Fifteen years later.
The desert had grown louder over the years—more cars, more people, more noise. But Aarav always found a way to escape it all. Every night, he climbed onto the rusted water tower on the edge of the town, the one no one bothered to fix, and stared up at the stars like they owed him something.
Maybe they did. He just didn't know what.
"Hey, Spaceboy," a voice called from below. "If you fall, I'm not dragging your broken body to the hospital again."
Aarav smirked. Tariq, his best friend since they were six, leaned on his bike, squinting up.
"You can't break what's indestructible," Aarav called back.
"Pretty sure your ego can't fly, bro."
Aarav laughed and lay flat on the metal roof, staring into the vast velvet of space above. The stars blinked at him like a secret. He didn't know why, but they always felt... familiar. As if some part of him remembered them.
But he didn't have time for poetic nonsense. Not tonight.
Tonight, someone needed help.
Earlier that day, word had spread—someone was stealing water drums from the edge of the town. Not some average thief. This one was bold. Middle of the day. Right near the school.
Most people grumbled and locked their sheds tighter. But Aarav? He went on patrol.
It wasn't exactly a plan. More like a pull. Something deep inside told him when something was wrong. It wasn't a voice or a vision. Just a feeling.
He didn't know why he could jump over rooftops faster than any athlete. Or why sometimes he could hear the faint hum of a power line from a mile away. Or why metal sometimes bent near his fingers when he was angry.
But he knew one thing for sure: he was different.
And so, after dinner, while his mom watched the news and his dad snoozed on the couch, Aarav slipped out the window with a hoodie, gloves, and a phone he didn't plan to use.
Now, lying under the stars, he felt it again. A shift in the air. Something… off.
Then he saw it—down below, near the abandoned grain depot—a flicker of movement.
He rolled onto his stomach, squinted. A tall figure dragged a barrel across the sand, struggling with the weight.
Aarav's pulse quickened. He knew that shape. That man had stolen from five homes already. People were scared of him.
Aarav wasn't.
He leapt silently off the tower's edge—landing with a controlled thud, knees bent. No sound. Just like last time.
The stars above seemed to hold their breath.
"Hey!" Aarav shouted.
The man froze, then bolted, dropping the barrel.
Aarav chased without thinking. His shoes barely touched the ground. He wasn't fast—he was unreal. He moved like time blinked every few steps.
The man looked back in horror. "What the hell—?!"
Aarav tackled him in one clean motion, pinning him down.
"Stealing from people who barely have anything?" Aarav growled. "Nice."
The man thrashed, grabbed a broken pipe nearby, and swung.
But Aarav raised his hand.
And for a second—just a second—the pipe bent midair as if hit by gravity.
The man screamed and passed out.
Later, as Aarav walked home, dragging the barrel back to its owner, he looked at his hands.
They were still tingling. Warm. Charged.
Every time he did this—every time he acted on those urges to protect—his body responded in ways he didn't understand. Power surged, sometimes subtle, sometimes... overwhelming.
He didn't talk about it. Not even to Tariq.
His mom once said he was born during a cosmic storm. Maybe that's where he got it.
All Aarav knew was that the stars watched him.
And deep inside, something was waking up.