The fan creaked rhythmically above as the morning heat tiptoed into the Sharma household, already hinting at another dry, unforgiving Delhi day. Outside the windows, the cries of street vendors mixed with the chirping of sparrows hiding in neem trees. The apartment campus normally buzzing was still half-asleep. But the Sharma flat was gently stirring.
In the living room, Inspector Rajeev Sharma, already dressed in a plain shirt and jeans, zipped up his travel bag with the quiet efficiency of a man used to early departures. His moustache was freshly trimmed, and his eyes, though alert, held the weariness of a Delhi Police officer who finally got leave.
"You'll call when you reach, right?" Ankita asked, handing him his tiffin box and adjusting his collar like she always did.
"Of course," he replied with a tired smile. "And you don't let these two maniacs burn the house down."
"We heard that," came a groggy voice from the hallway.
Shivansh, tall and sharp-featured, stepped out scratching his head, his hair a mess of sleep. Behind him trailed Vedant, shorter, round-faced, and already clutching his phone.
"You sure you don't want to cancel and stay in this heatwave with us?" Shivansh joked.
Rajeev chuckled, patting both their backs. "Himalayas are calling, boys. Behave."
By 7:15, the SUV arrived with two of his friends honking below. They watched from the balcony as he waved one last time before the car disappeared down the lane, swallowed by dust and rising sunlight.
Breakfast was lazy leftover aloo parathas reheated in the microwave. Ankita was already grumbling about unfinished homework, pending grocery lists, and how the cooler needed servicing.
"Study first, then go play," she said, pointing her spatula like a sword.
"We'll do it after lunch!" Vedant said, already halfway out the door.
They were lying.
By 9:30 AM, the boys were outside, football in hand, the sun already beginning to press down hard. The apartment complex, with its aging towers and pebbled paths, was alive with the echoes of summer. Solar panels shimmered faintly atop each tower installed the previous year as part of the society's green upgrade. Combined with a sprawling rainwater harvesting pit near the back lawn, the campus had recently become the RWA's poster child for sustainable living.
"First to five goals!" shouted Vedant, running toward the playground.
"Only if you don't cry when you lose again!" Shivansh grinned, chasing after him.
As they played, the familiar sights of the campus came alive. Mrs. Rekha Sethi, the ever-watchful ex-principal, sat on her balcony with her husband, sipping chai and pretending not to eavesdrop.
From the corner gym bars, Parth Malhotra finished his reps, wiping sweat off his neck. He nodded at the boys with a half-smile that said, I remember being young too.
"Save some energy for Maths homework," he muttered.
Shivansh just gave him a salute and dribbled the ball past Vedant.
On a shaded bench, Imran Qureshi, a straight-backed retired army man, sat watching over little Shahida as she cycled slowly in the sun. Not far behind, the Verma twins, Nakul and Roshni, raced past on scooters, teasing each other with every turn.
Above them, a balcony curtain fluttered, and Zoya Siddiqui peered down, book in hand. She gave Shivansh a small nod before disappearing back inside.
Further down, Dinesh, the society's part-time sweeper and full-time gossip king, was watering the pavement.
"Boys! Don't forget the lemons your maa asked for!" he shouted.
"We forgot yesterday. Let's make it a tradition," Shivansh winked.
By the gate, Manoj bhaiya, the guard, sat shirtless inside the booth, a small fan buzzing beside him and a muted TV flickering news footage. He waved lazily.
"Everything peaceful, soldier?" Shivansh joked.
"Peaceful until someone parks in the wrong spot again," Manoj muttered, switching channels. Behind him, a reporter's face flashed briefly, speaking about something serious an unknown infection in another city but no one paid attention.
The sun was up now. Heat shimmered above the rooftops. Coolers growled. Laughter echoed from every direction.
Just another summer day. Until it wasn't.
