Aarav lived in a middle-class apartment complex in New Delhi.
The building wasn't exactly modern, but it wasn't dilapidated either. Upon entering the main gate, there was a small lobby where residents would wait for the lift to reach their respective floors.
Aarav's flat was on the fourth floor.
Stepping out of the elevator led into a narrow corridor, at the end of which sat his home. A simple metal nameplate was fixed to the door:
"The Sharma Family."
Aarav pulled out his key and unlocked the door.
Click.
The door swung open to reveal the living room. It was modest—an old sofa, a small coffee table, and a television tucked into the corner.
Flanking the living room were two bedrooms: one belonged to Aarav, and the other to his parents. Beyond that lay a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a toilet.
There was also a balcony that offered a view of the busy road below. Usually, it was cluttered with laundry hung out to dry.
The residents weren't allowed on the building's rooftop; the management had enforced a strict rule against it.
"Safety reasons," the notice board stated. They feared children might have accidents if allowed up there. Consequently, access was only granted during construction or repair work.
Aarav stood in the balcony, staring out at the city.
Below, cars were lined up in a never-ending crawl. The constant blaring of horns echoed through the air, mixed with a light layer of smog.
He took a deep breath… and immediately broke into a light cough.
Pollution had always been a struggle for his lungs. Because of this, when he was six years old, he couldn't go out and play like the other kids. Back then, it was his mother who would stay inside and play games with him for hours.
That memory flashed through his mind for a fleeting second.
Aarav gripped the balcony railing tightly.
Now, all of that had been reduced to nothing but memories.
The next morning.
The school gates were swarming with students. Aarav walked in quietly and took his seat in the classroom.
Suddenly, someone rapped their knuckles on his desk.
"Bro."
Aarav looked up. It was Satyam.
"You came to school today?" Satyam asked.
"Hmm."
"How are you feeling?"
Aarav remained silent for a few seconds. Finally, he spoke:
"Just trying to be normal."
Satyam pulled up a chair and sat beside him. "You're not alone in this, you get it?"
Aarav gave a subtle nod.
During lunch break, the two stood in the school corridor. Satyam asked in a low voice, "You're still thinking about that flyover accident, aren't you?"
Aarav answered directly.
"I can't forget it."
"Because if that road had been built properly…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Satyam's tone turned serious. "What do you want to do?"
Aarav stared out at the city for a moment. Then, he whispered—
"I want to find the truth."School had ended, and Aarav and Satyam stood outside the building.
It was evening.
The usual Delhi traffic was in full flow—auto-rickshaws, cars, and bikes weaving through the lanes. The air was thick with the relentless blaring of horns.
Satyam adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "Heading home?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Mind if I tag along?" Satyam asked casually.
Aarav hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Come on."
A few minutes later, they reached Aarav's apartment complex. At the gate, the security guard was preoccupied with his newspaper.
Satyam looked up at the building. "This is my first time here," he remarked.
Aarav pressed the button for the lift. "It's not exactly an exciting place," he said with a faint, weary smile.
The lift doors slid open, and they stepped inside.
Fourth floor.
As they exited, a dim fluorescent tube light flickered in the corridor. Aarav unlocked the door to his home.
Click.
"Welcome to my boring house," Aarav said.
Satyam stepped into the living room and looked around. "It's not boring," he countered. "It's normal."
They both sat on the sofa. Silence stretched between them for a few seconds.
"How is your Dad?" Satyam asked softly.
Aarav's expression grew somber. "Exhausted."
"He was already tired from work... and now, even more so."
At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and Aarav's father stepped out. His face was etched with fatigue. He noticed Satyam.
"Namaste, Uncle," Satyam said politely.
"Namaste, beta," he replied with a weak smile. "You're Aarav's friend, right?"
"Yes, sir."
He turned his gaze toward Aarav. "I'm going to go lie down for a bit," he said quietly. "Have your dinner later."
Aarav simply nodded. His father retreated back into his room.
Satyam whispered, "Uncle looks really stressed."
Aarav walked over to the balcony. Below, the traffic lights on the road were blinking rhythmically.
"He's already struggled so much," Aarav said. "The pollution... the work pressure... and now..."
He couldn't finish the sentence.
Satyam came and stood beside him. "Sometimes, life is just unfair," he said.
Aarav stared out at the city. Through the thick smog, the streetlights looked blurred and hazy.
Then, he spoke in a low, firm voice—
"It's not life..."
"It's the system that's unfair."
Satyam looked at him. In that moment, he realized something within Aarav was shifting. This wasn't just grief anymore.
It was something else.
Perhaps anger. Perhaps determination.
Aarav gripped the railing.
"I really want to know what happened on that flyover," he said quietly.
The city's roar rose from below, but in that moment, a decision was slowly taking shape in Aarav's mind.