Maarg hated PT. Running laps in the scorching sun while the coach barked orders was not his idea of a productive afternoon. So, instead of enduring another grueling session, he had found refuge in the school washroom, sitting comfortably in the corner stall, playing Hunter's Odyssey on his mobile. Lost in the thrill of the game, he barely noticed the passing time until an irritated voice broke his focus.
"Skipping PT again, Maarg?"
He looked up to see Remmy, the class discipline in-charge, his arch nemesis standing at the entrance of the washroom. Her arms were crossed, and her expression was one of mild irritation mixed with the usual disapproval she reserved for rule-breakers like him.
"Relax, Remmy," Maarg sighed, not looking away from his screen. "It's not like I'm missing something important."
"You're unbelievable," she huffed. "You know Coach Smith's going to kill you, right?"
"Only if he finds out," Maarg smirked, not realizing how wrong he was.
Their argument escalated quickly—Remmy's insistence on reporting him versus Maarg's carefree attitude. Just as Maarg was about to throw in another sarcastic comment, the PT coach stormed into the washroom, his face red with frustration.
"Sharma!" Coach Bart's voice boomed, cutting through the tension. "Out, Now and Remington? What are you doing here? get out of the boys washroom"
Maarg gulped as he followed the coach to the office. Remmy's smug expression didn't help. The penalty slip handed to him felt heavier than it should have.
"Get this signed by your parents," the coach ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Maarg stuffed the slip into his pocket, groaning internally and cursing remmy in his mind. This was going to be a nightmare.
***
Meanwhile, Jack, Maarg's roommate was having a much better day. He had woken up early, cleaned his tiny room, and even rearranged the books on his desk since his crush and collage friend Sammy was coming over to work on their animation project, and Jack wanted everything to be perfect.
When Sammy arrived, she was her usual solemn self. Dressed casually with her hair tied back, she greeted Jack with a warm smile.
"Wow, you actually cleaned up?" she teased, giving the room an approving glance.
"Hey, I'm not a slob," Jack replied with a chuckle. "Just... selectively messy."
They dove straight into their work, losing track of time as ideas bounced between them. Brainstorming, thumbnails and storyboards filled the space between them. Hours flew by unnoticed until a sudden, loud knock on the door interrupted their flow.
"I'll get it," Sammy offered, standing up.
Before Jack could respond, the door flew open, hitting Sammy squarely in the face and knocking her backward.
"Oops," Maarg said, stepping in casually as if nothing had happened. Sammy groaned on the floor, holding her nose.
"Maarg? What the hell!" Jack exclaimed, rushing to help Sammy.
But Maarg was unfazed. He walked straight past them, holding out the penalty slip.
"Jack, can you sign this? Pretend you're my guardian."
Jack looked at the slip, then at Sammy, who was still recovering from the unexpected assault.
"Maarg... not now," Jack muttered, annoyed. "And you should apologize to Sammy."
But before Jack could say anything else, Maarg was already gone.
"Oh man, who tf was that? Is THAT the gremlin roommate you talked about?." Sammy asks with an irritated face.
Jack sighs and says tiredly "more or less, he's my landlord's son who lives in the room across mine. Anyway forgot that, are you doing alright? You should rest for a while, I'll have to go talk some sense into that boy." Jack cracks his knuckles as he gets out of the room
Maarg sat at the dining table, heating the leftover rajma rice while his mother folded laundry nearby. She glanced at him with a mix of affection and concern.
"Maarg, you can't keep skipping classes like this," his mother said, her voice a mix of affection and concern, while her hands moves folding a shirt, her movements precise.
He mumbled something about school being boring, his eyes fixed on the leftover rajma rice he was heating.
"Your brother Amar didn't waste his time like this when he was in school," she reminded him.
"Yeah, because big brother was a science prodigy," Maarg muttered, the words barely audible.
"Speaking of Amar, he sent you something for your birthday," she said, her tone softening as she produced a brown cardboard box with a shipping label and placed it on the table.
Maarg's head snapped up. "What? Isn't big brother coming home for my birthday?"
