The afternoon sun hung lazily over Navran as the school bell rang, releasing a flood of students into the courtyard. Navran Public School had ended its day at 2 PM, and as always, the school buses lined up like restless beasts ready to swallow their passengers.
Aarav Sen trudged towards Bus No. 7, his bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie flapping slightly in the breeze. Behind him, as punctual and precise as a ticking clock, Anaya Rathore walked with her usual poise.
They boarded together, sliding into their unspoken seats—Anaya by the window, Aarav sprawling next to her, legs stretched into the aisle.
"Try to show up on time tomorrow, Sen. It might be a once-in-a-lifetime miracle," Anaya said, her tone sharp.
"Oh, I'll show up, Rathore. Might even iron my shirt just to shock you," Aarav replied, smirking.
"Inspection isn't a joke."
"Neither is my talent for pretending to care."
Anaya sighed, turning to the window. Aarav leaned back, closing his eyes, pretending to nap, but his senses betrayed him. The rumble of the bus engine felt amplified, each vibration crawling up his spine. The distant chatter of students from the front seats sounded like they were whispering in his ear.
His palms felt warm again, a subtle, rhythmic pulse beneath his skin.
He flexed his fingers, ignoring it.
The ride home was a battlefield of glances and silences. Anaya didn't speak further, but Aarav could feel her sideways glances.
By 2:30 PM, the bus hissed to a stop near Aarav's neighborhood. He stood up lazily, giving Anaya a mock salute.
"See you tomorrow, Rathore. Brace yourself."
She didn't reply, but her eyes followed him until he stepped off the bus.
Aarav entered the Sen household with his usual lack of urgency. The clock in the living room chimed 2:35 PM as he kicked off his shoes, slinging his bag onto the sofa.
Inside, Rajveer Sen sat on the old wooden chair in the living room, his back ramrod straight, arms folded. His eyes weren't on the newspaper spread before him; they were fixed on the wall clock.
3:32 PM.
The front door creaked open.
Aarav strolled in, backpack hanging off one shoulder, hoodie half-zipped, his uniform in a state that would give their school principal a heart attack.
Rajveer Sen sat in his usual chair, a half-finished manuscript laid open on the small table beside him. He had been working on restoring old scripts, a craft he practiced from home. His fingers were stained with ink, but his eyes weren't on the fragile pages today; they were fixed on the clock.
"You're late," Rajveer said, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.
"World's always early, Dad," Aarav quipped, dropping his bag onto the sofa like it owed him money.
Rajveer's gaze didn't follow him. It lingered on the subtle flex of Aarav's fingers, the faint tension in his shoulders. He could see it—something simmering under the boy's careless exterior.
He wanted to speak. To say things he'd never had the courage to. About their bloodline. About what might come. But the words stayed caged.
Instead, he straightened the page of the manuscript with clinical precision and said, "Wake up early tomorrow. The inspection isn't going to wait for you."
Aarav mock-saluted, his smirk lazy. "Aye, Captain. I'll even brush my shoes, maybe shock the universe."
He brushed past Rajveer, oblivious to the storm that flickered behind his father's steady gaze.
By 5:00 PM, Aarav was sprawled across his bed, one arm flung over his eyes, headphones blasting music that barely registered. His room was its usual mess of books, scattered clothes, and half-finished assignments. But today, the chaos felt heavier.
There was a pressure.
It had started subtly after lunch—a strange warmth in his palms. But now, it had crept into his chest. A low thrum beneath his ribs, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
He pressed his hand against his sternum, frowning.
"Probably gas," he muttered with a smirk, though it didn't feel funny.
He flipped onto his side, pulling a pillow over his head, trying to drown out the world. But his body wouldn't let him.
Every sound was amplified. The creak of his bed frame. The rustle of a page turning in the next room. The faint ticking of the clock in the hallway.
It wasn't normal.
He pressed his fingers against his temples, massaging slowly. Maybe Rathore's endless lectures had finally bored a hole into his brain.
Downstairs, Rajveer sat at the dining table, untouched tea growing cold. His eyes weren't on the newspaper anymore. They were fixed on the staircase, ears tuned to every shift of weight above.
He knew what was coming.
Aarav didn't.
By 8:30 PM, the house was wrapped in quiet. Rajveer stood by the window, arms behind his back, watching the night seep into Navran's skyline. His thoughts, however, were chained to his son.
He had been told stories of this moment. Tales his own father had recited, half in reverence, half in warning. But hearing stories and living them were very different things.
Rajveer had never awakened.
The bloodline had skipped him. Or so he thought.
But Aarav—
The signs were undeniable now.
Yet, what could he say? Aarav would laugh it off, mock it as one of those "family traditions".
So Rajveer remained silent, watching the clock.
In his room, Aarav tossed restlessly under the sheets. His body was restless, his skin tingling with an energy he didn't understand. The thrum in his chest had grown louder, a steady, pulsing echo.
"Sleep, Sen. Just sleep," he mumbled, turning onto his stomach.
But sleep was a distant dream.
Every sound in the house felt like it was being whispered directly into his ears. The faint buzz of a mosquito, the soft creak of the main door as the evening breeze nudged it, even the far-off hum of a ceiling fan.
His palms burned, not painfully, but with a persistent heat that made him clench his fists.
It wasn't normal.
But Aarav Sen was a master at pretending things were fine.
At 10:45 PM, Rajveer finally sat back down in the living room, his gaze never leaving the clock.
The hands inched towards midnight.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
He had spent years believing the legacy of their bloodline was a tale meant to be admired from afar. But Aarav's careless steps were leading him straight into it.
Rajveer had wanted to prepare him.
But how do you prepare someone for something you never understood yourself?
And so, he waited. Silent. Tense.
In his room, Aarav lay still, the pulse in his chest syncing perfectly with the ticking clock.
Tick.
Pulse.
Tick.
Pulse.
Midnight was coming.
And so was something else.
But Aarav Sen—ever the slacker, ever the non-believer—closed his eyes and whispered.
"It's just another day."
Little did he know.
The day was anything but ordinary.
*****
Sen is a family Surname