Canora stood in front of Krishna's grave.
The air was still.
Not peaceful—just still in a way that felt… held.
As if even sound knew where not to go.
---
Dev's father noticed her and turned.
"Canora," he said. "I didn't expect you to come."
She lowered her eyes slightly.
"I couldn't stay away," she said quietly.
"I can't return what Krishna did for me… but he helped me when those boys used to bully me."
A pause.
"He was always kind."
---
Dev's father looked at the gravestone.
"He was kind," he said. "Because of my training."
---
Canora let out a short laugh.
It broke unevenly—half breath, half pain.
She quickly wiped her face and bent down, placing the flowers gently.
---
Her phone rang.
She checked it and sighed.
"My lunch break is over."
She stood up.
Gave a small nod.
And left.
---
Silence returned.
---
But this time—
it stayed longer than it should have.
---
The wind didn't move.
The leaves didn't shift.
Even the faint sounds of the city—
felt distant.
---
For a brief moment—
the space around the grave felt… wrong.
---
Then—
it was gone.
---
At home, Dev's mother sat with a recipe book open.
Her fingers turned the pages slowly.
Not reading.
Just moving.
She stopped at something simple.
Rice porridge.
Closed the book.
---
Routine was not healing.
But it was holding.
---
Dev's father stood near the dining table, scrolling through numbers.
Income.
Deductions.
Deadlines.
He adjusted his glasses.
Locked the phone.
And stood.
Work did not wait.
---
At college, Dev walked through the corridor.
A voice called from behind—
"Heyy, Dev!"
---
He froze.
Just for a second.
---
Then kept walking.
Faster.
---
The voice didn't repeat.
---
He reached his bike.
Started it.
Left.
---
Something about it—
felt off.
---
Elsewhere.
---
An airport terminal moved in rhythm.
Announcements echoed.
Passengers walked.
Luggage rolled.
---
At the boarding gate—
an air hostess scanned the line.
Routine.
Repeated.
Unnoticed.
---
Until—
she paused.
---
Not because she wanted to.
Because something in front of her—
refused to pass unnoticed.
---
She looked up.
Just slightly.
---
The passenger stood still.
Calm.
Unhurried.
---
For a moment—
her hand didn't move.
---
Then she blinked.
And everything returned.
---
"Thank you," she said automatically.
---
The passenger walked forward.
---
No sound.
No rush.
---
Just presence.
---
Far away—
something had already started.