The third morning of the trip rolled in with sleepy eyes and half-packed bags, but spirits were high as ever. Today's destination was Nalanda—the ancient university, the pride of Bihar, and the kind of place that even the loudest students fell silent in, if only for a moment.
The bus buzzed with chaos—snacks flying, Bluetooth speakers battling, and Varun stirring drama like it was a sacred duty. Shankar sat near the window, camera in hand, zoning out as the landscape bled from town to fields to ruins.
As they neared Nalanda, the bus slowed. A breeze stirred. Shankar blinked.
The ruins came into view—and something in him went still.
The place didn't just look old. It looked… alert.
Towering red-brick walls lined both sides—crumbled, scorched in places, the wind pushing through them like breath. There was a quietness here that didn't ask for silence. It demanded it.
The guide began his speech, tone practiced yet reverent.
"Nalanda was once the beating heart of knowledge. Over 10,000 students lived here. Monks. Scholars. Pilgrims."
He gestured to the ruins.
"And over nine million manuscripts stored in its libraries. When the invaders came, they set fire to it all. Some say it burned… for three months straight."
The students reacted. Some whistled. Some just said, "Damn."
The guide smiled—but not kindly.
"Others believe the fire never went out. That somewhere, under these stones… it still burns."
Shankar froze. Something in that sentence stuck in his spine like cold metal. The air felt warmer suddenly—only around him.
"Did he just say nine million?" Savitri asked, flipping open her notebook. "How does someone even count that?"
"Back then?" Shankar said. "Probably one at a time."
She chuckled. "I'm not writing everything. Just the crazy stuff."
He wanted to ask, "What if all of it's crazy?"
But he didn't. Instead, he raised his camera again.
As the group scattered, Shankar clicked pictures of staircases, carvings, corners untouched by footsteps. The camera clicked. And clicked. And then—
Fuzz.
His screen glitched.
One photo showed a charred circle etched into the wall, barely visible. He squinted.
It vanished. Nothing was there now.
He wiped the lens. Tried again. Normal.
He looked up—and across the ruins, for the briefest second, he thought he saw a figure. Standing still between two pillars.
He blinked.
Gone.
The rest of the students were goofing off. Meena staged a fake debate. Varun got scolded for climbing a cracked platform.
But Savitri stood near an archway, completely still.
"You good?" Shankar asked.
She didn't turn. "These ruins… they don't feel empty."
Then she faced him. "You ever feel like you're standing on something that's still dreaming?"
Shankar hesitated. "What?"
She smiled awkwardly. "Never mind."
He raised his camera to capture her expression—half-thoughtful, half-lost.
When he checked the shot, her face looked… blurred. Not motion-blurred. Almost distorted.
The file didn't save.
A few hours later, they returned to the hotel. Everyone was tired, hungry, full of stories.
But Shankar kept checking his gallery, flipping past images again and again, wondering if he'd imagined it all.
The sun was tilting low. Tomorrow would be the rope-way. Then, the camp.
Tonight was just noise. Friends. Food. Teasing.
But in the back of Shankar's mind, something had shifted.
Day four began louder than ever. Everyone buzzed with excitement. Sun caps on, shoes half-tied, voices echoing.
The rope-way ride felt like something they'd waited years for.
The bus curved through hills. The road narrowed. The view widened.
Shankar sat near the window again, quiet. Watching the trees blur.
He thought of that circle. Of the blurred image. Of that shadow between pillars.
Something about Nalanda lingered.
At the base station, everyone craned their necks to see the cable cars above. Laughter mixed with nervous tension.
Shankar boarded with Varun and Ajay. The cabin jerked. Lifted.
Below, the forest dropped away.
Shankar raised his camera. Clicked a shot of the valley. Then paused.
Something moved.
In the trees—low, fast, impossible. A ripple.
"Did you see that?" he asked.
"See what?" Ajay said, munching chips.
"Nothing."
At the summit, the world opened into sky.
Photos. Poses. Laughter. Teachers joined in.
But Shankar stayed near the edge, looking down. The wind was strong. His fingers cold on the camera grip.
He didn't feel scared.
Just… watched.
The campsite was not far. Nestled in a clearing, surrounded by thickets. Cozy. Temporary.
Tents in neat rows. A bonfire pit at the center. Fairy lights strung between poles like faint constellations.
The others exploded into motion—calling dibs, chasing snacks, yelling into the wind.
Shankar stayed back.
He set up his tripod. Captured the moment.
The sun melted behind the hill.
The tents glowed faintly.
And for a brief second, as his camera shutter clicked—
He saw that same figure again, near the treeline.
Still.
Watching.
When he turned, nothing was there.
Behind him, laughter returned. Stories, songs, the smell of roasted corn. A spark caught. Became flame.
The night had begun.
But Shankar couldn't shake the feeling—
This place, like Nalanda, wasn't asleep.
It was waiting.