The morning air in New York was sharp with city sounds—honking cabs, subway rumbles, the distant wail of sirens that never seemed urgent enough to explain their volume. Raj stepped off the school bus with his hood up, shoulders tucked in, and earbuds humming static just loud enough to give him an excuse not to make eye contact.
He didn't listen to music. The earbuds weren't even turned on.
He just needed an excuse to look like everyone else.
The street outside Midtown High buzzed with the usual chaos of teenagers pretending not to care. Some leaned against bike racks, laughing too loudly. Others scrolled through their phones like the world might end if they missed a single meme. Backpacks were slung one-strap, coffee cups clutched like survival tools, and the energy in the air was both familiar and completely foreign to him.
Raj took a slow breath and walked toward the front doors.
His shoes didn't squeak, but they felt loud. Every step was measured, not out of fear, but calculation. He remembered this building from the borrowed memories—the way the morning light always hit the lockers through the east-facing windows, the way the stairwell smelled faintly like chlorine and cafeteria grease.
But memories weren't instinct. They weren't rhythm.
Everything looked exactly how he expected, but none of it felt lived in.
"Raj!"
The voice cut through the air like a pebble skipping across still water.
He turned. A tall kid with a messy bun and a beaming smile waved at him like they'd just had dinner together last night. Raj froze for half a second too long, then lifted a hand and gave the most casual wave he could fake.
"Hey," he said, voice steady.
"Man, where've you been?" the guy asked, falling into step beside him as they crossed the front doors. "We thought you were, like, sick or something."
Raj gave a tight smile. "Just… stuff. Head wasn't in it."
The guy nodded, totally unfazed. "Yeah, no worries. Hey, we've got that group history project with Parker and MJ. Don't bail, yeah?"
"I'll be there," Raj said automatically.
He didn't remember the guy's name. Not from his own life. Not from the parallel one.
But he kept walking, kept nodding, letting conversation drift away behind him. It was too much, too fast. His brain felt like it was scrolling a list of details he couldn't quite read in time.
The hallway opened wide, the crowd thinning as kids funneled into classrooms.
Raj's locker was exactly where he remembered it. Number 314. Blue. Dented near the bottom. A sticker of a flaming skull peeled halfway off. His hands moved before he could second-guess them—right, left, right, twist—and the lock clicked open.
Inside: textbooks, a single hoodie he didn't remember owning, a notebook with a cracked spine, and a folded comic book jammed between two folders.
The comic was old. Superman on the cover.
He stared at it for a beat too long.
Then he shut the door gently and turned, nearly colliding with someone behind him.
"Whoa—"
Peter Parker stepped back, blinking. "Sorry. Didn't see you there."
Raj swallowed the flicker of recognition that tried to rise in his throat.
"It's fine," he said. "Hey."
Peter squinted. "You look… taller."
Raj blinked. "Huh?"
"You were, like, definitely shorter before break," Peter said, eyebrows raised. "Not that I was keeping track. It's just—like. Noticeable."
Raj forced a smile. "Guess I hit a weird growth spurt."
Peter hesitated a second too long.
"Cool," he said finally. "You okay? You've been kind of off lately."
Raj shrugged. "Better now."
It wasn't a lie. Not really.
Just not the kind of truth Peter would ever believe.
They walked to first period together, the silence between them padded with hallway chatter and the slam of locker doors. Raj didn't try to fill the space. He let Peter glance at him now and then, probably trying to figure out what exactly felt different.
It wasn't the height. Or the posture. Or the faint glow that sometimes shimmered behind Raj's eyes.
It was something quieter. Something off.
Raj could feel it too.
The way people moved around him. The way teachers nodded at him with just a touch too much familiarity. The way his own body responded to the building—as if it knew every step, every echo, before it happened.
He took his seat near the back of the classroom. Peter sat two rows over.
Raj stared at the board. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk, perfectly timed, no rhythm missed.
The morning sunlight spilled across the tile floor. He angled his foot into the light, just slightly.
And the warmth answered.
Not dramatically. Not visibly. But he felt it—sinking into the fabric of his jeans, tracing his skin like a finger. His breath slowed without him meaning to.
The bell rang.
And for the first time, he didn't jump.
He was ready.
Or at least, he was very good at pretending.