The days that followed.
_ _ _
The birthday evening passed quietly in the Vedman household.
There was no grand celebration, no music, no decorations—only a simple homemade meal, a few warm smiles, and the lingering heaviness of the months they had survived.
Shweta insisted on helping Shanti prepare the dinner. Throughout the evening, Shanti kept telling Arjun and Shweta stories about how chaotic Hira and Yash's childhood birthdays had been, trying to lighten the mood.
Hira laughed along, but his mind kept drifting back to the silent beds numbered 8 and 9 at SW15.
He tried connecting with Amit (his best friend), but Shweta told him that including Amit, half of their friends are still in Pariama sleep.
That night, after dinner, Arjun and Shweta returned to the guest room Shanti had prepared for them. The house felt fuller, but only in sound—not in spirit. There were still two empty chairs around the dining table.
Morning came slowly.
The next day, as sunlight filtered through the curtains, Shweta reminded Hira that her father, Arjun, was still recovering from the long coma and that he needed to return home.
It was time for Hira to help her clean their house, something she had been unable to do alone while living with Shanti for the past month.
They live in a neighbouring society, not too far from their society.
Hira accompanied her. The house was buried under layers of dust. He spent nearly the entire day helping her scrub floors, clean furniture, wash curtains, shake out carpets, fix some of the lights, and set everything back in place.
By the time evening arrived, the house felt livable again—clean, bright, and breathable.
Arjun thanked him repeatedly.
By dusk, Shweta and Arjun returned to their own home, and Hira returned with Shanti to the Vedman residence.
Father and daughter went to rest.
The old professor spent some time in thought, still trying to understand the changes happening across the city.
Shweta lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, mind spinning with thoughts of her friend's situation, his missing brother Yash, his still in a coma, parents, and the strange new future that had opened in front of all of them.
Three weeks passed like this.
Every day carved itself into a routine, almost rhythmic in its predictability. The chaos of the first days after his awakening softened into a steady pattern that caught Hira off guard.
Life, no matter how disrupted, always tried to find a way to settle.
Hira began waking up early—earlier than he ever had in his old life. At five in the morning, he stepped out of the house for morning exercise, trying to bring stability back to his life.
He ran through silent roads, passed closed shops, and breathed in the cold air that rolled off the Ganga river. The flowways were still mostly empty, only a handful of vehicles moving across the lanes.
Some part of him felt stronger than before. His body had changed after the Pariama stage—leaner, more responsive, more aware. Even the way he ran felt different, almost effortless.
First morning, while jogging near the crossroads close to his neighbourhood, he noticed a police vehicle coming towards him.
From the vehicle, a police officer, who seemed to be in his forties, came out.
"Who are you young man? I haven't seen you before near this area." He asked, suspiciously.
"Good Morning, officer. Actually, I recently came back, so you might not have seen me."
After a brief exchange, he let Hira go.
Listening to his Dadi and Shweta, he was doubting whether the lockdown thing was even real or not because this was the first time a police officer stopped him after entering the city.
After his morning run, he returned home and helped Shanti in the garden.
She had started practicing yoga again, and though her movements had slowed with age, the peace she found in the routine seemed to calm her heart.
Hira joins her, trying to get used to his new physical powers.
Once the garden work was done, the two completed household chores together: cleaning utensils, watering the plants, sweeping the veranda, folding clothes, and preparing lunch.
They worked side by side, filling the home with quiet companionship.
By afternoon, they left for SW15 to visit Virat and Jyoti.
It became a daily ritual—one they followed with devotion, ignoring the weather, the distance, and the emotional exhaustion. After visiting the hospital, they sometimes stopped by the local market to buy essentials. The stalls looked abandoned at first glance, but once evening arrived, some familiar faces stepped out cautiously.
People were changing—physically, mentally, emotionally. Some visibly appeared stronger, some developed sharper features, and some even claimed their eyesight had improved.
Others showed no outward changes at all. Everyone was trying to understand the new world they were part of.
After returning home, they ate together and watched the news, hoping for updates about the Pariama patients. Sometimes Arjun and Shweta also join them for dinner.
The government channels repeated the same information: "Research is ongoing… recovery percentages improving slowly… please remain calm and follow safety protocols…"
Nothing new. Nothing hopeful. Nothing definite.
Still, they waited.
This routine continued unbroken until –
25th March, 0096.
Saturday.
It was late evening. The sun had already dipped behind the rooftops, and the cool air of Varanasi began settling over the flowways. Hira and Shanti had just finished washing their plates after dinner when the broadcast notification tone chimed from the living room.
The television switched to the national news channel.
The screen displayed a sudden red banner: "URGENT LIVE ADDRESS."
And then the anchor's voice announced:
"Honourable Prime Minister Amitabh Gandhi will speak live to the nation."
Shanti's hand tightened around the edge of the sofa.
Hira felt his heartbeat pick up—not from dread, but from anticipation.
He had learned one thing these last months:
When the Prime Minister spoke live on television, something significant followed.
The last time he had spoken, millions had collapsed into a deep sleep, and he came to give their family members a 'hope', in the form of 'special wards'.
Now, he was speaking again.
The transmission cut, replaced by a stage prepared for the national address. Security personnel moved aside, the lights brightened, and the Prime Minister walked up to the podium.
Hira leaned forward slowly. Shanti clasped her hands together, whispering a prayer without words.
The air in the room turned heavy, ready to crack open with whatever truth was about to be revealed.
The past days had lulled them into routine, but routine was never permanent.
Something was about to change.
And the world—already broken, already reshaped—was about to shift once more.
A.N. - Sorry for the long gap, but now I will try to post the new chapters daily.
The title means 'The days that followed'.