"Not every storm comes with thunder. Some arrive quietly — as distance."
The rainy season had arrived like a thief, stealing the sun in exchange for cloudy silence. Within the walls of their classroom, the usual chatter had begun to quiet. Examinations loomed. Time moved with an unfamiliar weight — not rushed, but no longer still.
Vikran sat at the window, his notebook untouched. Drops of rain slid lazily down the glass. Each one mirrored his thoughts: falling, slow, quiet.
Across the aisle, Ameira twisted her pen between her fingers, lost in a page filled with half-finished equations. On the corner of the desk, her pencil sketch of a dragon wing lay half-erased — an unconscious slip of memory from dreams she could no longer explain.
Behind them, Rudren sat with one leg crossed over the other, brow furrowed, scribbling formulas at lightning speed. But his shoulders were tense — not with frustration, but with something else. A distance forming. A thought unfinished.
The Changes Between Them
They still walked together after school.
Still shared lunch.
Still laughed — at least, on the surface.
But something had shifted.
Ameira, once so open with her thoughts, had begun to pause before speaking. Her eyes lingered longer on the horizon.
Rudren had grown sharper, not with words, but with silence. He nodded when spoken to, but his mind wandered elsewhere. Sometimes he touched his chest — where no wound existed — as if waiting to feel something stir beneath.
And Vikran… smiled.
Just as he always had.
But his gaze often drifted skyward. Toward the clouds. Toward a feeling he couldn't name.
Before the Departures
"Did you fill the college forms?" Ameira asked one afternoon as they sat under the banyan tree.
Vikran nodded. "Appa filled it out before... you know. It's all set."
Rudren smirked. "I'm aiming for the local government college. Won't be far. I'll still come beat you in chess."
Ameira smiled, then looked down. "I might be going further."
They fell quiet.
The rain picked up.
Goodbyes in Advance
At the edge of the village, a narrow station pulsed softly under the rhythm of trains and departures. Forms were being submitted. Calls taken. Photos pasted to documents.
The three of them stood beneath a single umbrella, watching the water rush through gutters like little rivers.
"We'll keep in touch," Ameira said.
"We always say that," Rudren muttered.
"But we will," Vikran added softly, voice firm.
They believed it. Or wanted to.
Even so, the silence after said more than words.
What They Couldn't Explain
That night, Ameira sat on her bed, sketchpad in her lap, unable to draw.
A gust of wind brushed her curtain — but the window was closed.
She looked around, heart calm but uncertain. There was a strange comfort in the stillness, like a presence was watching — not threatening, not speaking — just… waiting.
Rudren, meanwhile, walked alone past shuttered shops. The wind carried a faint static — like sparks hidden in air. A streetlight flickered. His steps slowed.
He touched his chest again.
No pain. No fever.
Just a pressure. Like something inside him was pressing gently outward.
And Vikran?
He lay beneath the quiet roof of home, listening to the rhythm of the goatbells and wind tapping the cement sheets above. His sister's laughter had quieted. His mother had already fallen asleep beside the lantern. The world was at peace.
And yet—
He felt eyes upon him. Not in fear.
In knowing.
Days That Drift
The next morning arrived like every other. Sunrise. Uniforms. Buses. Books.
But each of them carried something unspoken. Something they didn't dare ask aloud:
Have you felt it too?
No one said it.
Because they couldn't explain it.
Because they weren't sure if it was real.
But far above them, across the wind and clouds, the souls within watched — silently.
Not awakening.
Not yet.
But waiting.
For the moment when hearts would surge.
For the day when silence would no longer be enough.
To be continued