The badge sat on Aryan's desk like a coin no one wanted to pick up.He'd cleaned it, checked the back—nothing but a faded serial number.Circuit Global Services.Could've been from any security guard in Delhi, he told himself. The city had thousands. But the name burned in his head too perfectly.
He slid it into the small metal box where he kept old bus passes and a photograph of him and Jackal—grainy, half-torn, taken on a rooftop in Aleppo.Then he locked the box and tried to sleep.
He didn't.
The Next Morning
Delhi felt greyer than usual. The air smelled of dust and diesel; the news on the bus radio mentioned an accident near Lajpat Nagar. Ordinary chaos.
At school, the hallway chatter was back to normal subjects—assignments, cricket, someone's birthday party. But when Aryan entered class, the noise dipped for half a breath.They still looked. Not scared—just curious.
Aditya leaned over."Raghav's been quiet," he whispered. "Too quiet. You think he's planning something?"
Aryan shrugged. "People like him don't stay quiet. They wait."
Aditya tapped his pen nervously. "Just—be careful, okay?"
Observation
Third period: Physics.Aryan sat near the window. Outside, a man in a dark jacket leaned on a bike, talking on the phone. Nothing strange—except he'd been there during first period too.When the bell rang, Aryan stayed seated, watching. The man adjusted his cap, glanced up toward the classroom windows, and left.
Coincidence, maybe.But coincidence piled on coincidence starts to feel like design.
Canteen Talk
At lunch, Aditya and a few others argued over who'd win in a movie fight—Bruce Lee or Tony Jaa. Aryan listened quietly, half-smiling.Then a new student joined the table—tall, sharp eyes, transfer from another branch."Name's Kabir," he said. "Heard about the Ghost."
Aditya laughed awkwardly. "Bro, that rumour's already old."
Kabir looked at Aryan. "Funny thing about ghosts. They show up where trouble starts."
The tone was light, but the gaze wasn't. Aryan met it for a second, saw something measured—military posture, disciplined breathing. Not a normal schoolboy.
Kabir grinned suddenly. "Relax, yaar. Just joking." He left with his tray.
Aditya exhaled. "Weird guy."
"Yeah," Aryan said. But inside, a quiet alertness clicked on.
After School
Aryan walked home instead of taking the bus. The late-afternoon city was loud—vendors shouting, scooters weaving, kids chasing a football near the pavement. He liked the noise; it covered thought.
At a red light, he saw the same man from the morning—the one with the bike—parked across the road. Talking to someone. When Aryan turned, the man looked away too fast.
He took a different route, cutting through a narrow lane behind a stationery shop. A mirror fragment on a wall let him see without turning his head.The man followed for half a block, then stopped, pretended to check his phone.
Circuit?Maybe. Maybe just Delhi paranoia.He kept walking until the street opened to main traffic again.
Evening
At home, he closed the curtains, sat by the window.In the distance, a dog barked; pressure cookers hissed. The normal rhythm of houses.He opened the box again, took out the badge. Ran a thumb over the metal edge until it bit skin lightly.
Jackal's voice floated back from memory:
"If they ever come looking, don't fight first.Watch. Learn the pattern. Then decide."
Aryan looked out the window again. Across the lane, under the dim streetlight, the man with the bike was back—helmet off now, cigarette burning small and red.He wasn't hiding. He was waiting.
Aryan exhaled slowly.Tomorrow he'd find out who Kabir really was.And whether the ghost in Delhi was being hunted by the living—or by his own past.