"Not all awakenings begin with fire. Some begin with footsteps no one hears."
The city buzzed with its usual rhythm. Engines roared in traffic, auto-rickshaws screeched past each other, and early vendors shouted out like cracked radios. Children poured into the school gate, their bags swinging, eyes half-awake, the smell of chalk and sweat already thick in the air.
No one noticed the boy standing quietly near the corner wall.
His shoes were slightly muddy, his shirt too neat to be new—its color slightly faded from years of careful washing. He didn't speak. He didn't shuffle. His name hadn't yet been added to the roll call, but his presence made the air feel… still.
Vikran.
He stood with his back to the sun, gripping the strap of his bag—not nervously, but like it was habit. His small smile held no trace of worry, only peace. Not the kind that asked for attention—but the kind that offered space. He looked like someone who had lived through storms and now preferred to watch the clouds.
From beneath the gulmohar tree, Ameira watched him.
She always came early, before the chaos of the courtyard. She liked the hush of morning, the whisper of wind through petals. And she noticed everything—especially people who didn't try to be noticed.
The boy didn't look at anyone. Didn't shift or fidget. Just… stood, as if waiting for the sky to say something.
That intrigued her.
"MOVE, idiot! What are you, a tree?"
The shout echoed across the hall.
Rudren stormed past a few first years, his eyes sharp as knives, shirt hanging loose, and a chip packet dangling from his fingers. His steps were loud. His presence louder.
Rudren wasn't cruel. But he wasn't kind either. He carried his anger like armor—heavy, dented, but always polished.
He reached the water tap, splashed his face, and leaned against the railing, muttering curses under his breath. That's when he noticed the new boy.
Still. Quiet. Staring up.
"Tch… another statue. Perfect," he muttered.
By midday, the classes blurred into heatwaves and scribbled notebooks.
Vikran sat alone. Answered when called. Smiled politely. Ate his lunch in silence. His movements were fluid, unhurried. Like someone who knew what it meant to not waste energy.
During break, Ameira passed close to him—casually. Just to feel the stillness that surrounded him.
And Rudren, crossing the corridor with his usual scowl, looked once… and then again. His eyebrows furrowed, unsure why someone that quiet was… noticeable.
That afternoon, clouds gathered above the school. Not dark enough for rain. Just enough to change the sky's color.
Ameira stood near the school's old neem tree, her bag over one shoulder.
Vikran passed by.
He stopped, nodded, and said, "Nice tree."
She blinked. "No one ever stands here."
"That's probably why it's peaceful," he replied.
It wasn't much. But it was the first thing either of them had truly said that day.
She gave him a half-smile—small, uncertain, but real.
From a balcony above, Rudren watched. Not jealous. Not amused. Just… watching.
A wind stirred. One leaf fell, spiraling gently through the air, and landed on Vikran's shoulder.
He didn't brush it away.
That night, dreams came differently.
Ameira saw pale white trees and floating lanterns dancing on invisible strings.
Rudren turned in his sleep. A flash of lightning lit his window, but no thunder followed.
And Vikran lay awake, beneath a roof of cement sheets, the walls around him solid with metal sheets. The quiet of the night wrapped around him, and as he rested his head on the pillow, he gazed up - not through a hole, but through the stillness as if the stars beyond the roof could still speak to his soul.
He felt… watched. But not in a bad way.
In a knowing way.
"I think…" he whispered to himself, "I'm being watched."
Above the sky, where no plane or bird could reach, two giant shadows circled—one light, one dark. They said nothing. But they saw everything.
And far beneath the Earth, buried deep in magma and memory…
The lion stirred.
Not awake.
But no longer asleep.
To be continued ...