The soft glow of dawn seeped through the curtains as Hira stirred awake. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the gentle morning light filtering into his room.
Beside his bed, on a simple wooden chair, sat his Dadi, Shanti, her frail form slumped slightly in sleep, a light shawl draped over her shoulders.
The previous night, after a bout of fever had kept him bedridden, Hira had insisted she rest properly.
"I'm feeling much better, Dadi," he'd said with a reassuring smile. "Go to your room and sleep. I'll be fine."
She had nodded, her eyes lingering with worry, and pretended to leave. But here she was, having spent the night watching over him like a silent guardian.
A faint rustle escaped as Hira shifted under the blanket. It was around 7:30 a.m. He tried to slip out of bed quietly, not wanting to disturb her, but even that small movement was enough.
"Hmm... Hira, beta? You're awake?"
Shanti's voice was soft, laced with sleep but instantly alert. Her eyes opened, filling with relief as she saw him sitting up.
"I'm completely fine now, Dadi," Hira replied, his tone gentle but firm. "You should get some more rest. You didn't sleep all night, did you?"
She waved off his concern with a warm smile, straightening up in the chair.
"No need for that, child. Seeing you healthy and up has refreshed me more than any sleep could."
Her words carried the quiet strength of a woman who had raised a family through hardships, her love unspoken but profound.
As Hira headed out for his morning routine, Shanti rose too, her joints creaking faintly. She followed him outside, ready to tend to her daily chores—the household tasks and her beloved garden that bloomed with marigolds and tulsi under her careful hands.
Together, they started with yoga in the small courtyard. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-kissed earth.
Hira guided her through gentle asanas, supporting her as she stretched, her movements slow but determined.
It was their ritual, a bond that bridged generations—him teaching her newer poses for flexibility, her reminding him of the ancient breaths that grounded the soul.
In another form, it is also their way to cope with the emptiness they feel because of what happened to their family.
In seven months, Shanti has adapted to busying herself with household work, garden work, or any other work to somehow not think about this emptiness.
But for Hira, it is way more difficult; guilt is eating him from the inside, as he still thinks he is responsible for his brother's disappearance. His smiling face is just a mask to hide his pain from Shanti.
After yoga, Hira helped her in the garden—watering plants, plucking weeds, turning the soil. The sun climbed higher, warming their backs as they worked in companionable silence.
Normally, Hira would set out for his run by 6 or 6:30 a.m., when the streets were still hushed and the world felt new. But today, delayed by his recovery and their shared morning, he left closer to 8:30.
As he jogged along the familiar roads, he noticed the change immediately. The lockdown had finally lifted, and life was trickling back to normalcy.
More people dotted the paths—elderly couples strolling, vendors setting up carts, children heading to parks for playing.
The streets buzzed with a tentative energy, conversations floating in the air like the scent of fresh chai from roadside stalls. Hira greeted acquaintances with nods and smiles, exchanging brief words about the long months of isolation and the relief of open skies.
Seeing their smiling faces gives him hope that not everything is lost, someday his parents will also awake from their sleep, and Yash will…
The rhythm of his footsteps steadied him, lungs filling with the morning breeze. Exercise was his sanctuary, a habit forged from discipline and the quiet fear of frailty he'd witnessed in others and in himself.
As he veered into a quieter stretch, a deserted area flanked by overgrown lots, faint voices caught his ear—harsh, mocking tones drifting from a narrow alley nearby.
Curiosity and caution pulled him closer. Peering in, he saw three figures shadowed by the high walls. Two young men, sturdy and aggressive in stance, cornered an elderly one.
The thugs looked ordinary, the cocky swagger of idle troublemakers.
But the old man... he was a striking contrast. Towering at nearly two meters even in his hunched posture, his frame was shockingly emaciated. Malnutrition had ravaged him; his skin clung tightly to protruding bones, muscles long withered away, giving him a skeletal appearance and a big scar between his eyebrows that sent a chill through Hira.
One thug stood behind the elder, blocking escape, while the other flexed his fists, grinning maliciously.
"Hey, Ravi, what do you say? After waking up from the Pariama stage, will my punch draw blood from this old skeleton, or will he just crumble?" the one in front taunted, his voice dripping with cruelty.
"We'll find out only when you swing, Rody, and I think you don't even need extra strength to draw blood from him," the other laughed, egging him on.
Any frail person would be shaking from fear caught in this situation, but the old man was calm, too calm, as if he knew that nothing could harm him.
Seeing the scene, Hira's blood boiled. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Stop right there! What do you think you're doing?"
The two turned, startled, their bravado crumbling at the sight of a witness. Currently, the government is very strict regarding the new rules the PM announced in his speech.
Panic flashed in their eyes—they bolted, disappearing down the alley's far end in a scramble of footsteps.
Hira's instinct urged him to chase, to confront them, but he held back. The old man was his priority. Turning to him, Hira opened his mouth to ask if he was alright, offer help, perhaps even call authorities.
But the elder merely glanced at him—eyes hollow, expression unreadable, not a word of thanks or explanation.
With surprising resolve for his frail body, he picked up his wooden stick lying on the ground and shuffled past Hira, melted into the growing crowd on the main road, as if nothing had happened.
Hira stood there for a moment, puzzled and unsettled.
"Who was the old man? And why no reaction to the near-assault—or to his rescuer?"
The encounter left a lingering shadow, a reminder that the world outside was healing from lockdown, yet hidden dangers lurked in its corners.
Maybe human evolution is a good thing, giving humans new strength, making them healthier, but not all humans are deserving of this strength.
Shaking off the unease, Hira resumed his run, heading home. The sun was higher now, casting long shadows behind him.
As he approached the gate, two familiar voices sounded from behind.
"Hira."
"Hey, bro."
Turning back, he saw Shweta and Amit standing there.