Sid woke to noises he didn't recognize.
Not the school bell.Not his alarm clock.Not the muffled honks of the city outside his window.
First came a bark — loud, clumsy, too close. Then the scrabble of claws against wood. Then a sharp, indignant meow, stretched so long it almost sounded like words.
Sid sat up, heart thudding until memory caught up with him. Not home. Not school. Grandfather's house.
Another bark rattled the corridor, followed by a thump as Bheema's tail slammed against the wall. A yelp of surprise. Then silence. Then the bark again, louder, triumphant, as if he'd just discovered his own echo.
Moony's reply came slow and cutting, a meow that rose like a queen's complaint in court. Sid could almost hear her saying, "Pathetic creature."
He rubbed his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar room. The computer loomed on the desk, dark and dusty. The TV's red light blinked in the corner, patient, waiting. His backpack still sat zipped tight where he had dropped it the night before. No uniform on the chair. No books stacked neatly for the day.
For a fragile moment, his chest tightened with hope. Maybe yesterday was a mistake. Maybe today someone will knock on the door and say it's undone. That I can go back.
But Bheema barked again, shattering the thought like glass.
Sid swung his legs off the bed, the floor cool beneath his feet, and stepped out into the corridor.
The hallway was alive with movement.
Bheema spun in frantic circles, chasing his tail like a creature possessed, skidding across the tiles, banging into the wall only to rebound without hesitation. Joy, stupid and unstoppable, filled the air.
On the windowsill, Moony crouched in regal stillness. Her ears tilted back, eyes narrowed to golden slits. She flicked her tail once — slow, sharp, final — as though scolding the dog for existing at all.
Sid leaned against the doorframe, watching. He didn't laugh, not fully. But the corner of his mouth twitched before he caught himself, pressing it flat again.
Downstairs, the smell of chutney and steamed rice cakes drifted through the air.
The dining hall was already set. A plate of idlis steamed on the table, coconut chutney pale and cool beside them. Lakshmi akka appeared briefly, setting down a tumbler of milk. She gave Sid a small smile before retreating back into the kitchen.
Sid sat quietly, picking at his food.
Arjun entered a few minutes later, spectacles smudged, hair wild as though he'd been struck by lightning in his sleep. He dropped a notebook onto a chair and sat, tearing an idli in half.
"Good," he said. "You're awake. Mornings are when the world tells its secrets — if you know how to listen."
Sid didn't reply. He pushed a piece of idli through the chutney, eating slowly.
Arjun studied him for a moment, then began a story instead. "Did I tell you about the time Bheema chased a peacock? Thought he'd catch it, ended up rolling straight into the pond. Came out looking like a drowned mop."
Sid glanced up, cautious. "…Really?"
"Ask Moony." Arjun gestured toward the cat, who had just padded into the room, tail high, eyes cool. "She was there. Sat on the wall the whole time. I swear she was laughing."
Sid's lips twitched. He looked at Moony, who flicked her ears back, regal and unimpressed.
It wasn't laughter. Not yet. But it was attention.
After lunch, Sid carried his heavy stomach back to his room.
Bheema trotted behind, nails clicking on the floor. Moony slinked past both of them, her movements silent and deliberate. Halfway down the corridor, she paused at one of the closed doors. With a flick of her tail, she slipped through as it eased open — and then shut quietly behind her.
Sid didn't notice. He was already inside his room, tossing his backpack onto the chair.
The computer loomed dusty and strange, too much like schoolwork. He turned instead to the TV, clicked it on, and let the noise flood the silence. Cartoons, advertisements, soap operas, news — a blur of voices from a world that felt far away.
He lay back on the bed, eyes half-closed, trying to forget.
The TV babbled — bright cartoons, overacted soaps, advertisements full of grins too wide. None of it touched him. The sound became a blur, a wall of noise that only made the silence inside him sharper.
And then something shifted.
The air in the room grew heavy, as though the fan had slowed though it still spun above. The TV flickered once, just a ripple across the screen — and then the noise cut out completely.
Sid sat up, startled.
The room seemed to pause with him. Dust motes hung in the air like they'd forgotten to fall. His skin prickled.
And then — he saw it.
Something so strange, so impossible, it pulled him forward before he knew he was moving. His eyes went wide, his mouth fell open. The world dropped away: no bed, no ceiling, no sound. Just that impossible thing burning into him, rewriting everything he thought was true.
His heart hammered once. Twice.
"No…" The word slipped out, barely a whisper. "That… can't…"
But it was there. Unmistakable. Real.
A shiver ran through him — not fear, not wonder, something larger, something nameless.
And then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.
The TV snapped back to life, voices clattering, laugh tracks echoing. Dust fell again in the fan's current. The room looked the same.
Sid sat frozen on the bed, chest heaving, staring at nothing.
School, friends, shame — all of it had vanished.
Only one thing remained: the impossible thing he had just seen.