Sports period was always louder than it needed to be. The playground echoed with whistles, shouts, shoes scraping dust, and the rustle of the old banyan tree that looked like it had been judging the school for decades.
I had expected to get through the period quietly. Of course, the universe did not give me that luxury.
Ananya spotted me the moment I stepped onto the field.
"There you are," she said, trotting over like she had trained for this moment. "Welcome to physical torture."
"It's just sports," I said.
"Exactly. Torture."
She adjusted her glasses, tied her hair tighter, and looked around as if expecting ghosts.
We were supposed to warm up first. Most people jogged lazily. Kabir jogged like he was training for the Olympics and wanted everyone to notice. The PT sir was impressed by Kabir filling the the guys ego which made him more "humble" and in turn made him always perform like someone important was watching.
"Do you run?" Anaya asked.
"Yes."
"You don't look like you run."
"You don't know how running works."
She smirked. "Fine. Let's see."
The PT sir blew the whistle. Everyone began jogging around the ground. I kept my pace light. Neutral. Calm.
Anaya kept up for twenty meters. Then thirty. Then forty.
At fifty meters she said, "Okay wait. I have lungs. They are dying."
"You ran fast."
"Don't lie. I ran like a tired buffalo."
I didn't deny it.
She leaned forward, hands on knees, breathing dramatically. "How do you run so easily?"
"I don't know. Practice."
"You don't look like you practice. You look like you read mysterious books at night and brood."
She wasn't wrong, but she didn't have to say it aloud.
Kabir sprinted past us like the wind owed him a favor.
PT sir clapped. "Good, Kabir! Excellent speed!"
Of course.
When Nithin jogged past us, PT sir didn't even glance at him. The boy's steps were small, careful, as if he didn't want to exist too loudly. He looked tired even before the first round ended.
Ananya watched him. Her eyebrows tightened. "That's Nithin, right?"
"Yes."
"He looks…"
"Quiet."
"That's one word. Another word is 'scared'."
I didn't answer.
Something inside my chest gave a soft thump. Not pain. Not heat. Just… movement.
I inhaled slowly. Held it. The sensation faded.
Not now, I told myself.
Not here.
We shifted to throwball after two rounds. Kabir played like the ball had personally insulted him. His throws were powerful enough to scare even the confident girls in the first row. PT sir praised him every third minute.
When the ball rolled near me, I passed it gently. Anaya caught it and missed her throw entirely.
"Oops."
"You didn't even aim."
"I aimed inwardly."
"That's not how aiming works."
She shrugged. "I'm a creator, not a thrower."
The period continued like that — Kabir performing, Nithin keeping his head low and watching from the side, Anaya cracking jokes, and me trying not to notice the strange pulse in my chest.
It came twice more. Small. Barely noticeable. Like something stretching after years of sleep.
I kept my breathing steady. Just like Vahni taught. Contain. Control. Endure.
When the bell rang, Anaya flopped onto the grass dramatically.
"Explain to me," she said, "why running exists."
"It's good for health."
"It destroys my health."
"Everything destroys your health."
"That's true," she said proudly.
As we walked back toward class, she bumped my shoulder lightly.
"You did good today."
"I didn't do anything."
"That," she said, "is what I'm impressed by. You were fast without trying. Interesting."
"Don't call me interesting."
"Then stop being interesting."
Impossible.
Dad's job search began at noon.
This sector had plenty of boards pinned on electric poles
Watchman Wanted.
Data Entry.
Delivery Partner.
Housekeeping.
Part-time cashier.
Dad walked slowly, right arm still stiff, breath shallow. He hated appearing weak. He hated asking for help more.
Aunt Vahni walked beside him, scanning shopfronts with the intensity of someone who had memorized every risk.
"Don't apply for things with heavy lifting," she said.
"I know."
"And not delivery jobs. Too fast. Too much strain on the chest."
"I know, Vahni."
"And not the call center. Night shifts are not good for you."
He sighed. "Do you want me to find work or not?"
She stopped talking.
They passed a bakery, an auto shop, two provision stores, and a medical shop. Dad asked at three places. No luck. No vacancies. One manager said he'd call later, but his voice didn't sound honest.
Dad sat on a bench near a bus stop, breathing heavier than before.
"You shouldn't push yourself," Vahni said.
"I'm not sitting at home forever," he replied. "Tejas needs school supplies. Fees. Shoes. And we need rent."
"We'll manage."
"We've been managing for ten years," he whispered. "I want to provide now."
Her face softened. She didn't soften often. "You will. Just… take it slow."
He nodded, staring at his hands.
His right hand trembled faintly.
On the other side of town, Vahni made a decision.
They visited Hotel for a tea break. Vahni notices a need help sign. Its kitchen noisy and hot, steam rising from vessels, the sound of ladles hitting steel constantly.
Perfect.
Heat everywhere. Warmth everywhere. Noise everywhere. A place where tiny fluctuations of temperature were ignored.
A place where she could exist unseen.
She went to inquire about the job. The owner, a big man with a soft belly and a stern moustache, looked her up and down.
"You can work in the veg cutting area," he said. "Early morning shift. Five hours. Pay is small. Work is steady."
"I'll take it," she said before he even offered the pay amount.
He nodded. "Come from tomorrow."
Vahni stepped outside, absorbing the smell of boiling sambar and burnt oil. She touched the pouch at her waist.
Hidden. Safe. Unnoticed.
That's what she needed.
...
Meanwhile, Devraj questioned yet another resident in The area where tragedy occurred 10 years ago.
A boy who remembered nothing. A grandmother who remembered a fire "sometime before demonetization."A shopkeeper who swore the building had always been this color.
Lies or ignorance — he couldn't tell.
He paid a chai-stall owner fifty rupees for the names of old tenants. The owner scribbled five names on a bill paper from memory when he was a child. None matched the surname he was hunting.
He checked raw data from Mahesh again and it went no where.
Nothing. Only normal heat patterns.
He clenched his jaw.
He wasn't frustrated yet, but he was close.
The truth was here. Buried. Painted over. But here.
And he would peel away every layer until he found what was beneath.
...
After school, as I walked home, a strange clarity filled the street — as if everything waited one second longer before moving. The sun pressed warmth onto the railing near the stairs. When I touched it, something inside my palm tugged gently.
Not danger. Not a flare. Just… presence.
I pulled my hand away quickly.
Contain .Control. Endure.
Ananya walked beside me, chattering about how she almost died in sports period and how Kabir probably owned golden running shoes.
"You okay?" she asked suddenly.
"Yeah."
"You're being very quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
"You're even more quiet."
"I'm fine."
She didn't believe me. But she let it go — for now.
When I reached home, Aunt Vahni was chopping vegetables with clean, decisive strokes. Dad was resting on the sofa, eyes half-closed.
"How was school?" Dad asked.
"Fine."
"How was sports?" Vahni asked without looking up.
"Torture," I said.
She snorted. "Good. Builds discipline."
Then she glanced at me, eyes sharp, calculating.
"Any… warmth?" she asked softly.
"Nothing," I said immediately.
She stared a moment longer than necessary.
"Good," she said finally. "Keep it that way."
But the warmth was not gone. It was waiting.
And far away, a man who had spent ten years chasing a ghost tightened his grip on a file, still unaware that the ghost had outgrown the place it once haunted.
Soon, our paths would inch closer.
But for now, everything remained quiet.
Deceptively quiet.