The amber glow of the bedside lamp painted shadows across the wall.
Their mother's voice drifted through the quiet room, low and steady, like a prayer.
"Long ago, there was a tree unlike any other. They called it the Pure Tree. Its roots touched the foundation of existence, and its branches brushed against the realm of gods. Only the purest souls could see it. To them, it was like a god."
Arjun shifted under his blanket. At fourteen, he pretended bedtime stories were for children, but something in her voice carried weight—like a truth disguised as myth. Like a warning wrapped in wonder.
"What happens if you see it?" Meera asked, eight years old, unashamed of her curiosity.
"The Pure Tree chooses," their mother said, fingers tracing patterns on the covers. "Those who see it are bound to something greater than themselves."
Her smile flickered like candlelight, then she kissed their foreheads and left the room.
When the door clicked shut, darkness settled heavy and expectant.
Meera's whisper cut through it like a blade.
"Brother... I see it every night."
Arjun turned toward her silhouette.
"The tree? You're just dreaming."
"It talks to me." Her voice carried an odd gravity for someone so young."Its voice is like wind chimes… and distant thunder. It told me someone I love will have to make a choice soon. In my dreams, you were there too. But you never spoke to it. You just stood there… looking so sad… like you'd lost something precious."
Arjun forced a laugh. Unease crawled down his spine like ice water.
"Dreams can't predict the future, Meera."
"This one can," she whispered. "Promise me you'll be careful tomorrow."
The darkness felt heavier than usual, pressing against his chest.
The Next Morning
The school bus jolted through morning traffic. Diesel fumes and teenage chatter filled the air.
Arjun sat alone by the window. Sketchbook open. Pencil moving without thought, scratching intricate branches and roots he didn't remember choosing to draw.
His phone buzzed.
Meera:The tree was different last night. Its leaves were falling like tears. That means danger is coming. Be careful, Brother.
Arjun:Just a dream, Meera.
Meera:This one isn't. Promise me.
He stared at the screen. Chest tightening. Shoved the phone into his pocket without a word.
Around him, the bus pulsed with life. Friends sharing earbuds. Gossip bouncing between seats. Inside jokes flying like sparks. Everyone belonged somewhere. Everyone had a place in the intricate social web… that he could never reach.
Why am I always outside, looking in?
Sarah Chen laughed with her circle. Rajesh argued passionately about cricket scores.
Like the world has a rhythm he couldn't follow. A language he never learned to speak.
The loneliness was familiar, worn smooth by years of carrying it.Easier to sketch impossible trees than to risk another reminder that he was invisible.
The Performance Begins
The bus hissed to a stop at Maple Street. Footsteps clattered up the stairs. The air shifted, charged with desperate energy.
"Good morning, beautiful people!"
Karthik announced himself, bounding in with a grin so wide it almost looked real."Your daily dose of entertainment has arrived! No need to applaud—your radiant smiles are payment enough!"
A few heads turned. Most ignored him.
Arjun studied the newcomer with artist's eyes. There was something too polished about the performance. Too bright. Like stage makeup under harsh lights. He could see the exhaustion bleeding through the cracks. The weight the boy carried, despite his bouncing steps.
Karthik dropped into a seat three rows ahead. Phone lit up immediately.
Working late again tonight. You're my whole world, Son.
The grin never wavered. But something flickered behind Karthik's eyes—a shadow, lasting barely a heartbeat, sealed away again.
"Well, well. The clown himself," Rohit's voice slid through the morning chatter like oil over water.
Arjun's stomach clenched. Recognition. He had heard that tone before—directed at him countless times.
"Lovely to see you too, Rohit," Karthik said. Cheerful. Tremor underneath.
"Drop the comedy act." Rohit's voice carried. "We all know what your mom really does at night."
The words spread like ripples. Conversations dimmed. Even the engine seemed to quiet.
Karthik's laugh came brittle as old glass."I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Highway 7," Rohit cut in. Tone dripping with false sympathy."My cousin took a video last night. Your mom… getting into some stranger's car. You know what they call that? World's oldest profession."
Snickers flickered. Phones raised like hungry eyes.
Arjun's breath caught. Hand halfway to the aisle. Instinct screaming. But memory strangled him. His own voice calling for help that never came.Tears captured, shared.Silence.Chains.
"You don't know anything," Karthik whispered. Mask cracking. Pieces falling away like paint in the rain.
Rohit leaned forward, breath hot."Oh, I know plenty. Why don't you ask your mother to visit my place tonight? I'll pay her usual rate."
Words hit like a physical blow.
Time crystallized.
Karthik frozen. Chest rising shallow. Color draining. Understanding crashing—confusion, horror, unbearable pain.
"No," he breathed. "No, she… she works cleaning offices. She told me she cleans offices after hours..."
But pieces clicked. Horrible clarity. Long showers. Flinching when strangers looked too long. Crumpled bills counted with shaking hands. Tears he thought he couldn't see.
"She does it for me!"
Words exploded like a dam bursting. Years of innocent love colliding with new understanding.
The bus went silent.
Tears burned tracks down his face. Voice raw, broken:"She sacrifices everything! Every night she dies a little so I can live! So I can sit here with you animals and pretend I belong! And you—" Voice cracked."—you mock her for loving me?"
Silence held tighter than laughter ever could. Screens captured every sob, every broken word.
Arjun halfway to standing. Heart hammering. Words trembling—Stop. Please stop. Can't you see he's breaking?
Throat closed. Recognition paralyzing him.
Karthik's wild gaze swept the bus. Searching. For one face holding compassion. None.
Something fundamental shattered.
"If this world is nothing but vultures feeding on love," he whispered. Voice shifted, broken → dangerous."Then let it all burn to ash!"
He exploded from his seat. Bolted down the aisle.
Driver barely raised a hand before Karthik lunged forward. Seized the steering wheel.
"Karthik—don't!" Arjun's voice finally broke free. Too late. Air electric. Strange.
Wheel wrenched hard to the right. Tires screamed. Bus lurched. Gravity negotiable. Time stretched like spider silk.
Suspended between action and consequence. Metal sang.
Both boys heard the whisper threading through chaos.Ancient. Patient. Vast as the space between stars:
"The choosing has begun."
Darkness swallowed them both.
And the world learned what it meant to lose two souls who might have changed everything.