Krishna was still sitting in the waiting area, watching the newsroom move in its restless rhythm.
Evening pressure hadn't gone away. Phones were still ringing. Voices were still sharp. Screens kept changing faster than he could follow.
He was trying to understand where he would belong in all of this.
"Abhi bhi dekh rahe ho?"
Krishna turned.
Kapil stood beside him.
Krishna immediately got up.
"Sir."
Kapil glanced once toward the floor, then back at him.
"Relax," he said. "Yahan khade rehne se koi senior nahin ban jaoge."
Krishna wasn't sure whether to smile, so he didn't.
Kapil pulled a chair slightly and sat, not like a boss calling someone, but like someone explaining how things worked.
"Tum soch rahe hoge ki tumhe abhi tak koi kaam kyun nahin diya," Kapil said.
Krishna stayed quiet.
"Yahan pehle din kisi ko race mein nahin daalte," Kapil continued.
"Pehle log team ko samajhte hain. System ko samajhte hain. Kaun kya karta hai, kaise karta hai."
He gestured lightly toward the newsroom.
"Kal se tumhara ek mahine ka trial start hoga."
Krishna straightened slightly.
"As a photographer. Reporting nahin. Abhi nahin."
Krishna nodded.
Kapil then pointed across the floor, slightly toward the left side where a cluster of desks had multiple camera bags, tripods resting against partitions, and two people reviewing raw footage on a larger screen.
"Wahan dekh rahe ho?" Kapil said.
"Wahi tumhari team hai. Visual desk."
Krishna followed his hand.
One person was cleaning a lens carefully. Another was arguing over framing in a paused clip.
"Kal subah sabse pehle unse milna," Kapil said.
"Introduce hona. Equipment samajhna. Kaise kaam hota hai observe karna. Koi jaldi nahin hai, par dhyan se dekhna."
A small pause.
"Yeh favour nahin hai," Kapil added.
"Process hai. Ground se start karoge toh hi samjhoge ki news kaise banti hai."
Krishna replied quietly,
"Understood, sir."
Kapil stood up.
"Good. Aaj ka din khatam samjho. HR se ID collect kar lena jaate hue."
He took two steps, then added without turning—
"Kal late mat hona. Visual team wait nahin karti."
Krishna gave a firm nod.
"Ji."
Kapil walked away, already slipping back into work.
Krishna looked once more toward that section of the floor.
That was where he would begin.
Not as a reporter.
Not yet.
But as someone who had to learn to see before he could tell.
Tomorrow wouldn't be about watching the newsroom anymore.
It would be about becoming part of it.
Krishna watched Kapil disappear into the moving rush of the newsroom, then slowly turned and walked out of the waiting area.
The corridors felt quieter here. Office doors, nameplates, muted conversations, the low hum of air-conditioning. He stopped at the administration desk, signed a register, and collected his ID card.
He held it for a moment.
His name.
His photo.
News 24.
Official.
He slipped it carefully into his wallet and stepped outside.
---
The evening heat wrapped around him instantly.
By the time he reached Uncle Shyam's lane, his shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat. His steps slowed as the house came into view.
Then he stopped.
An auto rickshaw stood outside the gate.
The gate was open.
Krishna frowned.
He stepped closer.
And froze.
A suitcase was being lifted into the auto.
His suitcase.
Another bag already lay inside.
For a moment, his mind refused to understand what he was seeing. He blinked once… twice… as if the scene might rearrange itself.
It didn't.
On the veranda, Uncle Shyam stood straight, one hand resting on the railing, watching the auto driver adjust the luggage.
Inside the house, behind the thin curtain of the front window—
Shanti stood still.
Her fingers held the curtain edge tightly. She hadn't stepped outside. She hadn't spoken. Her eyes remained fixed on Krishna's bag… then on the gate… then on Krishna himself as he finally broke into a run.
"Uncle!"
Krishna rushed forward, breath already uneven from the heat and the sudden panic. Gravel crunched under his feet. Sweat ran into his eyes.
Uncle Shyam had seen him coming from a distance.
He didn't move.
He didn't step forward.
He simply waited.
Krishna reached the gate and stopped in front of him, chest heaving, shoulders rising and falling rapidly.
For a second he couldn't speak.
His eyes darted from the auto… to the suitcase… to Uncle Shyam's face.
"Abhi… a… aap… yeh kya kar rahe hain…?" he managed, voice shaking.
He pointed toward the auto, fingers trembling.
"Maine kaha tha na… main kiraya is mahine ke end tak de dunga… phir aap yeh sab… kyun…?"
His breath came in short bursts.
"Yeh… kya ho raha hai…?"
Uncle Shyam didn't answer immediately.
