Vicky Dahiya's world had expanded. No longer confined to the soft cocoon of a crib, he now toddled on unsteady legs, arms flailing as he explored the corners of a nursery that seemed endlessly large. Every texture, sound, and light shift was a puzzle, a mystery to solve. The soft carpet underfoot gave way to the hardwood of the hallway, and he noticed differences immediately: hardness, coolness, echo.
His mind, still carrying the faint residue of his former life, worked faster than his small body could act. He remembered the stories he had loved, the thrill of spotting patterns, the satisfaction of predicting what happened next. He applied the same attention to his immediate surroundings, cataloging how doors opened, how voices changed when tones shifted, and how shadows moved across the walls.
When the caretaker leaned down to retrieve him, Vicky's tiny hand shot out instinctively, grasping the finger offered. He noticed the warmth, the pressure, the subtle tension of the hand. It was simple, almost instinctual—but to him, it was data. The caretaker smiled, cooing, unaware that this infant was observing patterns, reading cues, storing every detail for later.
One afternoon, sunlight streamed through a window, casting geometric shapes on the floor. Vicky crouched, fingers brushing against the light and shadow, fascinated. He could not yet articulate the concept of angles or geometry, yet he felt their rhythm, their movement. His toddler brain was learning in bursts, connecting experience with memory from a previous life: a heightened awareness that made him stand apart, though no one could guess why.
His fascination with stories persisted. Picture books, television snippets, and the occasional lullaby were not merely entertainment—they were systems. Characters moved according to rules; events followed patterns. Vicky watched, remembered, and imagined. When he heard a story repeated, he anticipated the next scene before the narrator arrived. It gave him a small thrill, a sense of mastery over a world far larger than himself.
Social interactions were equally revealing. Family members often underestimated him, treating him as any toddler: cooing, laughing, or scolding when he reached beyond boundaries. But Vicky noticed the subtleties: a twitch of the eye that signaled impatience, a softened tone that indicated affection, the rhythm of footsteps that told him someone was approaching before he saw them. Every gesture, every word, every expression was cataloged.
One evening, he crawled toward the window, drawn by the silver sliver of moonlight. Shadows danced across the room, long and wavering, and Vicky's instincts, sharpened by memory and observation, flared. A shadow at the corner of the room—a coat rack, or perhaps something more? He could not know yet, but the instinct to watch, to calculate, to predict, had taken root. His tiny chest rose and fell with a mixture of excitement and caution.
Meals were no longer just sustenance—they were lessons in cause and effect. When he reached for a spoon, tipped it, and saw the food spill, he noted the sequence and outcome. Caregivers laughed at the mess, but Vicky cataloged the pattern. Liquid moved differently from solids. Gravity was constant, predictable. The world obeyed rules, and he intended to learn them all.
As weeks passed, his curiosity became more deliberate. He tested the limits of his mobility, reached for objects just out of grasp, and observed the reactions of those around him. A subtle sense of humor emerged, too: the way he could elicit laughter with a simple gesture, or surprise with a sudden movement. Though tiny, he understood influence—the first brush of what would become mastery over social interactions.
And beneath it all, a quiet anticipation pulsed. Vicky sensed that this world, though similar to his first life, had its own peculiarities, its own hidden patterns waiting to be uncovered. The stories he loved on screens were now mirrored in reality: characters, conflicts, mysteries, and perhaps even powers, waiting to be discovered.
He could not yet speak of it. He could not yet leave the nursery or confront the broader world. But with each step, each observation, each flicker of understanding, Vicky prepared himself. For one day, he would grow, leave the safety of home, and enter a school unlike any other—a place of shadows, secrets, and learning. And there, he would meet someone who would change everything: a girl whose dark curiosity matched his own, whose mind danced in ways he had only glimpsed in stories.
For now, he toddled through the nursery with wide eyes and a restless mind. Each corner held a secret; each shadow, a puzzle. The universe was vast, strange, and full of promise. And Vicky Dahiya, though still a small child in a new world, was ready. He would watch. He would learn. He would grow.