The air around the bus stop was as ordinary as any other morning in Navran. The streets buzzed with early risers, vendors setting up stalls, and distant hums of school announcements. But for Aarav Sen, none of that mattered.
Because Anaya Rathore was already there.
She stood perfectly straight, her posture as disciplined as her mind. The pleats of her skirt were ironed to a level that could slice through arrogance. Her braid, not a strand out of place, hung over her shoulder like a statement of superiority. Her schoolbag rested against her side, not sagging, not sliding, perfectly aligned.
Aarav approached with the grace of someone who couldn't care less, his hoodie half-zipped over his wrinkled shirt, his tie hanging like a defeated flag. He carried himself like a man with time to waste, even if the world around him moved on a schedule.
"You're late, Sen." Anaya didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on her watch.
"And you're early, Rathore. As always. Must be exhausting, running ahead of time itself." Aarav yawned, stretching as if the concept of punctuality offended him.
"It's called discipline. You wouldn't understand."
"Oh, I understand it perfectly. I just choose not to participate in the madness."
Anaya finally turned, her gaze sharp. "That's what losers say to make themselves feel better."
Aarav smirked. "Ouch. Someone's been rehearsing insults in front of the mirror."
The tension between them was palpable, a daily ritual performed for no audience but themselves. Passersby had grown used to their exchanges, often wondering if this was some strange friendship. It wasn't. It was a cold war disguised as conversation.
"Maybe if you put half the effort into your studies that you put into being a disappointment, you wouldn't be failing Chemistry," Anaya said, shifting her bag slightly.
"Failing is such a harsh word, Rathore. I prefer to call it selective focus. Why excel at everything when I can master the art of annoying you?"
Anaya's eyes narrowed. "You don't annoy me, Sen. You just waste space and oxygen."
"Glad to be useful in some way," he replied, leaning casually against the bus stop pole.
It was then that Aarav's ears picked up a sound—the flutter of bird wings. Sharp, crisp, unnaturally close.
He looked up. A sparrow flitted across the electric wires overhead, its tiny wings slicing through the air. He could hear each beat, each flap, as if the bird was performing a solo in a soundless auditorium.
The noise wasn't loud. It was detailed. Too detailed.
He blinked, shook his head slightly, and turned his attention back to Anaya.
"What are you zoning out for now?" she asked, irritation laced in her voice.
"Just admiring nature. You should try it sometime. Might loosen that iron rod up your spine."
Anaya's lip curled into a faint sneer. "Your jokes are as outdated as your grades."
"I aim for vintage charm," Aarav shot back.
But his mind wasn't fully in the verbal fencing. The sounds around him felt amplified. The rustle of leaves, the scuff of a student's shoes against gravel, even the ticking of Anaya's watch. All layered upon each other, overwhelming, yet oddly fascinating.
He clenched his fists in his pockets, pretending it was from the cold.
Anaya noticed his brief pause. "You're acting weirder than usual today."
"Thanks. It's a talent I'm proud of."
She sighed, clearly deciding not to waste more breath.
The bus screeched to a halt in front of them, the doors wheezing open. Aarav made a show of stepping aside with a grand gesture. "After you, Miss Perfect."
"Grow up, Sen." Anaya brushed past him, her bag nearly hitting his shoulder. He followed, hands in pockets, humming a tune only he could hear.
They sat side by side because they had no choice. Every morning, the same seat, the same unspoken rule. Anaya by the window, Aarav on the aisle.
But today, Aarav sat by the window first.
Anaya's eyes narrowed. "Childish."
"Consider it social experimentation. I want to see if the world ends when Rathore loses her spot."
With a sharp exhale, Anaya sat beside him, maintaining a precise inch of distance.
The bus rattled forward, but Aarav's senses stayed sharp. He could hear the engine's pistons firing in sequence, feel the vibrations through the soles of his shoes. Every rattle, every creak was amplified. He pressed his fingers against his temples, willing the sensations to dull.
"Headache?" Anaya asked, without looking.
"Nah. Just tuning out the noise. You included."
Anaya didn't respond. She just stared out the window, her reflection flickering on the glass, lips pressed in a firm line.
"You know," Aarav began, "for someone who hates me, you spend an awful lot of time trying to fix me."
"I don't hate you, Sen. I hate wasted potential. Unfortunately, you embody that perfectly."
"Flattered," Aarav said with a mock bow.
His right ear twitched involuntarily as a sudden sharp whistle pierced his hearing. A bird? A distant horn? He couldn't tell. The sound blurred lines between near and far.
He frowned.
"Seriously, what's wrong with you today?" Anaya finally asked, glancing at him with genuine curiosity.
"Nothing. Maybe you're just louder than usual."
She gave him a side glance but chose silence.
The rest of the ride was filled with the bus's mechanical symphony, but Aarav found himself oddly captivated by every sound.
He didn't know it yet, but his body had started listening to the world differently.
And Anaya, for all her cold remarks, noticed the subtle shifts. She just didn't know what to make of them.
As they neared Navran Public School, Aarav stretched, deliberately brushing against Anaya's bag.
"Tomorrow's your lucky day, Rathore. Maybe I'll surprise you and behave."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Keep an eye out then. Miracles happen."
The bus halted. They stood up simultaneously, their silent war still unfinished.
But somewhere deep within Aarav's veins, something ancient stirred.
And tomorrow, the world would hear it.
Loud and clear.
____
Cities Name:
Navran
A modern city where ancient secrets hide beneath neon lights and glass towers.
Varnaksha
The city of rivers and rituals, where forgotten prayers still shape destiny.
Dharnagar
A city of silent wars, where power and corruption walk in broad daylight.
Vedraksha
An ancient scholar city where forbidden relics and deadly knowledge are sold.
Mairath
A militarized city where strength decides who rules and who disappears.
Prayanpur
A sacred city where blessings and curses blend into a battleground of faith.
Ujraksha
A desert city carved in stone, where time sleeps but legends never die.