His gaze stayed steady, but his jaw tightened slightly. One hand slowly clasped the other behind his back… as if holding himself still.
Inside the house, Shanti's grip on the curtain tightened.
Her lips parted… but no sound came out.
Krishna's voice rose, confused, hurt, almost pleading—
"Uncle… boliye na…?"
The auto engine idled softly beside them.
The curtain shifted slightly in the window.
And the silence between the three of them grew heavy enough to feel.
Uncle Shyam finally moved.
He stepped down from the veranda slowly and came to stand right in front of Krishna. Close enough that Krishna could see the faint lines near his eyes… and how tightly his jaw was set.
For a moment, he just looked at him.
Then he spoke.
"Yeh mera ghar hai," he said flatly.
"Main jisko rakhoon ya na rakhoon… yeh meri marzi hai."
A pause.
"Aur main tumhe nikal raha hoon… to nikal raha hoon."
The words landed hard.
Krishna's fists tightened instantly. His fingers curled into his palms until the knuckles turned pale. His chest rose sharply as anger surged up his throat.
He took a deep breath.
Slow. Heavy.
He knew… shouting wouldn't help. Uncle Shyam wasn't a man who changed his decision because of emotion. And whatever he said now… it would sound like a boy arguing, not someone being heard.
Uncle Shyam continued, voice still controlled, still firm.
"Maine kuch soch kar hi tumhe yahan se bhej raha hoon," he said.
"Ab tum Krishna Colony mein rahoge."
Krishna blinked.
Uncle Shyam went on as if explaining something routine.
"Wahan mera ek dost rehta hai. Uske ghar mein ek kamra khaali hai. Filhaal ke liye wahan chale jao."
Krishna just stared at him.
Shock and anger twisted together inside him.
He was being thrown out… and arranged somewhere else… at the same time.
It didn't make sense.
Inside the house, behind the window, Shanti stood frozen.
Her eyes moved between Krishna's face… and Uncle Shyam's back. Her lips trembled slightly, but she didn't step outside. She didn't interrupt. Her hand stayed pressed against the curtain, gripping it tightly… like letting go would make something break completely.
Outside, Uncle Shyam reached into the pocket of his kurta.
He pulled out a folded bundle of notes.
Without ceremony… without explanation… he slipped it into the pocket of Krishna's shirt.
Krishna stiffened.
"Yeh do mahine ka advance kiraya hai," Uncle Shyam said quietly.
"Aur tumhara security deposit bhi de diya hai."
His voice did not soften.
"Wahan kam se kam chaar mahine reh sakte ho."
Then, after a brief pause—
"Ab yahan se chale jao."
The auto engine hummed beside them.
Krishna didn't move.
His fists were still clenched. His breathing still uneven. His eyes searching Uncle Shyam's face… as if trying to find something… anything… that didn't look like a final decision.
Behind the curtain… Shanti closed her eyes for a moment.
But outside—
Nothing changed.
The decision had already been made.
No one spoke when the auto engine started.
The sound felt louder than it actually was.
Krishna sat stiffly in the back seat, his suitcase pressed beside him. The metal frame rattled as the auto rolled forward.
Slowly… the house began to move away.
He didn't turn immediately.
Then… almost involuntarily… he looked back.
The gate.
The veranda.
The window—
The curtain moved slightly.
Shanti stood there.
Watching.
The auto turned the corner.
The house disappeared.
Krishna faced forward again.
---
Evening had begun to settle over the city.
The sun hung low, a dull orange disc slipping behind rows of crowded buildings. Light stretched long across the road, breaking against moving vehicles, flickering across windshields and mirrors.
Traffic had thickened.
Auto horns snapped sharply. Motorbikes squeezed through narrow gaps. Buses groaned forward in short, impatient bursts. Vendors called out from the roadside. Someone dragged a cart across the lane, forcing vehicles to slow, then surge again.
Warm air pushed through the open side of the auto, carrying dust, petrol fumes, and the fading heat of the day.
Everything moved.
Everything sounded alive.
Inside the auto—
Nothing moved.
Krishna sat still, hands resting on his knees, gaze unfocused.
After a few minutes, something struck him suddenly.
He leaned forward slightly.
"Bhaiya…" ,his voice came out dry.
"Yeh… Krishna Colony… kahan hai?"
The driver glanced at him through the mirror.
"Saab ne bataya tha," he said casually.
"Seedha main road, phir left cut. Pahunch jayenge. Tension mat lo."
Krishna leaned back slowly.
Of course.
Everything had already been decided.
The auto rolled forward with the traffic… swallowed by the noise… the fading light… and the city that kept moving without pause.
END OF THE CHAPTER