The air in the lecture hall was thick with the smell of old books and ambition. A fine chalk dust hung in the beams of light cutting through the semi-darkness, illuminating the furrowed brows of a hundred aspiring engineers. Karan Sharma tried to focus on the complex physics problem dancing on the whiteboard, but the numbers and symbols blurred into a meaningless swarm. The only thing clear in his mind was the text message burning a hole in his pocket.
Ma: Dinner at 7. Don't be late. Papa will ask about your mock test scores.
It was a simple message, a daily ritual. But tonight, it felt like a verdict. The weight of it pressed down on him, heavier than the combined force of gravity and the expectations of his entire family. He was Karan Sharma, the boy who had left the dusty, chaotic lanes of Gulmohar Colony for the sterile, air-conditioned halls of Aakash Institute. The boy who was supposed to make it.
"Sharma! Pay attention!" Mr. Iyer's voice was a whip-crack, slicing through the drowsy silence. "This differential equation could be the difference between IIT-Bombay and just… another college."
Karan flinched, nodding quickly. He caught Priya's eye from two rows ahead. She gave him a small, sympathetic smile that was both a comfort and a reminder of the world he was now supposed to belong to. Priya, with her perfectly ironed kurtas and a life plan that was mapped out to retirement. She represented order, a future that was bright, clean, and predictable. The exact opposite of everything he'd left behind.
The final bell was a jailbreak. Karan shoved his books into his backpack and joined the river of students flowing out into the humid Pune evening. The monsoons had been reluctant this year, leaving the city sticky and tense.
"You seemed a million miles away, Karan," Priya said, falling into step beside him. Her ponytail swung with a purposeful rhythm.
"Just… Iyer Sir. He scares me," Karan lied, forcing a smile.
"He should. Our future is scary," she replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "My father said the cutoff for Computer Science might go up by 0.5 percent this year. Can you imagine? 0.5 percent!"
Karan nodded, but his mind was already drifting away from percentages and cutoffs. It was drifting east, across the river, to where the city grew louder and more colorful. To Gulmohar Colony. Today was Thursday. And Thursday evenings had a pull, a ghostly resonance from a life he'd abandoned.
"I have to go to my old house," he said abruptly, stopping near the bus stand. "My mom left some important documents there. The new tenants said I could pick them up."
Priya's perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed slightly. "In Gulmohar? Will it take long? We have the problem set to finish."
"I'll be quick. I'll call you later," he promised, already backing away.
He saw the flicker of doubt in her eyes. She never fully believed his excuses for going back to the Colony. To her, it was a place you escaped from, not revisited. He gave a final wave and turned, melting into the crowd, a sense of guilt and strange excitement warring within him.
The bus ride to Gulmohar Colony was a journey back in time. The sleek city buses gave way to older, rattling ones, their windows open to the symphony of the city's older heart: the blare of auto-rickshaws, the calls of street vendors selling chai and pav bhaji, the vibrant chaos of shops spilling onto the streets.
As he stepped off the bus, the familiar scent hit him first—a mix of frying spices, sewage, and the faint, sweet smell of the gulmohar trees that gave the colony its name. The lanes were narrower here, the buildings older, their facades stained by rain and time. Kids played cricket with a worn-out tennis ball, their shouts echoing off the close walls. Women chatted on balconies, strings of laundry fluttering like flags above his head.
This was where he had learned to cycle, to fight, to dream. This was where the dosti had been forged.
He reached his old building, a three-story structure named 'Shanti Nivas'. It looked smaller now. The new tenant, a harried-looking uncle, handed him a folder of documents with a grunt. The transaction was over in minutes. Karan stood on the street, the folder in his hand, feeling the pull. He wasn't supposed to. He'd promised his parents. He'd promised himself.
But his feet moved on their own, carrying him deeper into the colony, towards the one place that held the soul of his past: Manish uncle's tea stall.
It was a shack, really, just a counter with a giant kettle, a few mismatched plastic chairs, and a faded poster of a decades-old Bollywood movie. But for Karan, Arjun, Rohan, Vicky, and Rahul, it had been their parliament, their war room, their sanctuary.
He saw Arjun first. His broad back was to the street, but Karan would recognize that frame anywhere. He was sitting with Vicky and Rahul. They were hunched over, talking in low, intense tones. The easy laughter that used to define their gatherings was absent.
Karan's heart hammered against his ribs. He should turn back. This was not his world anymore. But just as he made to leave, Arjun turned, as if sensing his presence. Their eyes met across the dusty lane.
For a long second, there was only silence. Then, Arjun's stoic face broke into a slow, genuine smile. "Karan? You buddy! Is it really you?"
Vicky and Rahul turned. Vicky's expression was a predictable scowl. Rahul's was one of nervous surprise.
