Devendra realized something unsettling the next morning.
Someone was watching him.
Not her—this presence felt different. Real. Human.
He noticed it during attendance. A pause that lasted half a second too long. When he looked up, he caught a boy from the back row staring at him. Not curious. Not judgmental.
Concerned.
The boy looked away immediately.
Devendra didn't like that.
People usually avoided him now. Or whispered. Or pretended nothing was wrong. Concern meant questions. Questions meant attention.
Attention meant danger.
The boy's name, he later learned, was Arjun.
They were paired together during classwork—not by choice, but by the teacher's careless logic.
"Work together," she said. "It'll be faster."
Devendra felt his shoulders stiffen.
Arjun slid his chair closer but didn't speak right away. He just opened the book and pointed to the page.
"We can start here," he said calmly.
No sudden movements. No jokes. No fake friendliness.
Devendra noticed that too.
They worked in silence for a while. Devendra answered when needed, short and clipped. His hands shook slightly, but Arjun pretended not to see it.
That was the problem.
People who pretended not to notice were usually lying.
Finally, Arjun spoke again. Quietly.
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," he said. "I just wanted to say… you're doing better than you think."
Devendra's pen froze.
"What does that mean?" he asked, voice flat.
Arjun shrugged. "It means you're still here."
The words hit harder than expected.
Devendra's chest tightened—not fear this time, but something unfamiliar. Anger. Confusion.
"You don't know anything about me," Devendra snapped.
Arjun nodded. "That's true."
Then he added, "But I know what it looks like when someone's body shows up before their mind does."
Devendra turned sharply. "What?"
"My brother," Arjun said, still not looking at him. "He was like that after… stuff."
Stuff.
Devendra hated that word. It was always used to shrink pain into something manageable for other people.
Before he could respond, laughter erupted across the classroom.
Not near them. Across the room.
Devendra's heart reacted instantly—fast, violent, uncontrollable. His vision blurred. His fingers curled inward as if bracing for impact.
Then—
A chair scraped loudly.
Arjun stood up.
"Hey," he said, voice firm but not aggressive. "Can you not do that right now?"
The laughter stopped. Confused looks followed.
The teacher glanced over. "Sit down, Arjun."
He did.
Devendra stared at him, breathing hard.
"You didn't have to do that," Devendra whispered.
Arjun finally looked at him. His eyes were steady.
"I know," he said. "But I wanted to."
That night, Devendra lay awake longer than usual.
Not because of whispers.
Not because of shadows.
But because of a new thought forming, slow and dangerous:
If she's watching…
She saw that.
And somewhere deep inside his mind—
A familiar silence stretch Seed just a little too long.
As if something was waiting.