The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft, golden lines across Aarav Sen's face. It wasn't an intrusive brightness. It was gentle, almost respectful, as if the universe itself was treading lightly around him.
His eyes opened slowly.
There was no grogginess. No lazy stretch or reluctant sigh that usually accompanied his mornings. He was awake. Fully. Instantly.
It felt unnatural.
He sat up, his movements fluid, precise, as though his body had rehearsed this a thousand times in a dream. The usual heaviness in his limbs, that dull ache from twisting around in bed, was absent.
Instead, his body felt lighter.
Yet denser.
As if gravity had shifted, not to burden him, but to accommodate him.
Aarav frowned, glancing at the clock on his nightstand.
6:32 AM.
That couldn't be right. He had barely closed his eyes a few hours ago, his mind tangled in a sensory mess, his body aching from a night that had felt like an internal war.
Yet here he was, awake. Alert.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, expecting the familiar creak of the wooden frame to greet him.
It didn't.
The bed remained silent.
He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. His joints didn't pop. His muscles didn't protest.
He rolled his shoulders, flexed his neck. His body responded with a grace he wasn't accustomed to.
"Weird," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.
He stepped towards the mirror, the floorboards beneath him eerily quiet. No groaning planks. No betraying squeaks.
His reflection stared back, mostly unchanged.
Same messy hair. Same lazy, half-lidded gaze.
But his eyes.
They were sharper.
Not in a visual sense. There was no supernatural glow. But the clarity in his gaze, the way they seemed to focus with an intensity he couldn't recall having before, was undeniable.
He leaned in closer.
His skin looked the same, perhaps a shade more vibrant. His shoulders, though still framed by his thin school t-shirt, felt broader. The fabric stretched ever so slightly across his back when he straightened.
He flexed his fingers.
There was a pulse there. Not heat. Not tingling. Just a subtle awareness. Like his body was more alive than it had been the day before.
He dismissed it.
"Adrenaline," he told himself. "Inspection day jitters."
Except Aarav Sen didn't get jitters.
He was the master of pretending not to care.
But this morning felt different.
He grabbed his toothbrush, stepping into the bathroom. The cold splash of water against his face was sharper, crisper. He could feel every droplet, every minuscule chill as it rolled down his skin.
Brushing his teeth, he noticed his grip on the toothbrush was firmer. Not consciously. His fingers simply curled tighter, as if his muscles were calibrating themselves on their own terms.
He shrugged it off.
Inspection days did strange things to people.
By the time he returned to his room, his school uniform was draped across the chair, looking just as crumpled as he'd left it the night before.
He slipped into the shirt, buttoning up with practiced laziness. But as he reached the last button, he noticed the fit was snugger around his chest.
He stretched his arms forward, testing the resistance.
The fabric complied, but barely.
He made a mental note to blame the laundry service if anyone asked.
Trousers on, shoes laced, he stood before the mirror once more.
He looked fine.
Maybe even good.
But it was the way he stood that felt off.
His posture, usually slouched, carried an unconscious precision now. His shoulders weren't hunched. His spine didn't bend forward. He looked—upright.
It irritated him.
He adjusted his collar, ruffling his hair deliberately to restore his signature 'couldn't-care-less' look.
But inside, he knew.
Something had changed.
He moved towards his desk, grabbing his school bag. His fingers curled around the strap, and for a brief moment, the synthetic fabric felt like coarse sandpaper, every fiber standing out.
He blinked, shaking off the sensation.
"Get a grip, Sen."
His stomach rumbled.
Good.
Food would fix this.
He slung the bag over his shoulder, the weight feeling negligible. It wasn't that his bag was lighter. It was that his body had adjusted to it, absorbing it like it was nothing.
He exited his room, descending the stairs with steps that felt too light, too smooth. The staircase didn't complain under his weight. Not even a soft creak.
The house felt smaller this morning.
Or maybe he had grown.
He reached the dining area, where Rajveer sat with his usual newspaper, a half-finished manuscript beside his teacup.
Their eyes met briefly.
Rajveer said nothing.
Aarav didn't expect him to.
The only acknowledgment came in the form of a cold command.
"Don't mess up today."
Aarav gave a lazy salute, hiding the discomfort that flared under his father's gaze. It wasn't the words. It was the way Rajveer looked at him.
Like he was inspecting him.
Not for school.
But for something else.
He grabbed a paratha from the plate, chewing absentmindedly as he felt Rajveer's eyes still on him.
He didn't comment on it. Didn't have to.
He was used to Rajveer's silent lectures.
But today, it felt different.
Like Rajveer was waiting for him to notice something.
Aarav didn't give him that satisfaction.
He finished his breakfast, grabbed his bag, and muttered a casual, "Later, Dad," as he headed for the door.
He could feel his father's gaze following him, lingering, assessing.
But he didn't turn back.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Aarav exhaled sharply.
The morning was off.
But he refused to give it power over him.
He stepped onto the street, the world greeting him with its usual blend of early morning chaos.
But even the breeze felt sharper.
Every sound, every movement—they all registered clearer than they should.
He flexed his fingers against the bag strap, ignoring the odd sense of control, of coiled potential, simmering just beneath his skin.
"Inspection day," he told himself.
"Nothing special."
And yet, everything felt different.
He adjusted his collar, slouched his posture deliberately, and began his walk towards the bus stop, pretending like his world hadn't shifted overnight.
But deep down, he knew the pretending wouldn't last much longer.