"Hey," Karan said, walking over, feeling like an imposter in his own skin. His Aakash Institute ID card felt conspicuously heavy in his pocket.
"Look at him," Vicky sneered, not bothering to hide his contempt. "The IITian has come to visit the slums. You lost your way, brother?"
"Leave it, Vicky," Arjun said, his voice a low rumble. He gestured to an empty chair. "Sit. What brings you here?"
"Just… picking up some papers," Karan said, sliding into the chair. The plastic creaked familiarly. "How… how are you all?"
"We're great," Vicky shot back sarcastically. "Living the dream. Just like you."
Arjun ignored him. "We're managing. Chai, Uncle!" he called out.
As Manish Uncle. brought four glasses of milky, sweet tea, the conversation remained stilted. Karan asked about college. They were all at the local government polytechnic, just scraping by. He asked about families. Rahul's father was still pressuring him to get a job. Vicky's older brother was still in trouble. They avoided the one name that hung in the air between them, the sun around which their world had once revolved.
"And… Rohan?" Karan finally asked, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.
The table went quiet. Arjun stared into his tea. Vicky's jaw tightened.
"He's around," Arjun said evasively. "He's… busy with new things."
"New things?" Karan pressed. "What new things?"
Before Arjun could answer, a shift in the atmosphere made him look up. A group of three boys, older, with a swagger that was more threat than confidence, was walking down the lane. They weren't from Gulmohar. Karan recognized the style—they were from the neighbouring, more notorious, Kasbah Colony.
As they passed the tea stall, one of them, a lanky boy with a cruel smile, deliberately knocked over a stack of empty soda crates outside Manish Uncle's stall. The crash was jarring.
"hey!" Manish uncle cried out. "Be careful!"
The lanky boy just laughed. "Old man, your stall is in the way."
What happened next unfolded with a slow, terrifying inevitability. Rohan emerged from a nearby lane. He was alone. He'd always had an uncanny sense for when his territory was being disrespected.
Karan barely recognized him.
The Rohan he remembered had a smile that could light up the colony. This Rohan's face was a cold, handsome mask. He'd grown taller, more gaunt. His eyes, once full of fiery life, were now dark, flat pools. He wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but an air of danger clung to him like a shadow.
"Pick it up," Rohan said. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the evening air like a blade.
The lanky boy from Kasbah smirked. "Or what, Rohan? You and whose army?"
Rohan didn't answer with words. He moved with a speed that was shocking. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the boy by the neck and slammed him against the wall of the tea stall. The impact was sickeningly loud.
"I said," Rohan repeated, his voice still dangerously calm, "pick it up."
The other two Kasbah boys stepped forward, but a single glance from Rohan froze them in their tracks. It wasn't just anger in his eyes; it was a complete absence of fear, a recklessness that was far more frightening.
The lanky boy, gasping, nodded frantically. Rohan released him. The boy, humiliated and terrified, scrambled to stack the crates back up, his hands shaking.
"Tell your goonda friends," Rohan said, addressing all three of them, "that Gulmohar is not their playground. The next time someone disrespects this place, I won't be so polite. Now get out."
They scrambled away, not looking back.
Rohan finally turned towards the tea stall. His eyes swept over Arjun, Vicky, Rahul, and then landed on Karan. For a fraction of a second, Karan saw a flicker of something—surprise, maybe even a ghost of the old warmth. But it was extinguished instantly, replaced by that chilling flatness.
"Karan," Rohan said, a faint, cynical smile touching his lips. "Slumming it?"
Before Karan could form a reply, Rohan's phone buzzed. He looked at the screen, and his expression changed. It became focused, serious. He looked at Arjun.
"It's on. The deal is Friday. Result Day. Be ready."
Arjun's face was grim. He just nodded.
Rohan pocketed his phone, gave Karan one last, unreadable look, and walked away without another word, disappearing into the labyrinth of lanes.
The silence he left behind was deafening. The victory over the Kasbah boys felt hollow, ugly. This wasn't the righteous protection of the colony Karan remembered. This was something else. Something darker.
Karan looked at Arjun, his blood running cold. "Arjun… what deal? What happens on Result Day?"
Arjun wouldn't meet his gaze. He just stared in the direction Rohan had gone, his face a mask of troubled loyalty.
"Nothing for you to worry about, Karan," he said quietly. "You have your exams to focus on. This… this is not your world anymore."
But as Karan sat there, the taste of sweet tea turning to ash in his mouth, he knew with a terrifying certainty that Arjun was wrong. The ghost of Gulmohar Colony had him in its grip, and it wasn't letting go. A "deal" on Result Day? He didn't know what it was, but the look in Rohan's eyes promised nothing good. It promised an ending.
And for the first time since he'd left, Karan felt the old pull, not of belonging, but of a responsibility he could never truly escape.