Shankar sat in silence, heart pounding.
What just happened?
Had he imagined it all?
Or had something unimaginable… finally found him?
Shankar glanced at his watch—
11:03 p.m.
His eyes widened.
The game was supposed to end at 9.
He yanked out his phone.
No signal bars…
But the notifications flooded in the moment it blinked to life.
17 missed calls. 34 messages.
"Where are you?" —Varun
"Come back fast, idiot!" —Nikhil
"Shankar answer the damn phone!" —Amar Sir
"Shankar, are you okay? Please say something." —Savitri
"Call me now." —Ma.
His stomach sank.
Then—voices.
Faint at first. Yelling. Torches flickering through the trees.
He ran. Heart pounding. Mind still scrambled.
He stumbled out from the treeline into the familiar clearing—muddy, dimly lit, tents scattered. The fireplace now just ash and embers.
A camp guide spotted him and rushed over.
"There he is!"
Within seconds, Shankar was being half-dragged, half-led back to the center of the campsite. The whole place was in chaos. Students had been confined to their tents. Teachers and guides were scattered in tension. Amar Sir was in the middle of a heated argument with one of the camp guides, his voice cutting sharp through the air.
"How can you say you took all safety measures when a student just—"
And then—
They all saw Shankar.
"SHANKAR!"
"Where the hell were you?"
He was bombarded. Amar Sir. Chaya Ma'am. Varun. Even Nikhil, who'd never looked so relieved and annoyed at the same time.
"Are you mad?"
"Do you know what we thought?"
"Why didn't you answer your phone?"
Shankar was still panting. Clothes muddy. Ring still tightly wrapped around his thumb.
"I… I got lost," he mumbled. "My torch broke. I couldn't hear anything. I walked… I—I think I fainted or something. I don't know."
There was silence. Then Amar Sir stepped forward, took a long breath, and signaled the others to calm down.
"He's back. That's what matters. Everyone relax."
The guides explained to the teachers that the boundaries of the game were considered safe. They never expected someone to wander so far. Phones had no signal in the deeper regions of the forest. The area wasn't dangerous, just dense and easy to get disoriented in.
Amar Sir made a quick call to Shankar's mother, assuring her that he was safe and back at camp.
Shankar looked around at everyone—relieved faces, a few tears, laughter returning in whispers. But he… he still couldn't breathe properly.
Not because of fear.
Because he knew none of them would believe what he saw.
Everyone was ordered back to their tents.
The scolding had passed, the chaos was cooling down—but a quiet tension still lingered in the cold night air. No more games. No more marshmallows. Just hushed instructions and a strong undercurrent of relief.
Shankar didn't even get a chance to talk to Varun, Nikhil, or anyone properly. He was escorted straight back by one of the teachers, his face pale, footsteps unsure.
Inside the tent, he sat silently, took a breath, and called home.
Devi picked up in two rings.
"Shankar!?" Her voice cracked before he could even speak.
"I'm okay, Ma," he said softly.
"You're okay?" she snapped. "Do you know how many times I called? Amar Sir said you were missing! I was—God, I thought—"
She choked on the next words.
Shankar looked down, his voice lower now. "I lost the way during a game… I didn't mean to—"
"Why didn't you stay with your group? Why always you, Shankar? Why do you never—why can't you ever just—"
Her words were stumbling between panic and fury.
He didn't respond for a moment. Then quietly, "I'm sorry, Ma."
There was silence.
A long one.
Then, her voice softer, trembling. "Are you sure you're okay? You didn't get hurt or… anything?"
"No," he said. His fingers brushed over the ring on his thumb. "Just… tired."
"Come back soon," she whispered, her voice small now. "Please. Just come back."
Shankar ended the call before she could break down further. He stared at the phone for a few seconds, then called his older uncle too. That call was quicker, calmer—his uncle didn't press much. Just told him to take care, and to talk properly after the trip ends.
Afterward, Shankar walked up to the dinner counter alone. Most of the students had already eaten. Only a few cold chapatis and dal sat under foil.
The ring on his thumb glinted in the dim camp lighting. He didn't hide it. Didn't even think about it.
Nobody looked.
Not the teacher beside him, not the camp helper who handed him the plate.
Like it was just… not there.
He sat and ate quietly. No chatter. No Nikhil's loud chewing.
Only the forest humming, wind rustling, and something heavy pressing on his chest.
Then, he returned to the tent. Lay back.
Eyes wide open. Ring on his thumb, glowing faintly like it belonged to another world.
He didn't speak. He didn't move.
His mind replayed the symbols, the tree, the temple, the statue… the light.
And beneath all of it—one question throbbed in his skull like a pulse:
What did I just awaken?
The next morning, the group left the campsite just after breakfast. The skies were clear, the mountain air crisp, but the mood was quieter than usual. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the night before.
Today's plan wasn't about ruins or rope-ways—it was about the city. Exploring the local markets, meeting people, soaking in the culture. A slower pace.
As they moved through the bustling streets, the crowd around Shankar grew.
"Bro, where the hell were you yesterday?"
"You really fainted?"
"Did you actually see something?"
One by one, friends, classmates, even the quieter ones came up, tossing questions his way. He stuck to his story. Got lost. No network. Slipped. Fainted. Found by a guide. That's it.
Some seemed satisfied. Some weren't. But they let it go. The city was distracting enough.
Shankar, meanwhile, walked with the group, answering half-heartedly, his mind split in two—one half smiling and chatting... the other still trapped in glowing stone, golden walls, and a ring he now wore like it had always belonged.
By the time they reached the hotel around 11 a.m., the group was exhausted. Sleep came easy to most of them—especially Shankar, who barely remembered when he passed out on the bed. The weight of the ring on his thumb was the only reminder that last night wasn't some fever dream.