avni:come on time
Kabir:ok
He put the phone down. Served himself lunch. Sat at the table.
His mother came in. Sat across from him.
"So, how was school?"
"Fine."
"Just fine?"
"Yeah."
She watched him eat for a moment. "Your practice is this evening, right?"
"Yeah. In like an hour."
"Okay. Don't be late."
"I won't."
When he finished, he hugged her. Kissed her cheek. Grabbed his bag.
"See you later, Maa."
"Bye, beta. Have fun."
The studio was empty when he arrived.
He unlocked the door with the key Mrs. D'Souza had given them. Flipped on the lights.
Sat down on the floor. Pulled out his notebook.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
Avni walked in. Guitar case on her back. Hair tied up.
"Hey."
"Hey."
She set her guitar down. Sat across from him. "So. Song."
"Yeah."
"We need to pick one."
"I know."
Avni pulled out her phone. Scrolled through something. "I think we should do something safe. Something we know really well."
Kabir frowned. "Safe is boring."
"Safe gets us through auditions."
"We don't need safe. We're good enough to do something harder."
"Harder means more risk."
"Risk means more reward."
Avni looked up from her phone. "Or it means we crash and burn."
"We won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
They stared at each other.
Kabir sighed. "What if we meet in the middle?"
"What do you mean?"
"Pick something that's not totally safe. But not reckless either. Something challenging but not impossible."
Avni thought about it. "Like what?"
"I don't know. You have any ideas?"
"Maybe that song we did last year? The one with the bridge?"
"Which one?"
"You know. The high note. The one where I always go sharp."
Kabir smiled. "Oh. Yeah. That one."
"It's hard but we know it."
"Yeah. And we've practiced it before."
"Right."
They both sat there. Thinking.
"Okay," Avni said finally. "Let's do that one."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's a good compromise. Hard enough to stand out but we won't embarrass ourselves."
Kabir nodded. "Okay."
They spent the next hour running through it.
Warming up first. Finding the key. Working out the harmonies. Avni played the intro on her guitar. Kabir came in on the second bar.
Their voices blended. Like always.
But something was different today.
The chemistry was still there. That moment during the song where their eyes met—just for a second—and everything clicked.
But there was something else now. Something underneath.
When they finished, Avni set her guitar down. "That was good."
"Yeah."
They sat in silence for a bit. The studio felt bigger with just the two of them. Quieter.
Avni looked at him. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"Do you ever think about the future?"
Kabir blinked. "What?"
"Like... actually think about it. Not school stuff. What you want your life to look like."
Kabir didn't answer right away.
Because the truth was he didn't know anymore.
The future he thought he was building—music, school, whatever came after—felt further away than it did three months ago.
"I don't know," he said finally. "I guess I want to keep doing music. Somehow."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I can't really see myself doing anything else."
Avni nodded. "Me too."
"What about you? What do you want?"
She looked at her guitar. "I want to leave Anandpur."
"Leave?"
"Yeah. Study somewhere better. Delhi, maybe. Or Bombay. Somewhere with actual opportunities."
"That's far."
"I know." She smiled a little. "But I want to make something real out of this. Not just... sing at school functions forever."
Kabir nodded. "You will."
"You think?"
"Yeah. You're good enough."
She looked at him. Really looked. "So are you."
They sat there. Not saying anything.
Then Avni asked quietly, "What about you and me?"
Kabir's heart skipped.
"I mean like... the duo. Performing together."
"Yeah," Kabir said. "I know what you meant."
A beat.
"We'll figure it out," he said.
She nodded. Looked back at her guitar. "Yeah. We will."
Neither of them said anything for a while.
Then the door opened.
Vihaan walked in. Grinning. "Yo! You guys here already?"
"Yeah," Avni said. "Just finishing up."
"Nice. You pick a song?"
"Yeah."
"Cool." Vihaan dropped his bag. "Can't wait to hear it."
Class started. More people showed up. Mrs. D'Souza ran through warm-ups. Group numbers. Solo practice.
By the time it ended, Kabir's throat was sore.
He packed his stuff. Said bye to Vihaan. Walked out.
The street was busy. Evening rush. Auto-rickshaws honking. People heading home from work.
Kabir walked slowly. Thinking about the song. About Avni. About auditions.
He passed the chai stand.
Almost walked past it.
Then he stopped.
A man was standing there.
Tall. Thin. Leather jacket.
Kabir's whole body went still.
It was him.
The man from the unknown building. The one who'd given his father the unknown object.
He was just standing there. Drinking chai. Relaxed. Ordinary.
He hadn't seen Kabir.
Kabir stood perfectly still. Three full seconds.
His mind running.
That's him. Tall. Thin. Leather jacket. March 31st. Unknown building. Gave father unknown object.
He's just here. Drinking chai.
Then Kabir turned. Walked the other way.
Didn't run. Didn't panic. Just walked. Steady. Controlled.
He got half a block away.
And his hands were shaking.
He stopped. Leaned against a wall. Breathed.
Waited for it to pass.
Then he pulled out the diary. Right there on the street.
April 2nd. 7:45 PM. The unknown man from unknown building. Drinking chai near studio. Didn't see me.
He stared at what he'd written.
Then wrote one more thing.
He lives near here.
He closed the diary. Put it away.
And kept walking.