By noon, the Delhi heat had turned from harsh to hostile. The roads outside the apartment campus shimmered with waves of heat, and the air smelled of melting rubber and dried leaves. Pigeons huddled under the water tanks on rooftops, their wings limp, as if even flying had become a burden.
Inside Flat 4B, the Sharma boys flopped onto the sofa like they'd fought a war.
"You stink," Ankita declared, arms crossed as she stood with a wet towel in one hand and a glass of Rooh Afza in the other.
"That's victory sweat," said Shivansh, shirt stuck to his back, hair a mess of effort and sun.
Vedant pulled off his socks like they were on fire. "We're champions. Legends."
"You're idiots," their mother shot back, throwing the towel at Shivansh's face. "Now go change. And don't touch the fridge with those hands."
On TV, a news channel flickered to life:
"Breaking: Officials in Madhya Pradesh report erratic behavior in several patients admitted with high fever and disorientation. The Health Ministry"
Vedant instantly grabbed the remote. Click. Cartoons.
"Enough of panic-porn," he said.
Shivansh smirked, but Ankita didn't look amused. "One day you'll regret not paying attention to the world."
Vedant shrugged. "If it's important, it'll reach our gate."
No one knew how true that was.
Outside, the apartment society had slowed to a crawl. The central courtyard, once buzzing with kids and evening walkers, was now nearly still. Only a few residents moved through the heat Shradha Pandey, dressed in pale blue cottons, sat beneath the gulmohar tree. Her eyes were closed, hands resting on her knees, breathing slow and controlled. Not for show but like someone trying to escape a buzzing in her head.
From the main gate, Aalia Ansari, the society's calm, sharp-eyed nursing intern, walked in briskly from the nearby hospital. Her brows were furrowed, phone glued to her ear. She didn't smile or greet anyone. Her white dupatta was crumpled like she'd been pulling at it.
"She looks like she saw a ghost," Shivansh muttered, watching from the balcony.
"Maybe she saw the electricity bill," Vedant joked.
From a floor above, Pooja Bansal began another of her chaotic live sessions. "Guys, I swear this heatwave is LITERALLY killing me! Look at this pure glow," she said, shoving her face up to the camera. Her voice echoed across three towers.
"Can we please ban Wi-Fi in this society?" Shivansh groaned.
Meanwhile, Ashok Tripathi, every society's favorite ranter uncle, was yelling at the maintenance guy downstairs. Again.
"Three hours, no power! Are you waiting for me to fry like a pakora?" he bellowed, sweat soaking through his undershirt.
Further off, Mrs. Gurleen Kaur stood outside her ground floor kitchen, chopping vegetables while fanning herself with a newspaper. "Tandoor ban gaya hai poora flat," she muttered. She waved at the boys lazily. "Grocery jaa rahe ho toh dhaniya le aana!"
Even Deepak Kohli, the society's resident drunk, had dragged a plastic chair under a shady tree and was drinking Lemon soda like a king. He was humming something a sad old Hindi song, off-key and full of nostalgia.
Life was still moving. Slower, softer, stickier. But beneath the familiar rhythm, something had shifted.
Shivansh's phone buzzed.
Papa: "Reached Garhwal safely. Beautiful weather here. No network from here on. Take care of mummy and Vedant. Love you."
Shivansh stared at the message for a few seconds, smiling faintly.
"He's reached," he told his mother.
"Good," Ankita said with a nod. "Now let's hope he doesn't forget to call once in two days."
By 4 PM, the house was quiet again. Vedant was snoring with a cushion over his face. Shivansh was half-watching cartoons and half-scrolling Instagram. A viral video showed a man in Jaipur biting a paramedic before collapsing. He scrolled past it.
In the guardroom downstairs, Manoj bhaiya was now fully focused on the news. He'd turned the volume up. The footage showed hospital chaos doctors screaming, patients thrashing. Some were restrained. Others had escaped.
But still, no alerts. No panic. Just heat, laziness, and the illusion of control.
The city hadn't noticed. The campus hadn't noticed.
But something had already entered the air.