His mother's shoulders slumped slightly. Maarg pulls out the rajma rice out of the microwave and he continued to hear what his mother was saying. "He called. He said he won't be able to be home for a while because of some important work." A flicker of sadness crossed her face.
Maarg's face fell. He pushed the bowl of rajma away, the comforting smell now unappealing. "Again?" he said, his voice flat. "He's always too busy. I guess important work is more important than his own family."
His mother sighed, her hands stilling on the laundry. "Maarg, that's not fair. You know how hard he works. This is his career, his dream."
"His dream to be a ghost, you mean?," Maarg retorted, a bitter edge to his voice. "He promised me he'd be here this year."
"He knows he broke his promise," she said gently. "That's why he sent you a gift. He loves you, Maarg. He really does."
Maarg didn't respond. He got up from the table picked up the parcel and walked toward his room, leaving the untouched food behind. The birthday he had been looking forward to suddenly felt like just another day. He heard his mother call his name, but he kept walking, the weight of his brother's absence settling in his chest.
Maarg's face twisted with a bitter anger as he walked toward his room. He clutched the parcel, the crinkling cardboard a tangible focus for his frustration. He had intended to grab the rajma rice and eat in his room, but his rage had him mindlessly holding the gift instead. He shoved his door shut with his foot and dropped the parcel on his bed.
'The gift better be cool,' he muttered to himself, 'or once I find him, I'll kick him real hard.' He tore at the cardboard, the violent sound matching his mood. Cardboard flew across the room as he assaulted the package, his hands moving with a raw, almost desperate energy.
Inside, beneath layers of tissue paper, was a small, smooth glass bottle. It looked like something from a pharmacy, filled with tiny blue capsules that shimmered electric blue in the afternoon light. Tucked beside it was a folded note. Maarg's anger deflated slightly, replaced by a surge of curiosity.
He unfolded the note, his brow furrowing. This wasn't like Amar's other letters. His brother's handwriting was usually a neat, stylized script, but this was different. The words were printed in a simple, default font, cold and impersonal. Maarg's stomach tightened with a new, unsettling emotion as he read the message.
"Take one every day, Maarg. You need to stay strong while I'm away. I'll be home soon. Stay out of trouble. – Amar"
Maarg's lips curled into a surprising, knowing smile as he carefully extracted a single capsule from the small, glass bottle. It wasn't the bitter smile of anger anymore, but one of genuine, private delight. The capsule was translucent, a tiny vessel that offered a tantalizing glimpse of its contents. Inside, a vibrant, cerulean blue fluid was suspended, frozen as if time itself had paused within its glassy walls.
To anyone else, it might have looked like some strange, futuristic multivitamin. But to Maarg's delusional mind, this wasn't medicine—it was a super serum. His brother, Amar, was a microbiologist, and for as long as Maarg could remember, he'd imagined Amar's lab as a secret lair where he performed science mumbo jumbo to create fantastic potions and elixirs. This was it, the real deal. Amar hadn't just sent him a birthday gift; he had sent him power.
A giddy excitement replaced the hollowness in his chest. Maarg held the capsule up to the light, turning it over in his fingers. He imagined the liquid inside coursing through his veins, transforming him from a bored, class-skipping kid into something more. He pictured himself with superhuman speed, an eidetic memory that would make school a breeze, or maybe even the ability to understand his brother's complicated work. He no longer felt sad or angry. He felt chosen.
Without a second thought, he tossed the capsule in his mouth and swallow it in a single gulp. It tasted faintly of metal and something otherworldly, a strange but not unpleasant sensation. He waited, his eyes wide with anticipation, for the world to change, for the energy to rush through him. Nothing happened. The room stayed the same, his clothes still felt the same, and the leftover rajma on the dining table was still getting cold.
He sat on his bed, the empty capsule in his hand, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. But then he remembered the note. "Take one every day," it had said. This wasn't a one-time fix; it was a process. A plan. Amar had a plan for him. Maarg's smile returned, wider and more confident than before. He tucked the bottle of blue capsules into a drawer, a secret treasure, and knew that tomorrow, a new Maarg would begin to emerge.