The koel's call drifted in from the neem tree outside, slipping past the mesh of the window grill and mixing with the soft hiss of the pressure cooker in the kitchen.
Somewhere on the street, a bicycle bell rang twice, followed by the grumble of an autorickshaw turning too sharply. Shivam stirred beneath his sheet, his hands twitching ever so slightly before he jolted awake chest rising like he'd surfaced from underwater.
His body was back. But his mind still lingered somewhere else.
The vision always returned with perfect clarity, Adhivita's voice, raw and breathless, calling out to him across the crumbling floating City. Her Noctirum energy whip shattered in her grip, her eyes meeting his just before the Space-time Ripper Explosion.
Navik's shriek still echoed in his ears, a metallic howl from a dying machine wrapped in ambition. They had soared through the upper atmosphere, the clouds thinning until the stars showed through.
The blue curve of Earth hung beneath them, distant and fragile. Shivam had held on, watched Navik fall, and then turned just in time to see the last ripple in space before they shattered the ripper.
That final flash of white light always burned the longest.
He sat up slowly, breath heavy, wiping sweat from his neck. A shaft of sun cut across his bedsheet, landing on the open pages of a half-read textbook.
On the desk, a worn copy of Tensors & Vectors sat beneath his old ID card, and above it, a drawing tacked to the wall, a handmade drawing of Navik's last known form, red-ink lines circling his weak points.
But it wasn't Navik that held his gaze. Below it, half-obscured by yellowed tape, was a photo of Bhumi. Casual, unposed, from a school trip. Something about the curve of her jaw, the softness in her expression, it pulled him straight back to Adhivita. Or maybe Adhivita had always been a shadow of her.
The door thumped open. "Still dreaming about the hot warrior Princess or the alien looking Villain?" Dikshant stood in his half-buttoned school shirt, one sock on, waving a tie like a victory flag.
Shivam rubbed his eyes. "I don't dream. I relive."
"Whatever helps you sleep, man. Just don't forget to drop me at the metro this time, I've got a physics test and I'd prefer not to die in auto traffic."
Their mother's voice floated in from the kitchen. "And if either of you leaves without breakfast again, don't bother coming back. I'll lock the gate."
Shivam pulled on his T-shirt and moved to the basin to wash his face. "Karela again?"
"Nope," Dikshant replied, grabbing his bag. "Worse. Lauki."
"Then I'm skipping. Tell dad I love him and Lauki killed me."
"Coward."
The bike keys were already in his hand when he stepped out. The Honda CB 350 sat parked like a sun-worn warhorse, one mirror cracked, the tank still gleaming from Sunday's polish. It wasn't fast, but it was his. Half paid by odd jobs, the rest silently covered by his father, no questions asked.
As he slid the helmet on, his eyes flicked one last time to the wall. The photo of Bhumi hadn't moved. But something in his chest did. A pull. A dissonance. As if part of him still hadn't landed.
Maybe it never would. The traffic outside North Campus was a familiar mess, DTC buses inching ahead with their horns blaring, autos squeezing through impossible gaps, a street dog barking at a guy on a skateboard.
Shivam filtered through the crowd on his CB 350, easing past vendors frying bread pakoras, students in oversized Kurtas, and walls plastered with QR codes for fest tickets and tutoring gigs. The air smelled like melted tar and butter paranthas, with a hint of perfume from someone walking by too close.
He parked near the usual corner, a dusty patch between two colleges where their group had started meeting last semester. It wasn't really a park, more like a triangular leftover plot with one sad bench and a neem tree. But it was theirs.
Naina reached first. She had her bow case slung behind her like a regular backpack and pulled out a cold drink from her tote. Ponytail neat, eyes alert, she always looked like she'd just come back from beating someone in a campus debate or a surprise archery round. She raised an eyebrow as Shivam approached.
"Late again?"
He shrugged. "Bike wouldn't start."
"Your bike doesn't like you, bro. You're always kicking it like you're starting a generator."
Before he could reply, the familiar sound of an Activa came cutting through the noise, Aanchal, in her usual drama. She parked a little too close to a dustbin, holding two iced coffees like it was a life mission.
"Saved you from dehydration," she announced, handing one to Shivam. "Also, I nearly hit a cat, but it ran faster than my scooty, so we're good."
Naina squinted. "You parked half on the footpath again, didn't you?"
"Chill Naina, I left space for people. I'm not an Idiot."
Shivam shook his head. "You said that last time, and someone's footpeg got Broken."
"Minor detail."
Aman arrived a few minutes later, walking in from the bus stop. His earphones hung loose around his neck, phone in his hand. Calm as ever, wearing the same worn shoes and that faded T-shirt with a cracked logo.
"Why do I feel like you all started roasting each other before I got here?"
"Because we did," Naina said, popping her drink open. "And you're next."
Aman just nodded, sitting on the stone ledge. "Nice. Carry on."
The group settled in their usual circle, legs crossed, bags dumped, voices blending with the noise of students passing by. Conversations bounced between random professors, upcoming assignments, and the guy in B. Com who kept posting sad poetry on Instagram about failing CAT mock tests.
"Also," Aanchal said, lowering her voice and grinning, "you and Bhumi in the same class again? What's going on there?"
Shivam didn't look up. "Nothing's going on."
Naina nudged her iced cup at him. "Bit of a pattern, don't you think? Same course, same college, same section?"
He sighed. "She transferred this semester. I didn't know until orientation."
Aman raised an eyebrow. "You think she did it intentionally?"
"I don't know," Shivam said. "Just feels too... I don't know. Convenient."
"Maybe the universe is trolling you," Naina said.
"Or maybe she just wanted a better lab," Aanchal added. "We act like people don't switch colleges all the time."
Shivam didn't argue. But he also didn't laugh. There was a weight to the silence after, one no one called out. Something about Bhumi's presence still didn't sit right with him.
He stared at the cracked pavement under his shoes. The world around them had changed, sure. New colleges, new lives. But some things, the undercurrent of unfinished stories, those hadn't gone anywhere.
The café crowd thinned around them as the sun climbed higher, and the buzz of campus activity picked up. Someone's Bluetooth speaker was playing old Honey Singh remixes.
An autorickshaw driver honked twice and yelled at a kid on a cycle who cut in front of him. The group sat a little longer, their cups empty, the shade from the neem tree now shifting slowly toward the parking side.
"I've got lab in fifteen," Naina said, brushing crumbs from her kurta. "If I miss this one, Gupta ma'am will take my internal marks and burn them in front of me."
"Tell her you were saving Delhi from interdimensional threats," Aman said, standing up and stretching his shoulders.
"Yeah, and she'll say that's still no excuse for a missing practical file."
Aanchal checked her phone, winced. "Damn. My class started ten minutes ago. Worth it, though."
"You always say that," Shivam muttered, standing beside his bike again. "And then ask for notes from you classmates."
"Sharing is caring."
They split up with casual waves and half-jokes about surviving the day. Shivam watched them go, Naina walking toward her college gates, bow case swinging behind her; Aman disappearing into the crowd near the bus stop, already tuning into some podcast again; Aanchal zipping off on her Activa, one hand holding her helmet instead of wearing it.