Aralyn followed Mukul silently through the dimly lit corridors of the Raichand residence. It was late, and most of the house had retired into silence, but Mukul walked with quiet determination. His steps carried a heaviness, as if he were about to share a part of himself that he had long guarded.
When they reached his room, Mukul pushed open the door without ceremony.
At first, Aralyn's eyes were drawn to the shelves lined with books, sketches, and models—evidence of a brilliant mind that touched everything from law to art, medicine to mechanics. But then her gaze shifted.
And she froze.
The Timer
Against the far wall stood a screen that dominated the room. It wasn't a decoration or a piece of technology for convenience. It was a clock.
Bold, merciless digits glowed across the screen:
18 years, 7 months, 4 days, 15 hours, 47 minutes, 36 seconds.
And the numbers kept ticking.
Aralyn's breath caught. "This is…"
Mukul's voice cut in, quiet but unyielding. "The timer of separation."
The Meaning of Every Second
He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the relentless digits."This is how long it has been since my mother lost her children. Since I lost my brothers and sisters. Since our family shattered."
His hand brushed the edge of the screen. "We built this together, my mother and I. To remind ourselves… that time doesn't forgive. That every second we waste is another second stolen from us."
Aralyn felt her chest tighten. The timer wasn't just counting years. It was counting grief, longing, and promises unfulfilled.
The Rule of Time
She whispered, "You've lived with this… every day?"
Mukul gave a faint nod. "Every morning when I open my eyes, it's the first thing I see. Every night before I sleep, it's the last. My mother—she hasn't rested properly in eighteen years. And neither have I. Time rules us, Aralyn. Every tick reminds us of what we lost… and what we still need to find."
Aralyn moved closer, staring at the digits. The glow reflected in Mukul's eyes, making him look both older and younger than his years—an eighteen-year-old boy carrying a burden far beyond his age.
Aralyn's Realization
She finally understood. Mukul wasn't just a prodigy of knowledge, combat, and discipline. He was a child raised under the shadow of a clock, trained by absence, shaped by longing, and defined by a promise his mother had never broken.
Her voice softened. "Mukul… this timer doesn't just count separation. It also counts endurance. Every second here means you and your mother never gave up. That matters."
For a moment, silence lingered between them. Then, slowly, Mukul turned his head toward her. The faintest trace of gratitude flickered in his eyes, though the weight on his shoulders remained.
The timer ticked on.
47 minutes, 59 seconds.48 minutes, 00 seconds.
Unstoppable. Unforgiving. But no longer unseen.