Chapter 2: Whispers from the Dust
A year had passed since the accident, yet the memory of that night still lingered in Soma's heart. Sometimes he woke from dreams where glass shattered and his mother's hand slipped from his own. But life in his grandmother's village had slowly stitched him back together. The grief had not vanished, but it no longer crushed him. It had become a quiet ache, softened by routine, by Savitri's unwavering care, and by the rhythm of everyday life.
The soft chime of birdsong filtered through the open window, pulling Soma from the depths of sleep. "Soma, it's already 7 o'clock. Wake up," came his grandmother's gentle voice from downstairs, laced with that familiar warmth that had become his anchor.
"Yes, Grandma, I'm already awake," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. It had been a full year since he'd moved in with her—a year that slipped by like sand through his fingers. Yet, in that time, the chaos of his old life had faded. No more blaring car horns jolting him awake; instead, the sweet melody of birds and the faint perfume of blooming flowers greeted him each morning. Grandma Savitri's house wasn't grand, but it felt like home: a modest two-story structure with one room on the ground floor and two upstairs. Behind it stretched a small garden, bursting with life, where Soma often helped her tend to the roses and herbs when his schoolwork allowed.
His room was upstairs, the second one down the hall. It was smaller than his old apartment bedroom, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in light. Sunbeams danced through the windows every dawn, painting the walls in golden hues. In his previous home, mornings meant flipping on harsh electric lights, the outside world blocked by towering buildings. Here, his bed sat snugly by the right window, offering a view of the garden below. On the left, a worn wooden desk held his grandfather's old computer, flanked by stacks of books and notebooks—remnants of a life he was slowly rebuilding.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Soma stretched and headed downstairs. "Good morning, Grandma."
"Good morning, Soma," Savitri replied, her eyes twinkling as she turned from the stove. "And happy birthday, beta."
Soma blinked, a small smile creeping onto his face. *Oh, right—today's my birthday,* he thought, the realization warming him like the morning sun, even as a faint ache tugged at his chest for the parents who weren't there to celebrate.
"Birthday boy, I made your favorite bun cake for breakfast," she said, placing a steaming plate on the table. "Hurry up, clean yourself, and get ready. School waits for no one!"
"Yes, Grandma." He dashed off to wash up, the aroma of fresh-baked sweetness—spiced with cinnamon and a hint of vanilla—pulling him back in record time.
Savitri watched him devour the cake, crumbs scattering like confetti across the table. *He's getting ready faster these days,* she noted silently, her fingers tightening slightly on her tea cup, a quiet sign of her own lingering worries eased by his growing resilience. "Now, it's time for school. Don't dawdle on the way."
"I'm heading out. See you in the afternoon. Bye!" Soma called, slinging his bag over his shoulder. The walk to school was a leisurely 30 minutes through quiet lanes lined with trees, their leaves rustling like whispered secrets—a far cry from the crowded buses and exhaust fumes of his old city life.
At school, the familiar faces of his friends greeted him. "Good morning, Tina. Where's Dev?"
"Behind you, birthday boy!" Dev's voice boomed with mock surprise, clapping Soma on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward with a laugh.
Tina and Dev were siblings, their bond as unbreakable as the lifelong friendship between their father and Soma's father, Arjun, which had tied their families together since childhood. Back when Soma visited his grandmother with his parents, the three kids had spent endless afternoons playing in the fields, chasing butterflies and sharing dreams under the vast sky. Now, in this new chapter of his life, they were his lifelines, pulling him through the fog of grief that had shrouded his first days at school after the accident.
"Take this," Tina said, thrusting two packets of Cadbury chocolates into his hands with a shy grin. "Your birthday gift from us. Don't eat them all at once—or do, it's your day."
"Thank you, guys." Soma's voice softened, his fingers lingering on the wrappers as memories surfaced: shared homework sessions under the old banyan tree, quiet walks home where they'd listen without judgment as he spoke of his loss, small acts that had chipped away at his isolation like sunlight melting frost.
The school day blurred by in a mix of lessons and laughter, though a math problem about hidden treasures made Soma's thoughts drift to half-remembered stories of his grandfather's adventures. In history class, as the teacher droned on about ancient explorers, Soma sketched a rough map in his notebook, his pencil strokes quick and eager, mirroring the spark his grandmother often mentioned. As the bell rang, Dev called out, "Hey Soma, let's walk home together! We can stop by the river and skip stones."
"Sorry, I have to head straight back today. Grandma's orders," Soma replied, waving apologetically, though a part of him longed for the detour.
"It's okay," Tina said with a grin, nudging her brother. "If you came with us, it'd add another 20 minutes anyway. Go enjoy your birthday—we'll celebrate properly tomorrow!"
"I promise, next time," Soma assured them, his steps quickening toward home, a bubble of excitement rising despite the day's ordinary rhythm, laced with the subtle thrill of turning another year older in this healing place.
"Welcome back, Soma," Savitri called as he entered, her voice carrying from the kitchen like a warm embrace. "Clean up and meet me in the garden. I have a surprise."
Freshened up and curious, Soma stepped into the backyard, the grass cool under his feet. "I'm here, Grandma! Where are you?"
