The monsoon clouds hung heavy above the city, but inside the campus courtyard, life buzzed as usual. Students hurried between classes, their laughter blending with the soft drizzle in the air.
Dev adjusted the strap of his worn-out backpack as he stepped out of the lecture hall. At sixteen—nearly seventeen—he looked like any other student, yet there was something different about him. His quiet focus. The way he noticed details others missed. Dev was the type who remembered if you skipped lunch or changed your handwriting.
"Dev!"
Shubham jogged up beside him, clutching a stack of textbooks to his chest. His restless energy was the perfect opposite to Dev's calm.
"You didn't even wait! Some best friend you are."
Dev smirked. "If I wait for you every day, we'll never graduate."
Before Shubham could argue, another voice cut in.
"You two fight like an old married couple."
Laxmi appeared, sliding under her umbrella and pulling them both close. Her teasing smile carried a warmth that made even the rain feel lighter.
"Don't say that," Shubham muttered, pretending to pout. "Next thing you know, people will start rumors."
Dev chuckled, but his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen—Professor Singh. For a moment, his expression softened.
Singh wasn't just a guardian; he was family. A man of wisdom, spectacles always sliding down his nose, books stacked in every corner of their home. An archaeologist, a seeker of forgotten worlds—and to Dev, the closest thing to a father he'd ever known.
Dev answered. "Professor?"
Silence. Just faint static on the line. Then—click. The call ended.
Dev frowned. "Strange…"
"Who was it?" Laxmi asked.
"Singh sir," Dev replied, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "But… he didn't say anything."
Shubham shrugged. "Probably buried under his antiques again."
They laughed it off, but unease lingered in Dev's chest like a shadow.
By evening, the drizzle had become steady rain. Dev pushed open the gate to the small house he shared with Professor Singh. Usually, a soft yellow glow spilled from the windows, accompanied by the faint hum of classical music. Tonight, only silence waited.
It wasn't peaceful silence—it was heavy, unnatural.
"Professor Singh?" Dev called, his voice echoing down the hallway. No reply.
The air inside felt… wrong. As if the house itself was holding its breath. Dev's footsteps quickened until he reached Singh's room. His hand hesitated on the doorknob.
The door creaked open.
Professor Singh lay motionless on the bed. His eyes closed, face calm, a glass of water spilled on the bedside table. No wounds. No pain. Just stillness.
Dev's throat tightened. His mind refused to believe what he was seeing."No… no, no…"
His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, dialing with trembling fingers. "Shubham… come now. Please—just come!" His voice cracked, breaking apart.
Time blurred. By the time Shubham and Laxmi arrived, Dev was already on the floor beside the bed, his face buried in his hands.
The ambulance came. The doctors checked. And in a sterile hospital room, their verdict was given:
"No disease. No struggle. No heart failure," one said quietly. "It's as if… his life just ended."
Dev didn't respond. His world had already collapsed into silence.
Later, as the flames consumed Professor Singh's body and the ashes drifted into the Ganga, Dev's mind echoed with Singh's last words from just yesterday:
"Life can change in a second, Dev. Always be ready."
Now, standing by the riverside, Dev whispered them back, his voice breaking:"A second too late…"
As the river carried the ashes away, Dev tightened his fist. Singh's last call, the silence on the other end, the doctor's words—none of it made sense.
And in that moment, Dev knew this wasn't the end.It was the beginning.