Shivam stood near the railing, a chipped steel cup of tea in hand, watching the neighborhood ease into night, couples walking their dogs, uncle-aged joggers pretending it wasn't too hot, the occasional screech of a delivery scooter disappearing around the corner.
Behind him, his father stepped out, tugging his kurta straight as he leaned against the doorframe. No words at first. Just the familiar silence between two men who shared more resemblance in posture than conversation.
"You've been quieter lately," Jitender said finally, eyes fixed somewhere past the railing. "Even for you."
Shivam didn't look away from the street. "Not really. Just tired."
Jitender made a noise, something between a hum and a scoff. "Tired, huh. The kind of tired you get from running too fast or thinking too much?"
There was a pause.
Shivam took a sip of the tea. "Just… regular tired."
His father didn't push. He never did. But his presence lingered, the way it always did when he had something on his mind and wasn't sure how much to say. Eventually, he shifted the topic.
"They showed us some new gadgets today. From that SynerTech team." His voice was casual, but not unconcerned. "Some kind of crowd dispersal setup. Looked like a fancy deodorant can crossed with a taser."
Shivam finally glanced at him. "You mean like stun guns?"
"Worse. Or smarter, depending on how you see it. They're calling it 'non-lethal suppression foam.' Said it works with sensor-based triggers, reacts to elevated aggression, movement spikes. No gas, no injuries. Just… compliance."
"That's not real," Shivam muttered. "That's science fiction."
"Well, it's real enough to be stacked in our locker room. They even gave us a trial video. One protest drill, foam expands in four seconds, covers legs, hardens on contact, dissolves in ten minutes. Leaves no trace. Except maybe the fact that your body just got neutralized by industrial-grade slime."
Jitender tried to chuckle. It didn't land.
Shivam leaned back against the railing, frowning. "And that's legal now?"
His father shrugged. "Legal enough when it's got a government contract stamped on it."
A silence crept in again. Less comfortable this time.
Shivam's eyes dropped to his cup. "You ever feel like something's happening under the surface and we're just… brushing past it? Like we're all nodding along while the ground's shifting under our feet?"
Jitender looked at him. The porch light above them buzzed once. "I feel that every time a new file lands on my desk with fewer questions and more signatures."
Shivam cracked a tired smile. "That sounds about right."
His father reached out and gently tapped the steel cup in Shivam's hand. "You're not alone, you know. Even if you don't say things, I notice. You've been tense. Jumpy at night. Not sleeping."
Shivam hesitated. "It's not easy to explain."
"You don't have to," Jitender replied. "But don't carry it alone either. Whatever's in your head, dreams, thoughts, whatever, don't wait till it turns into something heavier."
Shivam nodded once, eyes down, unsure if he was more relieved or unsettled.
They stood like that for a while. Tea cooling. Crickets starting to buzz from somewhere behind the temple wall across the road. Downstairs, the security guard blew his first long whistle of the night shift.
Eventually, Jitender stretched his arms, bones cracking audibly. "Anyway. Lock the balcony when you're done. And don't sit out too late scrolling Insta reels. That algorithm is evil."
Shivam laughed softly. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be in soon."
His father stepped back inside. The door creaked shut.
Shivam stayed out a few minutes longer, head tilted back, eyes scanning the sky, not for stars, but for something else.
Something he couldn't name. Campus was a bit far from the school. The moment Shivam rolled into the gates, the chaos hit like a wave, louder voices, sharper honks, the faint scent of sweat, talcum powder, and paranthas clinging to the air.
Banners for coding clubs, cultural societies, political debates, and open-mic nights were peeling off from notice boards, some half-torn, some freshly pinned, each one screaming for attention.
A street vendor yelled about chai shots in kulhads while a Bluetooth speaker blared a remix of some 90s track near the canteen.
He parked near the rusted bike stand, the sun already warming the cracked seat of his CB 350. Students walked past him in lazy clusters, some laughing, some fighting sleep, others scrolling on their phones like the day hadn't even started yet. No one looked up. College life moved on a track of its own, indifferent to who'd had a good night's sleep or who'd dreamt of falling through clouds above a dying world.
Shivam made his way into the department building. The common noticeboard, a scratched glass frame beside the admin office, had new papers thumb-pinned to it, curling at the corners already. He spotted the one everyone was crowding around: SynerTech NGO Ridge Trip – Final Group Allocation. A single staple held together all eight pages; the list printed in small fonts like they didn't want students to read it too closely.
He weaved through the cluster and found his name fast, Group 7.
Right below: Bhumika.
His jaw tensed. A part of him had expected it. The other part still hoped it wouldn't happen. Of all the groups, of all the names, of course it had to be hers.
He stood there a few seconds longer than necessary, ignoring the buzz of students around him, some complaining about early call times, others joking about spotting leopards in the Ridge. Their noise faded behind the static building in his head.
Inside the classroom, the fans were spinning lazily, as if they too didn't care. Shivam took his usual seat in the third row, second from the wall, far enough from the front to be left alone.
The coordinator, an overworked faculty assistant with thick glasses and a voice far too chipper for the heat, was setting up the projector.
"This NGO trip is part of our ongoing collaboration with SynerTech," she began, adjusting the mic that wasn't connected to anything. "You'll be visiting the Ridge in coordinated batches. The objective is field exposure to conservation work and environmental tech. Each group will be accompanied by trained volunteers and NGO representatives. Attendance is compulsory, and assessment will be based on engagement, not grades."
Her words fell flat in the room, bouncing off tired faces.
"Wear full shoes. No crocs, sandals, or floaters. Bring water. Some lunch will be provided. Yes, you have to go. No, you can't swap groups. Yes, the buses will be air-conditioned. No, there's no refund for absentees."
Someone in the back muttered loud enough for others to hear: "Basically a picnic where we pretend to save the environment for credits."
Soft laughter followed, not because it was funny, but because it was true.
Shivam kept his eyes ahead. He didn't smile. The projector blinked once, then powered on, throwing the SynerTech logo across the faded whiteboard. Smooth lines, calming blue tones, a tagline that felt more like a brand promise than a real mission:
"Building Tomorrow Together." It was all too polished. Too neat.
Shivam's thoughts drifted. The Ridge wasn't some tourist eco-spot. He'd been near it before. It was dry forest, overgrown and oddly quiet. Strange trees that didn't grow straight, stone paths that looked like no one had touched them in decades.
Why would SynerTech, a tech conglomerate known for military-grade software and industrial AI, fund a forest field trip for undergrads?
He didn't like it.
Movement in the corner of his eye pulled him back.
Bhumika walked in. No dramatic entrance. Just her usual, pastel Kurti, bag slung across her shoulder, water bottle tucked in the mesh side pocket.
She walked past him without a glance and took a seat two rows ahead. Her hand went straight to her notebook, flipping it open. She underlined something on the handout like she already knew what to focus on.
She hadn't changed much. Still carried herself like she was watching everything, even when she pretended not to be part of it.
Around her, two students chuckled about running into snakes in the Ridge. Another joked about "eco selfies" getting them more likes than credits.
She didn't join in. Shivam leaned back slightly in his chair. His hand rested on the desk, fingers tapping slow and steady. He didn't look at her again, not directly. But her presence filled the space between them. Not loud, not obvious. Just… constant.
Outside the window, the Ridge stretched in the distance, a dark green blur between rising buildings, too close to ignore, too forgotten to be familiar.
Shivam's brow furrowed. Why Ridge? Why now? The bell rang. But the question stayed.