"Happy birthday, Soma!" She emerged from behind a flowering bush, holding a homemade cake aloft like a treasured artifact. It was a deep chocolate base, crowned with swirling white cream and a single ripe strawberry perched on top—like a king's crown, regal and inviting, its glossy red surface catching the afternoon light. "I baked it myself. What do you think?"
"It's beautiful, Grandma," Soma breathed, his eyes wide with genuine delight. They sat together on the weathered garden bench, slicing into the cake, laughter bubbling up as the cream melted on their tongues, sweet and rich with a subtle tang from the strawberry. In moments like these, Soma wished time would freeze—these happy days a balm for his wounded heart, though the fruit's tart bite reminded him of life's sharper edges, the joys intertwined with quiet sorrows.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the garden, Savitri's expression turned reflective, her gaze softening with unspoken memories. "Soma, your smile... when I see it, I feel like I'm seeing your grandfather again."
Soma paused, fork midway to his mouth, the cake forgotten for a moment. "Grandpa? Tell me more about him."
Savitri's eyes sparkled with memories, her voice weaving tales not of fairy tales, but of a real-life adventurer, each word laced with affection and a touch of wistful longing. "Your grandfather was a kind man, a great father—and utterly mad in the best way." She leaned back against the bench, gazing at the horizon where the sky bled into orange hues. "He once spent a month in the Sahara Desert, surviving on dates and camel milk, chasing whispers of a lost city. Came back half-dead, skin blistered and eyes wild, but grinning like he'd found gold. Said he'd heard voices in the sand, guiding him—ancient echoes that no one else could hear."
Soma's lips twitched into a genuine smile, his fork clinking against the plate. "He sounds crazy."
"Oh, he was," she laughed, the sound light and melodic like wind chimes stirred by a breeze. "But the good kind—the kind that makes life bigger, more alive. He'd been everywhere: bitten by snakes in the Amazon that left scars like twisted maps on his arms, nearly drowned crossing raging rivers in the Himalayas where the water roared like thunder, arrested thrice for sneaking across borders with nothing but a backpack and a hunch, and once survived a fever in some forgotten jungle village that baffled every doctor. They called it a curse; he called it a riddle, one he solved with sheer will."
Soma listened, rapt, leaning forward as the stories unfolded like pages from a forbidden book. He'd never met his grandfather, who had passed before he was born, but through Savitri's words, he came alive—a whirlwind of fire, kindness, and unquenchable curiosity. It stirred something deep in Soma, a flicker of recognition, as if pieces of that spirit echoed in his own veins, urging him toward horizons beyond the garden's edge.
"You've got that in you too, beta," Savitri said softly, watching him with a knowing gaze, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "The spark. I see it when you tinker with that old computer upstairs or ask questions about the stars at night, your eyes wide with wonder."
"Me?" Soma looked up, surprised, a warmth blooming in his chest that chased away the lingering shadows of the day, making him feel seen in a way he hadn't since losing his parents.
The tales always circled back to one enduring mystery: his grandfather's collection. "He hoarded strange things," Savitri continued, her tone dipping into nostalgia laced with a hint of unease, her fingers twisting the edge of her sari. "Broken statues from ancient ruins that felt unnaturally cold to the touch, shards of pottery etched with forgotten scripts that seemed to shift in the light, maps leading to nowhere—or perhaps somewhere hidden, if you knew how to read them—and coins with symbols no scholar could decipher. Bizarre paintings that whispered secrets if you stared too long, pulling you into their depths. He spent a fortune on it all, pouring our savings into auctions and shady dealers, convinced each piece held a key to something greater, a puzzle spanning centuries."
Soma's eyes widened, his pulse quickening. "A fortune? On... junk?"
"That's what people call it now," she said with a bitter chuckle, her eyes clouding briefly with old regrets. "After he died, I tried selling some. No one wanted it—called it garbage, or worse, cursed. But to him, every piece was a story, a hidden world waiting to be unlocked. He guarded it like a dragon its hoard, locking it away from prying eyes."
Curiosity ignited in Soma like a flame cutting through fog, bright and insistent. "What happened to it all?"
"It's still here," Savitri replied, her gaze distant, voice dropping to a whisper as if the house itself might overhear. "Downstairs, in the storeroom. Locked away, gathering dust like forgotten dreams. I couldn't bear to part with it—he loved it too much. But sometimes, at night, I swear I hear... whispers from down there, faint and fleeting, like echoes from another time."
"Can I see it?" Soma asked, leaning forward, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and trepidation.
She shook her head gently but firmly, her hand squeezing his shoulder. "Not tonight, beta. It's late, and that room hasn't been opened in years—could be rats, spiders, or worse lurking in the shadows. Tomorrow, after school. In the daylight, when shadows can't play tricks and secrets reveal themselves more kindly."
He wanted to protest, the spark now a blaze roaring within him, but her kind eyes—filled with a protective love—silenced him. They finished dinner in companionable quiet, the clink of utensils and the distant call of evening birds filling the space, while Soma's mind buzzed with questions. What secrets hid in that collection? Was it truly junk... or something extraordinary, something that could bridge the gap between his past and a future brimming with possibility?
Up in his room, he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as moonlight filtered through the window, casting silvery patterns that danced like elusive spirits. The house creaked softly, as if whispering back in a language he almost understood. Sleep came slowly, his dreams filled with glowing relics and shadowed adventures, pulling him inexorably toward the locked door below. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.