Dhruv plopped down on the edge of the broken sidewalk, dust poofing up around him like a defeated warrior in a battlefield. He leaned back, rubbed his temples, and let out a soul-weary sigh. "Haaaaa..." The city around him buzzed with life—scooter horns beep-beeping, chai vendors shouting prices, someone arguing about coriander prices way too aggressively with a dramatic thud of a vegetable basket.
"I guess we have to take the three-wheeled chariot without a horse pulling it then…" Gorgo said with complete seriousness, peering dramatically into the distance like a prophet.
Dhruv blinked. "...You mean a rickshaw, dumbass?"
"Ah yes. That's what you mortals call it," Gorgo replied, nodding like he'd just discovered electricity. Nod. Nod.
Dhruv rolled his eyes. "And who the hell is going for pay that?"
Gorgo blinked innocently. "Of course, not me. I'm broke."
A crow cawed in the background. Caw! Caw!
Dhruv stared at him.
"...And I own a multi-billionaire business, right?"
The two of them sighed in unison—Ffffft—dramatic as hell, both turning their faces to the sky like the gods themselves had cursed their wallets.
Somewhere in the background, an auto-rickshaw zoomed past with the driver headbanging to a remix of "Choli ke peeche kya hai." A dog chased it for no reason, barking woof-woof! with full conviction.
"I swear," Dhruv muttered, "at this rate, I'll die of exhaustion before these 90 damn days are up."
Gorgo, completely unbothered, pulled out a pair of perfectly square glasses with a theatrical shwip! and also revealed a tiny notebook titled "Mortal Death Countdown – v1.03" with a pen that had a tiny goat skull charm dangling off it, going clink clink.
He licked the tip of the pen (even though it was a ballpoint) with a loud schlick, flipped a few pages with an exaggerated flip-flip, and said matter-of-factly:
"To be exact... you now have 88 days, 3 hours, and... twenty-nine minutes."
Dhruv just stared at him.
Gorgo grinned. Grin~
A group of pigeons flew overhead and pooped three feet away from them with PLOP! PLOP! PLOP! sounds—missing Dhruv by an inch.
Dhruv didn't even flinch. "Perfect. Even birds have better aim than my fate."
Gorgo closed the notebook with a smug snap! and tucked it away like a mission log. "Come on, bro. Let's walk. Builds character."
Dhruv muttered under his breath, "So does punching you."
As they trudged forward like two broke philosophers with no direction and no wallet, an old rickshaw passed them slowly. The driver gave them a judgmental stare as if he could smell their poverty. Vrrrooooommm... squeaaak...
After two hours of walking, weaving through narrow lanes, sidestepping puddles, and navigating the steady noise of honking rickshaws and vendors calling out their wares, Dhruv and Gorgo finally arrived.
They stopped just outside the rusted gate of "Shanti Nivas Orphanage", its name painted in faded blue above a slightly cracked arch. The yard beyond was quiet, shaded by a few old neem trees and lined with a low boundary wall covered in peeling posters.
Thud.Plop.
Both of them dropped down onto the small stone platform at the base of the gate. They leaned on each other's shoulders, gasping for breath, sweat clinging to their faces and clothes.
Huff… puff…
Gorgo wiped his forehead with his sleeve, exhaling sharply."Huhhh… huhhh… Is this the place you were talking about?" he asked, barely managing to get the words out between breaths.
Dhruv didn't answer at first—just gave a weak nod, still catching his breath. His legs stretched out in front of him, dusty from the long walk.
A quiet breeze passed through the leaves above them with a gentle rustle, and somewhere nearby, a dog barked once and went silent again.
As they sat there, a little boy walked past the gate, staring at them curiously before heading back inside without a word.
Gorgo glanced at Dhruv."So, uh… by the way shouldn't we go in?"
Dhruv muttered under his breath, "Let me just feel my legs again first."
The orphanage door creaked slightly in the wind.
The rusty iron gate groaned in protest as Dhruv gently pushed it open. Clink… clank… ting! echoed the old chain hanging loosely on one side. The paint had long since peeled off—now it was a skeleton of what once guarded a sanctuary for the forgotten.
Dhruv paused, his hand resting against the cool, rusted surface. He didn't speak. His fingers, slightly trembling, moved slowly across the chipped iron as if trying to read memories buried in the flaking metal. His eyes, once always quick to grin or mock, were dimmer now—distant. Pools of heavy brown, ringed with fatigue and something deeper. Pain, maybe. Or guilt.They didn't just reflect the building. They remembered it.
He whispered something too softly for even the wind to catch.
Then, tap… tap… tap…, he stepped forward.
The path was cracked stone, half-eaten by weeds and wild grass. Along its edges, faded chalk drawings peeked out—ghosts of old games played by tiny feet, hopscotch squares now interrupted by nature. A worn-out tire swing dangled from a leafless tree nearby, swaying just slightly in the gentle breeze. Creak… creak…
Gorgo walked beside him now, boots crunching against gravel. He glanced around, wide-eyed.
"Hey…" he said, trying to sound casual but quiet. "So this is your grandma's orphanage, huh?"
Dhruv's gaze was still fixed ahead, but something softened in his face.
He nodded.
Dhruv glanced at him, and for the first time in hours, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips."Yeah," he replied. "She managed everything here."
They approached the main building—its old yellow walls faded, vines curling around the edges like time reclaiming what once belonged.
"So…" Gorgo asked, scanning the building's weather-worn facade. "After she passed, who took over managing this place?"
Dhruv slowed near the door. He reached out, brushed his hand against the old wooden panel that held a child's faded handprint in blue paint.
He turned slightly, just enough for Gorgo to see a hint of amusement flicker in his eyes—something light peeking through the storm.
"Who said Grandma ran this place all by herself?"His lips curled into a brief smile. Not one of joy—more of pride. And memory.
That caught Gorgo off guard.
Before he could reply, knock knock knock—Dhruv's knuckles tapped gently against the door, not out of force… but respect.
And somewhere inside, the echoes reached walls that hadn't heard his touch in five long years.
-TO BE CONTINUED